Murder, INC

Hey, guys.

I’m gonna archive this blog. I lost a friend of mine that I used to play with on here and I can’t be around without wanting to cry. 

I have another indie blog, you can follow me here if you want.

@the-bee-rps

Bree stooped, arms outstretched to the beautiful child who hurled himself toward her. She caught him in a tight and tender hug, squeezing his little body to her cold, still breast. In all her love for the boy, Bree could have sworn her dead heart gave a murmur every time she held him.

Many would have called him an anomaly. Some, an abomination. But to her, he was nothing short of a miracle. A creation born not of biology but from love. Pure love. 

She rose with Duncan in her arms, his mane of wild curls pressed to her cheek. Most children his age smelled of baby shampoo and sweets. But his scent …it was akin to a mausoleum. Clean and cold with dry floral notes. 

The mother vampire often wondered when her boy would cease to age. She hoped he wouldn’t grow much older than he was then– that he would stay sweet and small forever. She hoped to remain the center of his world for lifetimes to come. But another part of her was curious to see if he would grow to break hearts the way his mother and father broke each other’s over the centuries. Bree wondered if he, too, would know a love that bore miracles.

“Daddy will back soon,” she whispered into his hair, “He’s gone out to get supper. Are you hungry, my love?”

Her son answered with a sleepy nod.

When he was an infant, she often wished she could breastfeed him like a human mother. There was something so poetic about sustaining the life she birthed. She didn’t like the idea of a child so small subsisting on the blood of animals. Bree knew it was silly, but she felt as though a bit of his innocence flaked away like old lead paint every time he drained the life from a living creature. But he couldn’t help what he was. She and Anthony, they cast their lot in one way or another. Little Duncan was a slave to his instincts.