Baxter Peters
Considering Writing Again
Staff member
Moderator
Dungeon Master
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
- Local time
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- 2,843
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Why does she bother to ask? For decades now, whenever she took a new blood under her grace, she'd invite them to this balcony with its impressive view of the city. With an expressive wave, she'd ask them to describe what they saw.
Their answers were so predictable, so uninspired. Most, instead of speaking from their souls, tried to guess what she wanted to hear as if they could impress her with blind fumbling. Others, brave enough to speak their truth, were less disappointing, but they never saw it. Never like she did.
The most heartbreaking ones were the children who were so very close, yet so terribly wrong. This one had been one of those.
"Ants. Little mortal ants going about their lives. Occasionally one can be useful as a meal. Rare mortals possess a spark of creativity that can be encouraged, but even then, it's their art that survives, not them." His voice was confident, proud, arrogant. Just weeks ago, he had been one of those creative mortals he now spoke of with such scorn.
The alabaster mask of her face gave away nothing, but she nodded before taking a sip from a crimson wine glass. Frankly, this was the worst way to experience blood, but old habits die harder than the undead. Giving him nothing more, she dismissed him with a casual wave and could feel his hurt as he took his leave.
So close, yet so very wrong.
Ants.
Insignificant annoyances. Pests.
Such hubris. Such ignorance.
Ants were magnificent creatures capable of incredible feats of strength and engineering. Their raw power was entirely out of scale with their size, even before taking venomous varieties into account. The fact they were so dismissed by humanity stood as a testament to arrogant folly.
Here she was, surrounded by vampires who considered mortals akin to the negative characteristics ascribed to ants. Dismissing their strength, their creativity, their power, their accomplishments, and even their raw numbers.
It was maddening.
Here, standing on her balcony, sipping blood, she gazed out with unblinking eyes on the naked majesty of humanity. Towering spires, dark arteries pulsing with the glowing sparks of headlights, soaring ships sailing through the heavens on wings of steel in defiance of God and his angels, even the humble hot dog vendor, feeding hundreds of his kin with little more than a cart.
Why couldn't they see it?
Yes, they were like ants. And that was the highest compliment she could offer.
Their answers were so predictable, so uninspired. Most, instead of speaking from their souls, tried to guess what she wanted to hear as if they could impress her with blind fumbling. Others, brave enough to speak their truth, were less disappointing, but they never saw it. Never like she did.
The most heartbreaking ones were the children who were so very close, yet so terribly wrong. This one had been one of those.
"Ants. Little mortal ants going about their lives. Occasionally one can be useful as a meal. Rare mortals possess a spark of creativity that can be encouraged, but even then, it's their art that survives, not them." His voice was confident, proud, arrogant. Just weeks ago, he had been one of those creative mortals he now spoke of with such scorn.
The alabaster mask of her face gave away nothing, but she nodded before taking a sip from a crimson wine glass. Frankly, this was the worst way to experience blood, but old habits die harder than the undead. Giving him nothing more, she dismissed him with a casual wave and could feel his hurt as he took his leave.
So close, yet so very wrong.
Ants.
Insignificant annoyances. Pests.
Such hubris. Such ignorance.
Ants were magnificent creatures capable of incredible feats of strength and engineering. Their raw power was entirely out of scale with their size, even before taking venomous varieties into account. The fact they were so dismissed by humanity stood as a testament to arrogant folly.
Here she was, surrounded by vampires who considered mortals akin to the negative characteristics ascribed to ants. Dismissing their strength, their creativity, their power, their accomplishments, and even their raw numbers.
It was maddening.
Here, standing on her balcony, sipping blood, she gazed out with unblinking eyes on the naked majesty of humanity. Towering spires, dark arteries pulsing with the glowing sparks of headlights, soaring ships sailing through the heavens on wings of steel in defiance of God and his angels, even the humble hot dog vendor, feeding hundreds of his kin with little more than a cart.
Why couldn't they see it?
Yes, they were like ants. And that was the highest compliment she could offer.