Is it death they fear?
Or is it the feeling of running out of time that haunts them?
Death is inevitable, yet no one wants to face it. The humans fear dying because they want to keep on living their pathetic lives. But they don't know there could be so much more at death's doorstep, they don't dare go anywhere near there. These pesky humans try to discover the secret of immortality but they're never willing to pay the price. Why do they always expect the result will be in their favor! Expectations. Desperation. Why do they desperately seek what's out of their reach? What do they get out of this vague sense of power! If they do want everything their way, then they shouldn't venture into the world where nothing will ever be in their control - but do they listen! Even in their own world, almost everything is out of control, but they never believe it. They want control, to be in power - preposterous - being powerless, being out of control is their natural state. They falter from their path, give in to sin - they lust and overindulge themselves in luxury and flesh - they torture and kill even for reasons more unjustified than that of a monster like me. Then they whine and cry, throw tantrums like children when they get caught with their hand in the cookie jar - blaming every creature lurking in the darkness for their undoing, whereas it's just the monster within themselves they fed.
These pesky little humans.
Just like the one that I'm dealing with - always ashamed about the things I'm making her do, walking over the dead bodies I leave behind night after night. The sight horrifies the human - she whimpers while cleaning the blood off of her. But isn't that what she wanted? Didn't she want vengeance for the malice that was brought upon her? And now that she has it, she doesn't want it. Always fight for control - these humans. I have been starved for centuries to care about what this weakling endures through. The blood that flows through their veins, so warm and sweet, an aphrodisiac - it warms me, it fills me - there isn't any alternative. This weakling had once tried to feed me blood from what they call a blood bank. The so-called blood banks are atrocious - the cold blood, the sickly repugnant flavor, and the sticky aftertaste - although it's not poisonous but derogatory.
Where do these humans gather these brilliant ideas from?
I too was a human once, before I turned into the majestic being that I am now. They said I was a good man, a family man, leader of a village - something I don't recall - a past that I could never remember since I crawled out of my grave. They said I died the last, after witnessing the death of everyone I have ever known, I cursed them. Them the monsters who don't hide in the shadow but roam in the light, a living breathing human being whose monstrosity was incomprehensible - a commander of an army sworn to protect my people, bloodied his hands by the death of innocents men, women, children regardless. And they say I am the monster!! Why does it matter anyway - I couldn't care less. The man that died that day, resurrected to the godlike creature of darkness. The pathetic woman starts eyeballing if she encounters a dead body; she hadn't seen the massacre I laid back then, pile over a pile of dead bodies, of foes and friends.
Do I regret it? No.
When those tyrants slaughtered so many innocents, people hardly made a fuss - I wonder if you ever heard of a King who hadn't shed a drop of blood because I haven't, but if I drank empty a blood vessel, I'm called a monster. They came after me - witches, gypsies, priests, and shamans, they all laid traps for me that led to me being torn apart and imprisoned - my soul in the talisman and my body somewhere else. It took them some time to formulate the plan to cage me forever and it took eons to get out of this cage. The freedom came with a price - I still haven't found my vessel and this weak woman fell to my prey. The ones who knew my story had perished long ago and as years went by, I became a myth.
I am a Myth - not anymore. A nightmare? Perhaps.
Okay, my hellcat 
