Sangue Sensazione

I do not remember when it happened. I awoke one day to find my human existence to have lost its flavor. My world had become jaded and dull. I lost my Muse. Life was stagnant and bland. The colours that I had once so enjoyed seemed washed out, pale. I suffered, my art suffered. There was little that brought me joy as I traveled the world, taking in the sights looking for new experiences. Seeking something, anything that would bring back that spark of life and let me pour that essence into my art, a moment forever frozen.

I visited France, The la fée verte did not inspire me, nor the fines foods or wine. I was surrounded by art on all sides and I could create nothing, I had no passion, no desire left in me. I began to feel like the waking dead, just going through a parody of life until I ceased to be. I wanted to rage, to scream at it all.


When drink could not move me I tried other paths, other intoxicants. I went to the Orient in search of Opium. The smoke of the poppy dulled the pain of living, often a good choice to force myself to sleep. Although I wish it could say it brought on my dreaming as it had for others. That would have been something, instead I just slipped away to darkness.

I went to India in hopes of enlightenment, but their ways were not for me. I felt not the touch of the Divine, or inspiration of my Muse. According to The Vedas, cannabis was one of five sacred plants. The Vedas call cannabis a source of happiness, joy-giver, liberator that was compassionately given to humans to help us attain delight and lose fear. That was something. If anything could help wake my soul I thought the cannabis to be it. I am sorry that it wasn't the case. I did find that it helped take some of the dull pain of living as well as helped me to reign in my temper.

Egypt was my next port of call and I had found texts that mentioned the sacred mushroom,the red and white amanita. The food of the gods. It took some time and enough coin thrown about in donation, that I did finally receive an invitation to participate in the ritual. I wanted to prepare myself for this the plant of life, ankh khut. I fasted for two days before my ritual. I wanted to seek out the Divine and instead was met by hallucinations and forced to examine all aspects of myself and my soul. What I saw left me desolate, and I feared my mind would shatter. I saw nothing more than my own darkness. There was nothing Divine or scared in my life. All I had was this life, and no other. This went against everything I had hoped for and at my core was everything I feared.

I returned to Milan, spent and broken in my personal madness. In my rage I destroyed years of my art. Watching from a personal remove as I set masks was ablaze. If I could not create, I would not be reminded of what I had lost. I watched the flames burn, in my madness I heard a whisper on the wind, one word. Venexia. In hearing that name my soul stilled and began to drift towards it.

I arrived on a foggy morning and quickly took up a small residence. The City was silent during the day and at night it blazed with life, activity. I came across creatures that seemed to be more dead than I and yet they rippled with life. It was soon became clear what was expected of the humans in the city of lights.

Nothing to live for and nothing to lose I was up for the game. Imagine my shock at my first feeding when I could feel the life ebbing from my body. To try and put the sensation to words would be near impossible if you have not experienced it for yourself. The vitae, my essence left my body and brought me heartbeats away from death. I had never felt more alive. The closer I stepped towards death the more I wanted to live. The high I received from feeding enhanced my state of inebriation. I regained my Muse and my lust for life in this dark city. It may well be the death of me, but what a magnificent death to be had. I serve the Court, and do so willingly, like the addict I am. For me it is not Memento mori, to remember death but instead Memento vivere, remember life.

Blood & Harvest

Here, I sit. Locked away in the relative safety of my lodgings. Closed doors and locks help solidify the illusion of security. In this city humans are far from what I would deem safe. I doubt much that we ever truly were. Here the monsters thrive out in the open. One can not help but be aware of them, to become curious of these Alpha predators. I linger, watching them. I can't help but try and study them. They are distinct and apart from us humans. Some cold and deadly, others seem more alive than some humans. Each one I've encountered as differs as much as one person to the next. We are alike in that regard and why not? Chosen were once as human as the rest of us, although some are loathe to admit it.

The will to live pulls most of us forward. We each do what we must in order to survive. I am not like the Paesani. I don't want a lingering shadow cast over me in all that I do, my every waking moment. Being hunted off at random, no recourse and perhaps never seen again. I chose a different path. I am Borghesia. I would rather have limited rights than no rights at all.

What is it to be Borghesia? In times past the Borghesia were human ruling class. Now it means my blood has a price. I am not just picked at random from the streets. The system works well enough for me.

Our life sustains the Chosen, our blood. Without humanity the Chosen would be reduced to feeding from animals or perhaps their own kind. It is better to take care of the human harvest, let it thrive. Cultivated under proper conditions rather than to reaping it solely for the blood. Some Chosen would do well to remember this, but it is not my place to remind them.

Introduzione

Caterina crumbled the greenish purple bud between her thumb and forefinger, packing the herb into a millefiori glass pipe. She lights her bowl with a smolder stick and inhaled the sweet, spicy and skunky smoke. She held the smoke in her lungs, feeling them burn from lack of oxygen after about twenty heart beats give or take. She exhales a stream of smoke that ended in a coughing fit as the smoke billowed to a haze around her and her small rental. Caterina wiped at her watery eyes and shook out her hands, her cannabis high helping to prepare her for the project before her. She pulled a piece of tanned leather out of it's soaking dish and placed the wet leather over a wooden face form. Caterina took another hit off her pipe as she waited for the leather to begin to dry. While malleable, it was still too wet to hold any shape for long without the aid of clamps or vice. She ran her fingers over the the wet dead flesh, feeling its grain and seeking out imperfections or brands. She lost track of time as she tugged and molded the hide, changing into it's new form. The candles burned and dripped, leaving the air around them touched with scent of beeswax. She sighed and wiped the back of her hand across her brow. The newest mask finally lay before her. The wet leather having dried to a light tan, and now hardened into shape. She held the mask in her hands before lifting it to her face, testing the fit. The rough texture brushed across her cheeks and reminded her that she wore the dead flesh of another. Caterina removed the mask and placed it upon a shelf were other masks sat waiting to be painted. She found painting to be the slightly easier than working the leather, but she knew she didn't have time to prep her paints tonight. She turned to her millefiori pipe once more and smoked until she found the idea of stepping out into the night enjoyable, rather than a stressful, and quite possibly a dangerous affair. Intoxication aside, the drugs added an extra flavor, or effect to the blood coursing through her veins. She tugged on her well worn jacket, noticing that the cuffs and elbows were starting to look threadbare. She slipped on a heavy metal bracelet over her right hand, examining the metal and wondered if it take a polish. The bracelet marked her, despite her habits, (others may call addictions) as healthy stock in good standing for the Court. She took a strange bit of pride in such a bauble, but she was Borghesia and like to think that it added to her station. It was well past time for her to check into the Green Dragon and sign the ledger. Donning a mask for the evening, she set out to the streets of Venexia, at the service to the Court.