Moon Children Ch. 01-02byPurpleThread©
The story of my people is told often as a legend, a campfire story. A gypsy woman begged the Moon to send her a husband, one whose skin was tanned and taut over sinuous muscle. The Moon replied to her request, assuring her that she would find her perfect man. In return for this miracle she asked for another. She wanted only her firstborn of this perfect man. The woman agreed hastily, as the moon had expected.
From a cinnamon-skinned father a son was born, "white like an ermine's belly," with gray eyes in lieu of brown. Truly the Moon's albino son.
The father damned the babe's appearance. Surely his new wife had dishonored him. He confronted her, demanding she tell him who her side lover was. He did not heed her protestation, nor her pleas. He stabbed her to death.
The babe, he abandoned high in the mountains, for he could not bring himself to harm the child.
It is said that the Moon saved the infant, taking him to her pale breast. When the moon is full, she is feeding her child. When the child cries, the Moon wanes to a crescent so as to make the babe a cradle.
As charming as this little bedtime story is, it is not entirely true. The woman was of the Cattraighe: an early Celtic tribe. The Moon is actually the Cat Goddess Reanddemal. The son was actually a daughter, born to pale-skinned parents... But her skin was completely devoid of pigment... and her eyes bore vertical slits in the center of large, orange irises.
The father believed the woman had lain with an incubus, and killed her in superstitious fright. He deposited both mother and daughter on the alter to Raenddemal, at the summit of a mountain. The child, he was unable to harm. The knife quaked in his hand, and fell uselessly to the ground. He fled, living to tell the tale that would evolve into the popular folk song.
The truth, though, is known only to that infant's descendants.
The baby's first meal was not suckled from a great, lunar mammary. She drank, instead, from the deep laceration in her mortal mother's neck. She was what the common mortal being might mistakenly call a vampire. The first, in fact.
We don't like to be called vampires. Vampires are the invention of overactive human minds. Things that turn into bats and wolves and speak with silly accents. Things with weaknesses to holy objects and silver, and can be killed as simply as having a stick implanted in their hearts.
I actually love garlic. I don't see how they think it's a repellant.
In truth, we have more in common with cats than with bats or canines. Our fangs resemble our feline sister's. We share similar tongues and eyes. We are nocturnal.
That is one of the only similarities I can find between our race and the mythical nosferatu. Our weakness to sunlight. It disorients us, and we are highly photosensitive. We burn easily. We do NOT burst into flames or fall to ashes in prolonged solar exposure. It's more extreme dehydration, skin damage, and accidental death. I've heard of Children falling down wells or over cliffs, walking into traffic due to daylight poisoning. Darwinism, really.
While we need to ingest blood to survive, it's not our only vice. I'll not muss the beginning of my story with crude explicit detail, but suffice to say we're somewhat... flesh-oriented. And while I may refer to humans as mortals, Moon Children do not live indefinitely. We just live... extendedly. We are not "undead." We are living, respiring beings.
To my knowledge, it is impossible to "create" a Moon Child simply by biting a mortal and allowing it to live, or by killing it in a certain way. We are born. That is all.
And, most important, we are not essentially evil. We merely have a different set of morals. One may mourn the death of a mouse under the paw of a cat, but the cat sees only food. The cat may learn to prey upon only specific mice, or perhaps grow a taste for birds... but the fact remains: prey is prey.
Prey is fairly easy to come by. It oft comes willingly. We Children are not without our wiles. Prey is drawn to us. Once bitten, a mortal may become a slave, thereby providing a renewable supply of sustenance. I've known Children who keep pets... I don't subscribe to their methods. I like a little meat with my wine, you see. I could tell you all sorts of lovely recipes... but I'll spare you the boredom.
Nothing can compare to that sensation... feeling one's fangs press into, then punch through resisting skin... it's nigh bliss. Feeling that red wellspring rush forth to flood one's mouth with silky flavor... metallic, savory, sweet, sometimes with a nuance of tartness. All knowledge a mortal possesses flows through their life-fluid. Drinking deep can open one's mind to their prey's. This is another tool of survival we Children keep.
Our patron goddess is still Reanddemal, and she has many names. Bast, Sehkmet, Catha, Palu, Shasti... but I chose to call her by her original name. The two d's are pronounced as the soft "th" in "brethren." Her proper name can also be shortened to Ddemal, or Themal. She manifests every full moon in her Children, and it is during the nights of lunar climax that we usually feast.
It was during one of these feasts that our lives changed dramatically forever.
Themal was reaching her peak fullness, a night in late October. I had just ended a productive conversation via cam with an associate on the mainland. As it was my last of these calls, I proceeded to remove my guise. Humans notice little things... such as their conversational counterpart being pale as a corpse whilst living in island paradise. That, and the fact that I have the physical appearance of a sixteen-year-old human girl. When I wear contacts, that is. My actual age is not of particular import- long-timers like myself don't bother to chart our time in existence as humans do. Obsessed with time. The passage of the Great Theif Chronos.
