My Name is Ancient...

Never without decency have I ascended from each age, an antique of every influence I appeal, and those I meet greet me as children in their underestimated world. Whether it is the correct perspective for my position, for my situation not even I can say, for all my claims of knowledge. However I rest easy beneath my canopy of stars, in my glass window until I act to move as a masked predator, my only mask my darkness and my predecessor.

My name is as ancient as my cause to live, the very idea of some fantastical sea. So many names to label mine and I have grown understandably arrogant to name myself as none of them. As none can properly describe me, where every one of my talents and wisdom progressed as my prowess advanced.

I am called Reynold, and there is nonne beside or before it…and ahead I will meet the expectations I have set as ruthlessly as they demand. I have sworn, as every vampire hath done while their eternity grates on their lesser souls, I have sworn that my confessions for this life I’ve chosen can be reserved after all…from one willing lover to the next and a thousand broken hearts when they die. And my sins are met with its constance.

To remember my age exactly is no longer important, nor is my creed or culture. I have negated those trivial drags into my modern wake, and might be able to consider myself a true American then; as hybrid as its culture brags I am also one of the same. My peace of mind, or so I suppose, is helped with this adopted idea of an otherwise absent camaraderie.

Others of my kind, a kind as bloodied as I, and as bent to survive within an immortal host and haggard soul, are a comfort to me. We are a comfort to each other whilst we merge within our environment as predators to others, and victims damned our fate to be trapped…once a fine idea when the soul was also young and not this withered thing.