You asked who employs me? Well I call this individual Estrella. You might know of them as something else.
The Devil goes by many names, and often is he portrayed as male, and the total embodiment of all evil.
Lucifer, Day Star, Beelzebub, Morning Star, Satan. The list continues.
Evil needs to exist in order for good to feel so wonderful. We all live in this universal duality. I have lived in it longer that anyone. I am the first. My name, well, what people are calling me in this century is, Chris.
I was never given a name by the woman who birthed me. Yes, I was once human. We are all born that way.
Shall I tell you how I came to meet Estrella? Very well.
The kitchen was blue. From the walls, floor tiles, and to the heart of the woman who needed to be rid of her infant.
There were tears in her eyes, though she took a careful measure to not sound her cries.
Her child was confused and new to the world. He looked around for a familiar face. He did not see one, though he was tempted to call this blue room home.
The year was 1490.
Soft rolls of thunder echoed throughout the Inca mountains. Spices laid still in the air. The papoose within which the child was swaddled would become covered in dirt from the steps of the temple where he was discarded and discovered.
Gentle yet firm knocks contrasted in minor harmony with the low tones of the thunder and that of the flickering torch that was decorated by dropping houseflies.
Men dressed in the same woven alpaca also wore identical faces of shame. They motioned for the infant. They knew not what the baby saw.
The little man had the instinct to scream, thus his piercing terror was the only song of dissonance that could be heard.
He, the child, was carried out of the blue kitchen and into the nighttime rain.
Now as wet as he was dirty the shivering screaming child was strapped onto the back of one of the strange men.
Why did the men come? Why did the mother need to be rid of her only son?
The Gods demanded this act for sacrifice. The Inca lore required it.
The child was set to be wrapped in linen and preserved in the frozen top of the Inca mountains.
The baby watched as the rain chased the light and colors of the night.
Unrelenting were his screams, he fought through the pain and soiled nature of his condition.
He was carried up to the highest mountain peak.
The orphan shall scream for all eternity.
Few will ever hear, fewer still will ever listen.
Sentenced he was to ensnare the approval of the Gods.
That was when the least likely happened.
Under the cover of the rainy and stormy night a being who too was enslaved by the Gods heard the orphan cry.
This person knew the betrayal, the abandonment, the loneliness.
The once son of the Gods who had been forced into playing the role of ultimate evil.
The orphan was dug up, and unwrapped. The child looked up and into the eyes of his rescuer. They were a bright yellow. The baby felt safe enough to stop crying.
For seventeen years the child grew into a young man under the protection of whom you would call the Devil.
Estrella treated that child with kindness, warmth, and bravery. On the boy’s eighteenth birthday he was given a choice to make.
Live in servitude of the humans whose only purpose is to appease the Gods, or live in willing employment with Estrella for eternity.
With the humans, the boy would continue to age, and over time weaken, sicken, and die.
With Estrella, the boy would remain in the same exemplary healthy state he was in. He would never age, and would only ever become stronger, and would live forever.
The boy made his choice.
Estrella, the beautiful, ambiguous, and androgynous deity offered the boy a destiny. Eternal youth, confidence, intelligence, awareness, analytic precision in conversations, and eyes that may see all. The boy had the perfect disguise. He had a smile no one would fear, and that anyone could love.
Eagerly naive, the boy signed the scroll with his blood.
Now that boy is five hundred and thirty years old, and has for every moment of that time been in solemn sanguine service to Estrella.
So, you ask, why I must I drink blood?
It is what keeps me alive. It is the curse I agreed to when I was but an orphaned boy seeking the approval of whom I thought was a parent.
Estrella left me after I signed the scroll.
For five hundred and thirty years, I have had to learn what this damnation means, and what I must do to survive.
Your people call me Vampire, but I’ve always just been an orphan.
I have been forced to morph into whomever society needs me to be, so as to not appear dangerous.
I have been a man, a woman, an intellectual, and a laborer. All the while my powers that I aforementioned, have allowed me entrance and influence into any social circle that I have stumbled upon.
However I may appear to the world, my skin has always been the color of my Inca forefathers. My eyes have always been the same dark brown. I have and always will seek my home, and remember the blue from which I came.