Sheridan Wilde

I…am Sheridan, Sheridan Wilde, I have the appearance of a 26-year old man…was brought into this life in 200 AD, made a vampire in 226 AD. My life, well needless to say that this will all be revealed to you soon enough…, but I shall try and tell you as much as I can, yet as little.
     I am a good 6 feet tall, a height that in this age might not be that impressive, but in my time, my mortal time, I was too tall for their ‘normal’ standards.

My hair is a mingle of browns and blondes, and on to this point, I’ve never truly been able to define it with an actual colour.
       My eyes are a brown colour, so dark as one would describe the colour of pure chocolate.

I was made an immortal by a crazed vampire, he took me from my family and trained me to be graceful, lethal, elegant, sophisticated as well as proud…Then, he turned me into what I am today, leaving me much without a choice as of course, I was no match for him despite of my struggles.

I suppose I never truly knew how to embrace this immortal, or even wanted to, until I set foot in the world, enjoying all the little splendours that throughout my existence, I had been forced to miss, secluded from the developments.

I very much enjoy getting attention, one way or the other, I love it even. So come and love me, adore me, yearn for me my lovely ones.

You know you want to


Mortal Life:

Thessalonica, Macedonia, Greece.

My home is in Thessalonica, on to this day, Salonica (the popular name for Thessalonica by the Greek) is a vibrant city, economically thriving and an important source for commercial dealings.
It is for many culture-loving tourists, a great city to visit for its many Byzantine architecture as well as a good number of the structures made by the Ottoman Turks, coming from the Ottoman Empire, also dubbed “Devlet-i Āliye-yi Osmāniyye” or in english “The Sublime Ottoman State”.

I lived to see the fall of the Roman Empire, the build of the Byzantine Empire, the Basileia tōn Romaiōn, it was the Roman Empire of the Middle Ages, with a Greek Mother-tongue.
     The Byzantine era was a near direct continuation from the Hellenistic era, in which the city was founded by Cassander, the King of Macedon, it was named after his wife, the sister of Alexander the Great. Thessalonica received the name because she was born on the day of her father (Philip the second of Macedon) his victory over the Thessalians.

Thessalonica suffered under many battles, the Greek fighting the Turks, the Barbarians, the Slavs, the French…so many came to claim the city, it is truly a surprise so much of the ancient monuments still stand.

Hmm enough history, or I may lose you here.
It was here in this city, that my fate was sealed for me, it was on that day, on Quintilis VII, or 7th of July, at the age of 20, in the year of 220 AD, that the path to the end of my mortal life commenced.

It was a quiet day, I spent it tending to the horses. When doing this, it was as if I had no care in the world, just me and the horses. Of course, it was this naïve approach to things that would soon lead to a dramatic experience.
       It wasn’t until I felt a firm grip on my shoulders that I realized I wasn’t alone anymore. I twisted in the hold, wanting to see the face of whomever it was that held me. But no amount of struggling seemed to work in my benefit and finally, having no strength left to fight, I surrendered to the hold.
      Waking, yet not fully aware I had fallen asleep, I glance about me, not recognizing my surroundings.

A laugh…Where?

It is then I see him, on his dark throne, in his dark attire. I saw In him a pale man, about the age of 40. Black hair, though here and there with a hint of grey.
He looked magnificent, powerful.
And that’s all he appeared to be to me, I wasn’t aware he wasn’t human, all I saw was his power, his confidence.

His eyes were upon me, his minions, ghouls as I later discovered, forced me to my knees, forced me to accept that my position was nothing, no more than that of a slave.
Of course I struggled, my pride, even then, was strong, too strong.
And then he laughed again.

He rose, his minions forcing me down, forcing my head to come and rest upon the cold stone floor, submissive to their master.
As you understand, I didn’t plan on simply going along with their plans, I wouldn’t submit to anything without a fight.
My struggles amused Avel, his name as I heard his minions say it to him, I would be perfect for his plans he told me.

A long period commence in which I was taught to walk without sound, to move with speed and grace. I was to perfect myself physically, I had to be like a cat, a hunter, flexible, silent…ruthless.
      In all those months, years even, I was never told why I was taught these things, why I had to change myself.
When I asked, I was told to be silent, I’d discover why soon enough, when the time had come.

