For My Birthday, Please Stop Asking About My Blood Magic!

Hey everyone. I just want one thing for my birthday this year: Please stop asking about my blood magic! I know you’re curious and I get it. Believe me, I do. It must be maddening for you. After all, I haven’t aged a day in thirteen years and my face is more or less the same cherubic beam of light that it was when you first met me. You’ve probably spent hours contemplating the way my hair falls perfectly into place as though styled by a cadre of dark angels. And the red aura that seems to almost imperceptibly pulse just under the surface of my corneas is probably impossible to ignore.

But as hard as it may be, you have to stop asking about it! It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. Believe me, if you’d stumbled upon a wellspring of eternal youth and beauty this great, you’d want to talk about it too. You think Jessica Simpson was excited to talk about Proactiv? Man, I got her beat hard. My pores are completely resistant to infection, irritants and greek fire after all. And I’ve lost the need for bowel movements entirely. I mean, I’m bursting to spread the word! But the simple truth is that I’m forbidden by the oath that I took on the Rainless Night of Lightning Strikes from telling anyone not directly involved in the ritual.

Besides, it’s not like you have a firstborn on hand to sacrifice anyway. And I don’t mean that as an insult. I’m sure you’ll find the right person to settle down with. Someone who will love you regardless of the steady decay that time ravages upon your body. And maybe you’ll have a child of your own. A subjectively “perfect” girl or boy who shares your smile (minus the wrinkles caused by years of cellular degeneration). But even then, I’m just not sure you’ll have the fortitude to place that little tyke on the Altar of Gnashing and commit to driving Gormond’s Blade between the fourth and fifth thoracic vertebrae. That’s not a slight against you. I’m sure you follow through on lots of things, but this one requires a little more grit.

Ugh, this sucks. I really want to tell you all the juicy details. It’s like having a person you’re planning a surprise party for and you see them everyday and can’t tell them! Except, in this case you’re considering using their plasma to re-up your pact with the Unchanging Ones and if you told them they’d report you to the police. I can’t be responsible for another town being “disappeared” because the local Sheriff got involved. My conscious is heavy enough. The family members of Edendale residents still have so many questions. I guess you have that in common.

I’m glad we had this talk though. I certainly feel better. Even though you won’t remember most of it, I think you’ll feel better too. Oh, one more favor: Enjoy the time you have left! You can’t know how long that’ll be, but suck the marrow out while you can (whether that’s metaphorical or actual marrow). Because, before you know it, you might find yourself strapped to a kerosene-soaked pyre and wondering where it all went. I’ll never know that feeling personally, but it sounds soul-crushing.

Well, I’d better be going. I’ve got to drop by the cleaners and pick up my robes. If I don’t get there by 3:00pm, I’ll have to deal with Kelly. Don’t get me wrong she’s lovely and all, but asks way too many questions about the gentle shriek the fabric makes when you plunge it in water. What happened to “No Questions Asked Service”? Ah well, she’s young. For now.

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