I dreamt of a small child. She belonged to someone else. She was probably only 2-years-old. She had golden blonde hair. I wanted to keep her. She was like sunshine. I didn’t want to give her back to her parents. I never saw who they were, but I didn’t think they were very good at raising her. They just let me carry her around and never looked to see if she was okay. Either they completely trusted me or they were just absentminded parents.
She reminded me of my daughter I had to give away. My daughter who would grow up to dance in the fields, barefoot and carefree. Dirt at her heels. Always running or dancing. She would wear flowers in her long, honey-blonde hair. She would be a child of the earth. One that I could never reach. Only through whispers would she know me. She would never know that I helped to give her life. She shouldn’t. She would feel pain, but I could only watch without intervention.
I had dreams all night where people tried to seduce me because my energy draws out their lust. It’s scary. I don’t want my energy to do that to people. I was just trying to explore a city. Everyone tried to sleep with me. I didn’t know what to do. It felt like they were trying to rape me.
One girl tried to threaten me because her ex-girlfriend liked me. I turned defensive and hissed that I would tear the skin from her bones and bathe in her blood if she put one finger on me. I felt my fangs and slit pupils. Claws. Something monstrous. I told her to go ahead and throw one punch. I said that I would love to see her rot in prison. She backed off. Apparently she didn’t expect me to be as violent as I am. She expected a shrinking violet. Confused and scared. She had no idea who I really was.
There was blood on the floor. I rubbed it on my face like war paint.
Samael makes a joke about me breast feeding him. He’s not actually joking. He even uses the word “milk.” I scrunch my face in disgust.
It’s a beautiful sunny day. We are both naked in the middle of rolling green fields. Everything is warm and comforting. I feel like a 70s flower child.
My body is unshaven. He doesn’t mind. I can’t tell if I’m male or female. It doesn’t matter. I am not my body.
I cling to him. I never want to let him go. This moment is perfect. I am on my back, underneath him. I don’t mind.
I kiss him over and over. I haven’t seen him in months. I feel the wetness of our mouths. I kiss his neck. I taste his sweat.
He smells exactly the way I remember. Fresh. Like cologne and soap. That doesn’t sound very sexy or romantic, but I love the way he smells. Clean.
I remember seeing his blonde hair and feeling at peace. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, petting his golden hair. I am on top.
I pay more attention to him than the sex. For once, sex is secondary in importance. I just want him.
I feel like I am home. This is where I always wish to be.
I worry that he doesn’t really want to be with me. Maybe he is just appeasing me. Maybe he doesn’t want to spend time with me and that is why he is always gone.
My wards fight me. I am blind most of the time and only rely on my other senses. Someone doesn’t want me to be with him. I feel sad because I know I won’t see him again for months.