Inquisitions in Rome

~~Rome, Late September 2010~~

I sit alone in a darkened room, the call of death screaming to be answered. My days and nights have begun to blur to the point that only my instincts allow me to know the difference in time. I've been here for weeks now. Weeks without feeding. Weeks of silver burning into my flesh. The pain has become my only friend.

I refuse to allow the tears to come. I blink them back every time they threaten to fall. To show weakness to these humans would be the death of me. A death they long for.

My head hangs to my chest, my strength gone. It's how he finds me. Their so called inquisitor. He once again takes a seat just out of my reach. I slowly lift my eyes to meet his, hatred burning darkly in them. His smell, the rush of his blood, entices me.

My hands grip the chair's arms so tightly they begin to crack beneath my fingers. I can smell the fear he has. Even as weak as I am, they fear me. It's my only weapon. The only thing that keeps me undead.

As he begins to speak, my growl shakes the room around us. I'm tired of answering his questions. I'm sick of his voice in my ear all the time. Do these breathers not understand that I can't tell them things I don't know?

I force my head up, holding it steady with the very last drops of my strength. Never let them see you struggle. My maker's words serving me well in this moment.

The inquisitor's questions continue and I remain silent. Not because I wish not to answer, but because it's my only bargaining chip at the moment. I wait. I wait for long periods of silence.

Finally, my voice dark with anger, I fill the room with the memories I carry of that evening in question.

"I don't know the answers you seek. I've given you every drop of information I recall. But if we must go this route again, I'll tell you the same as every other time.

I did not harm the girl. I did not bring about the death that you seek vengeance for.

I met the girl at Club Night and yes, I fed from her and we enjoyed the evening together. She claimed to be of age and I had no reason to doubt such. My last memory of the child is her laughing.

If I had wished her harm, I'd have done so from the beginning. The very nature of my being is to kill and yet I've managed to not do so for months while in your country. Why, then, would I decide to do so now?"

I let my voice trail off and held his gaze. I could not tell if he believed me or just thought me insane, but either way, I ensured that he know were I to ever be free, his death would be my only goal. My fangs extended fully, which, given the circumstances, could only be attributed to the rage I felt so strong.

Without word, the inquisitor took his leave, a look of utter disbelief upon his twisted face.

I waited for what seemed decades before letting my head hang back down. I knew they watched me even then. My internal struggle between not showing them any shred of weakness and needing the moment's rest consumed me to the point of distraction.

It was in these moments that I found solace in memories of happier times in Rome. It is what fueled me to fight. The knowledge that were I to escape with my undeath, I'd find my way back to that place. A place where the rage did not rule my existence. A place where I felt safe again.

Little did I know, safety would come sooner than I ever expected.