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Miriam Blaylock

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[12 Oct 2003|06:18pm]
[ mood | lonely ]

A man, this time. A young man, young and beautiful. I was returning home from the library and I saw him walking through the streets with a pair of holdalls. So, I followed him to the bus station. "Skipping town," he said. I asked him why and he smiled (and what a smile. He reminded me of John...) and said he just needed a change.

I understand, I told him. I do.

So, we talked. I bought him coffee. He told me that I have the most amazing eyes he's ever seen. We made love in the nearest hotel. And...

Well. At least he died happy.

I'm taking what's left of him to my house in his own holdall, and I'm not sure what to think. He was truly lovely, I've not seen anbody like him for a long, long time. I think I might have been able to Change him successfully -- but I was so hungry, I had no time. I needed to Feed.

Gods, but I'm lonely. I didn't know Eveline meant so much until she left. Until I let her leave.

13 eternities * forever?

Eveline [11 Jul 2003|03:47pm]
[ mood | pensive ]

From Sleep and Age, by Dr. Sarah Roberts.

The key to the relationship between sleep and age appears to lie in the production of the transient protein group associated with inhibition of lipofuscins. At the molecular level the buildup of lipofuscin is responsible for the loss of internal circulation that leads to cellular morbidity. Thus, it is the prime factor in the overall process called "ageing," being responsible for effects as subtle as the reduction in the responsiveness of organs to hormonal demands and as gross as senile dementia. The mystery of how and why lipofuscin inhibition declines as a cellular system ages is the core of the problem. We have determined that the duration and depth of sleep are related to the amount of lipofuscin produced, with deeper sleep producing the greater level of inhibition.

And from the writings of Dr. Phyllis Rockler, which I borrowed from the Riverside lab after Sarah's death:

Methuselah remained awake one hundred and nineteen hours. The first overt degenerative changes were noted after the seventieth hour. His lipofuscin accumulation rate started an exponential rise in sample 2141, taken at the seventy-first hour. Subsequently, his blood cells began to lose their ability to uptake oxygen.


I know this. I believe that I could recite every word of Sleep and Age from memory, and I understand it - but understanding something is not the same thing as being able to take that knowledge and do something with it. It's infuriating. Sarah was so close with the rhesus. More time, more funding, and she would have discovered the cure for the illness of age.

So would Eveline.

Thirty years ago, I might have taken her anyway. Her spirit, and intelligence, and beauty... I would have been sure that I could turn her opinions and make her see like I do, make her understand that immortality and a life with eternal love are what we both deserve.

But I couldn't do it. Not after the way things went wrong with Sarah. I see so much of Sarah in Eveline, and I don't mean her intelligence. Oh, I see others in her as well. She has Lollia's eyes, dark and beautiful and deep with a wisdom far beyond her age. Each time I touched Eveline, her lips parted and her eyes widened and I could not help but remember my dear English girl, how exquisite she was stretched out naked beneath me, with the fire casting its flickering shadows across her body as we moved. And she has Eumenes' sensuality, it just pours from her skin with every movement. She breathes it and conducts it and attracts it. Eumenes was the sort of man one could not help gazing at, even in the weeks just after I rescued him from his crucifixion, when his skin swelled up and split in a map of weeping scars and he stank of death and decay. The slaves used to fight each other to win the privelege of sitting by him, waiting for the final breath which never came. Eveline is the sort of woman that men want and other women want to be, even if they're not entirely sure why. She reminds me of my father and brothers and sisters, because I've lost her without ever having her in the first place, and it hurts. She reminds me of John, because he would have given his life for me and she would give hers for Adam. And she reminds me of my mother, because she possesses a power far stronger than my own. Free will, a conscience... true love. I do know true love, but the difference is that she has not deceived Adam to win his.

But most of all? Eveline McCormack reminds me of Sarah Roberts. Sarah would not yield to the Hunger, would not Feed. She became mad with the desire, but still she would not Feed. When the temptation finally became too much and she killed Dr. Haver, she slashed her wrists open and damned herself to eternal agony, eternal Hunger, never able to Sleep, never able to die, bolted forever in a coffin in my attic. Eveline would do the same, and I love her far too much.

Why do I feel the need to justify my reasons for letting her go?

Perhaps because I surprised myself.


Eveline. [28 Jun 2003|01:21am]
[ mood | calm ]

She admired my roses. I wonder what she would think if she knew what happened to them when John 'died'.

We talked. I touched her mind. She touched my arm, briefly. She rested her hand upon my knee for a few moments. She laughed. A blush rose up in her cheeks -- yes, rose, like my flowers. I touched deeper. Her breathing quickened. She didn't realise it, but my senses are more acute than any human's. The scent of fresh, young lust is unmistakable.

She will be my One.

I stood in the shadows of her bedroom tonight and touched, and she responded with a strength I have not felt since I began to touch Alice, decades ago. I touched as I walked home. I will go on touching, forever.

She will be my One, and my Last. We will find our answers, together.


The song says it all. [15 Jun 2003|06:48pm]
[ mood | pensive ]

This ache never gets any easier. I would claim that it gets worse each time, but that would be disrespectful to Eumenes and Lollia and the other people I lost long ago. I think that maybe it simply feels as if it hurts more every time, because my mind works back over everybody else, and I remember, and...

Well. Self-pity never helped anybody.

Stefan is weak... so very weak, now. He's Feeding too often, and he looks so old. It's his time.

I'll let him watch a final sunset. He's always loved sunsets. And then...

I'm so tired of being alone. Mrs McCormack... Eveline... her husband is very ill. I truly hope that he feels better soon, but not because I have any interest in his wellbeing. It's horribly selfish of me, but I need to survive like all other living things, and I do think that my case deserves a little selfishness. After all, there is no other like me. Eveline understands how I feel about immortality. I know she does. I saw it in her eyes when we were talking. I think she can help me to continue Sarah's research, but we must work fast, and so I need Mr. McCormack to recover.

