This place where I am now is everything I have expected for over 250 years. Being here is a closing of a gaping hole in my heart. I have been here before, in my dreams. I suppose that I expected a little sadness and longing, but nothing like this. This aged grave sight befits my love's personality in life even through his death.

The field is eerily beautiful, with it's tender, untouched earth peering through where the sprigs of grass do not cover. Like the gentle edges to his personality that the rugged facade could never sheath. The incidental flower like an unexpected blast of color in a bleak universe. The woodlands behind the ancient plot smells of sweet spring rain. The blossoms of the flowers add to the enchanting scent of the area. The faint, distant sounds of memories from years gone by are brought to life by melodious song birds who are unknowing of the loneliness and desperation of the scene.

I am a creature of despair. My love was lost long ago, in a war that the centuries have almost totally erased from my memory. I know not the stakes for which it as fought, but I remember the dismal outcome. Many of my people were met with deep hatred for the simple reason that we were different than anything casually seen by them before. We were cursed (or blessed) with eternal life.

As I extend my arm to feel the prominent cross perched along the gray stone marker, I think of the irony. My love, who never placed his faith in any god during life, would not idolize the idea of an icon in which he did not believe being placed upon his grave. The stone is cold and damp like the bowels of a chateau when the weather is about to change. The hunter green moss growing in selected areas is soft and seems to flow with the movements of my hand.

All of the memories that this place conjures up, the times when my love was awake and when we knew we could never be stopped. The warm, sweet taste of the substance that brings me life and brought my love's death. I cannot go on this way, I realize, as I have never before, to kill others for the benefit of my tragic life is a vain cause that I will proceed with no more. My life is like an hourglass with one grain of sand left. The desolate life (you can describe it as a life) can go on no further. The faces of death will haunt me forever and I cannot go on this way.