I scrubbed at my face, removing the thick base and dark lipstick. Dawn was still a few hours away... I considered briefly visiting one of Maui's little local hot spots. The feast wasn't till the next night... a snack couldn't hurt. Especially if it was one of those spicy-delicious Polynesians...
That was when I heard the door downstairs shut quietly. I smirked, as my decision was made for me. The maid's week was up tonight, that's right.
I slinked down the lavish, velvet-padded staircase in nothing but my sheer satin robe. The "maid" had set aside his things and was stooped over a box of cleaning solutions and accoutrements. I draped myself languidly across a chaise longue, picking up a handy wine glass and watched him. My feline pupils were open to full circles, and I could feel them shrink back to slits when he turned on a light.
He jolted in surprise, and my heart skipped a beat with his. I could feel the increased tempo of his pulse, and the second reaction I had been waiting for, as well. A minute rise in his pristine, white trousers.
"I didn't see you there, ma'am... miss..." he stammered, pulling the padded mop in his left hand closer to himself.
I smirked and nodded, rotating the curve of the empty wineglass in my palm.
"So... your parents are out tonight?" he shifted timidly, a shy smile creeping up one caramel-colored cheek.
"They're out every night. Can you get me some wine, sweetness?" I held out my glass, raising slender black eyebrows.
"I dunno... you're underage..."
"No one to know but you and me." I twitched one of my eyebrows playfully. He emitted a nervous giggle, and nodded, doing as bid.
He returned, carrying my favorite merlot in one chaffed hand, a corkscrew in the other. Receptive and adorable. Perfect pet material... if he didn't smell so damnably delicious.
He sat beside me on the longue, uncorking the bottle and pouring for me. I rewarded him with a sultry smile, lids masking the tops of my irises as I took a dainty sip.
He raked a hand through tousled, sun-bleached surfer locks, regarding me with daylight blue eyes.
"Explain to me... I'm somewhat confused..." I purred, tilting my head, "what is a fit, attractive young man like you doing cleaning houses in the middle of the night?"
He blushed a bit, looking at his feet, and I sensed again a slight rise beneath his fly.
"I dunno... needed the cash... I guess your parents put up a Craigslist ad, and I answered it. Gotta day job too."
"Poor, dear thing... you must be exhausted." I leaned toward him, my robe loosening.
"Oh, no, I'm not tired..." it jerked visibly that time, in lieu of a timid nod.
I handed him the bottle, bid him to join me. He took a healthy swig. It would make for a pleasant aftertaste, I thought.
He emboldened on my silent cue, leaning closer. In the partial light, he no doubt could see the delicate amethyst of my inhuman eyes... but he was now under my influence. I tilted my head, exposing my neck. He did likewise. I took my time, smelling his lightly toasted aroma of sun and salt and sex... yes, pheromones add a distinct spice. I suppose this is why I prefer men.
My lips brushed his neck, my tongue sliding out for a taste. His surface salinity caused me to salivate... I nipped playfully close to his artery. He jumped, seizing my arm and waist. He pushed against me, eager to feel my teeth. I did not disappoint.
The dainty twin ivory points broke through that caramel skin, and I sipped daintily from him. I considered the flavor, found it divine. The merlot was definitely a good choice with this particular dish.
I left his neck to trickle a thin line of red. I watched it for a moment, transfixed. I quickly unbuttoned his shirt so as to allow the drop to progress downward. Over his right pectoral, around one pert, dark nipple. It created little curves as it traversed his sumptuous abdominals... and stopped in that sparse tuft of baby-soft fur above his fly. I slid to the floor before him, parting his knees.
He sucked a nervous breath as I unbuttoned, then unzipped his fabric confinement. I could feel his pulse radiating from that delectable appendage... it rose to my touch. I marveled again at the insistence of life... his young, lithe body ready to reproduce. It awakened the heated feline within me... For a moment, I was tempted not to finish this one. For a moment... I was tempted to let him take me in lieu of the reverse.
But it was only for a moment.
I gave him his last thrill. My rough, bristled tongue brought him swiftly to climax. His saccharine release complemented his sanguine effluence. The blood always tastes better... richer, when drawn from the lower central extremity...
I hung his body, now much paler than when he had walked through my front door, in my walk-in freezer down-cellar. He joined two or three other leftovers I was saving... They would come in handy as hors d'oeuvres for the immanent feast. I was thinking maybe some carpaccio drizzled with garlic and truffle oil, along with some of my meaty tyropita. Oh, but could I get the phyllo in time? Hard to find such exotic ingredients on this island. I was contemplating this as I closed the great metal door behind me and climbed the cold stone steps.
I slept alone.