Alternatively... if I made Eveline mine, we would have all the time in the world to find a solution. Sarah was so close. Her work with Methuselah showed that. I have all of her notes. I merely lack the medical knowledge to make sense out of them. Eveline has that knowledge. I believe that we're poised on the tip of a great revelation.

But it's not only the knowledge, or the understanding. There is something more in her eyes, when we speak. The same light that was in Lollia's every time we banished the servants and made love in front of the parlour fire... it's there in Eveline's, and it makes her glow. I do not know whether she is aware of it. I rather think she must be. The touch feels much more easy and natural than it did at first. I was only doing it to make her feel more at ease, but I need a companion and we have a connection. I see no reason why she should not be the one.



I don't like being afraid. [07 Jun 2003|12:07pm]
[ mood | melancholy ]

Mrs. McCormack left a message on my answering machine a few days ago, when I was Sleeping, but I've not yet returned it. I'm afraid, to be perfectly honest. If this woman works in a profession where explosions and disappearences are the norm, perhaps she's not the one to help me. I have not come this far to be killed like that.

But I really do think that she's my last hope, or at least my best one. Stefan is Aging. This has been the shortest time -- it's only been twenty years since John and Sarah passed -- and it's completely my fault. I think he is, or was, suffering from a disease of the blood, and the transfusion and constant ingestion has weakened him. I'll miss him. I'll keep him with me forever, as I promised each one before him, but I'll miss him awfully. I cannot do this any more.

I've just awakened, which means I have fourteen hours before I must Feed, and eighteen before I must Sleep. I'm not sure whether this will be enough time to meet with her, but I can call her back.

I'm tired. I don't need to Sleep (that takes up six hours of every twenty-four, no more and no less), but this is a different sort of tiredness.

*thinks for a moment*

*calls Evie*

10 eternities * forever?

How strange... [04 Jun 2003|12:39pm]
[ mood | confused ]

I am paranoid by nature, and I wanted to check these medical facilities before I handed myself over to them, so I took the limousine to the address Mrs. McCormack gave me -- and there was nothing there but a smoking pile of rubble.

I do hope she calls me to explain. That is, if she was not killed in the explosion. I do not know of anybody else who can help me, and I am so weary of this endless search.

Now, I must Feed and Sleep... and wait by the telephone like a high school sweetheart. How absolutely pathetic.

1 eternity * forever?

[27 May 2003|11:15am]
[ mood | contemplative ]

I Fed, I Slept, and I spoke with Mrs. McCormack on the telephone. She said she would like to learn more about my case, and asked me to meet her at her place of work sometime this week.

I have an address. I will go. I've promised myself that I will go.

I'm just so afraid that she'll be another Sarah Roberts.


Taking a chance... [25 May 2003|04:34pm]
[ mood | hopeful ]

I've been deliberating for weeks about whether or not I should reply to Mrs. McCormack, and I finally sent her a letter today. I hope it's not too late.

I hope I'm not making another mistake.


Introduction [24 May 2003|11:59am]
[ mood | pensive ]

I am not a vampire.

My name is Miriam Blaylock. I am immortal and I must drink living human blood to survive, but I am not a vampire. I walk in the sunlight. I have a reflection and I cast a shadow. I do not eat garlic, but this is through choice, not neccessity.

Like vampires, I have the ability to make others like me. However, unlike vampires...

Well. It's a long story. Do you have the time?

I have said it already, I am not a vampire. I have no words to describe what I am. We shall call my kind 'non-human humanoids', for want of a better phrase. Or rather, 'a non-human humanoid'. I am the last one.

There were more, once. Long ago. I had a father I loved very much, and brothers and sisters I adored, but they are all dead.

And my mother? Well. John Keats said it better than I or anybody else ever could.

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries -
So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:
And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,
And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.

My mother was Lamia, beautiful serpent-lady of the ancient myths. She passed her looks on to me with her blood; my eyes are silver beneath my blue contact lenses, and beneath my wig my hair as pale and fine as a baby's. I dress up in public because I fear imprisonment. I am not an animal, nor am I a criminal. Yes, I have killed. I admit this freely. I have killed, but I am not a murderer. One does not convict a hungry lion who kills an antelope. This is the same principle. I kill because I need to live, like everybody else.

So, to the world I am Mrs. Miriam Blaylock. John's widow. Music teacher.

In private? I am afraid to show anybody else, but I know I must.

The last person to whom I revealed my true self did not understand, and now she is suffering in eternal torment with John and Lollia and Eumenes and all the dozens of others I have loved, and still love.

I failed them. I prolonged their lives -- and, oh, we had such beautiful times, for decades and centuries -- but I cannot make another true immortal like myself, and so I made each of them a promise when their time came. I vowed never to leave them, to keep them close by me forever, and I have kept this promise.

But I hear them, when I am alone late at night. Before the Sleep comes, or just after Waking, I hear them scratching up in the attic. I know that if I went up there I'd hear them crying, and whispering, begging, tapping weakly on the lids of their coffins, because they're so hungry, and they hurt so much... and that is why I rarely go above the second floor. I cannot bear to hear them.

And that is why I am still searching for an answer. I thought Sarah had it, but she was perhaps too strong. I think she loved me back, at least a little, but her morals were too high. Her willpower was too high. She could not bear to kill another -- only herself, but of course she could not die. Not fully. She was wasted, and now I must begin my search again.

I need somebody who is strong and intelligent. Somebody who will be able to understand. And most of all? I need help. I'm tired of being alone. I want forever.


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