Beside this, I was taught to endure, endless hours of sparring, sword training, archery, hand-to-hand battle. Nothing special this was, if you count out the lashes I received when I didn’t move the way I was supposed to, then extra ones, to toughen up and learn to block out pain.
Pain would not be a problem to me, my threshold raised as the years passed.

---

My turning

Life there had become bearable to me again when Avel had brought in a beautiful young woman who was to become his wife, his companion.
I should have known the prosperity of Good, of Happiness wouldn’t last.
When I’d become to kindle some hope for it, he told me swiftly, he told me what he was, a vampire. He said he wouldn’t feed of me, he was to make me his Childe.
     I was to be his perfect son, that is why I had been tortured so, instructed as it were, to be the best of his kindred I could be.

He started to tell me ancient stories of how the Hunters of the Blood came to be, all, different, yet all the same. I laughed at him, I laughed so hard….I couldn’t recount a time where I had laughed so since having arrived there.
     And he looked at me, his face cold, eyes narrowed. Obviously, he wasn’t amused, and rather quickly becoming frustrated and angry with my personal laughter.

He slapped me, hit me right in the cheek. I could feel the thumping sensation beneath my skin, I remember looking into his eyes, a smile even in my voice as I spoke, “Do you really expect of me to take this seriously? A story about supposed immortals, living on blood? Born because God wished it as a curse on Cain? Or because of a violent strong spirit taking over a body? An activated hormone, an evolutionary human? The Angel of Death, with the mission to control and thwart the demonic offspring of the fallen angels? Unearthly creatures? You really expect me to believe any one of these stories? Do you not realize how crazy they are?”

And again, I burst out laughing, completely and utterly amused, and again…he was not.

I recalled earlier in the day, my love and I had shared intimacies…it didn’t matter. Avel laughed and I grew still, it was never a good thing when he was amused, “Tonight’s the night dear boy, you’ll see.”
     Confused, I asked him in not so nice words what he was he was talking about, and he laughed again, telling me I should be nice to my father.

My eyes grew wide and I looked at him, “You are NOT my father!” He smiled, telling me not yet, but soon, soon he would be.
I asked him what he meant, and he laughed, telling me I’d see when I’d wake. He knocked me unconscious, before I could protest or question it. He couldn’t have me fighting, he’d work his Gift, as he called it, on me while I was out.

The rest is a blur to me, until I awake again, barely alive. I tried to speak, to ask explanation, but my throat was dry and I had to truly fight to make a sound.
He smiled, “Are you thirsty my boy? Do you want to live?” Yes, yes I was thirsty…but…did I really want to live? I could escape this hell, but, the remembrance of what would be left here in his clutches stopped me.
I nodded my answer, yes, I was thirsty, yes, I wanted to live.

I was to drink his blood, drink from him. At first, I didn’t understand, until I saw him slicing his wrist, the blood seeping from the wound. He put his wrist to my mouth, making it clear I was to drink that, his blood.

I objected, I wasn’t going to drink his blood…anyone’s blood…But the scent of it, it intoxicated me. I couldn’t control it, I wanted to taste it, my mouth drawn to it. And drink I did, my lips locking to the wound and drinking the blood with all my might.
He smacked me to get me to pull away.

I felt the blood, felt it moving through my body. Then, God the pain I felt, I turned my eyes to him, hatred seen in them believing he had tricked me after all.

He shook his head as he caught my eyes, “No, no it’s only your body that dies, not you. Soon, soon you will be what I am. Accept whatever story you wish on how we came to be. But you now are what you are, and that’s what you’ll remain. A vampire, a blood hunter, an immortal. You’ll live during the night, during the day you will sleep for the sun will kill a vampire as young as yourself. My blood has given you better odds at surviving it than most others would have, new in the blood, but it’s not enough to spare you.”

He paused, then continued, “You’ll drink blood, living blood, not dead. Nothing can nor will kill you, but fire and sunlight. Holy water will burn you, severing a body part will hurt you. Getting your head chopped off…that would render you immobile, but you live.”

I stared at him, my body convulsing, unsure of what was happening. The pain went on, lasted, on and on and on…until suddenly, it was over. The pain was gone.
I open my eyes, looking around. It was then I think that I realized my heart was no longer beating, my body was the same, yet it wasn’t.

I knew when I looked around and heard the songs of the birds outside, when I could see the details of something that before, I could not see…I was no longer human.



© Judith Borst