The first time I opened my eyes the darkness was all I knew. The damp dark ceiling of my cave cell welcomed me in all its dull splendor. I had no idea where I was, or who I was for that matter. It was just an empty experience for me. I looked around the cave to notice that I was the only one in it, the straw bed below me as my only company did little to nothing to offer comfort of answers about my situation.

It was terrifying and haunting. I couldn’t make head or tails of where I was not to mention an itch so bad was hanging at the back of my throat and no matter how hard I tried to clear my throat it never went away.

I looked around the darkness, I knew there was no light or illumination of any sort. But I could still see almost like it was daylight. My eyes noticed the iron bars of my cell and the hard and uneven floor that supported it. The cell was larger than I thought it would be. Not that I have been to many cells in the five minutes that I have been awake, but I could just feel and instinctual appreciation for the cell.

My feet touched the cold floor and I could feel the individual grains of sand and rocks beneath my feet with almost if not a complete unnatural accuracy. I could taste the air on my tongue, feel the how heavy it was with a scent of lemon, metal, grass and blood, lots of blood. I could smell it, mixed In between the scent of sweat, tears and festering wounds.

My heartbeat went faster, sharper. My hearing improved to such magnitude that I could hear breathing, lots of sharp intakes and raspy breaths. I could hear them all, the millions of them all as the dry wind carried it around this place.

The cell door slid opened, and I jumped back in fright, moving so fast I completely disoriented myself as I landed in a heap of tangled limbs on my hay bed. I was a pitiful sight, but not more so than the person now standing in front of me.

His blond hair was so dirtied with soot and dirt that its original luster was already lost. I could only see it because my eyes could pick out the individual follicles and strands that made up his hair. He was holding a bowl of something that smelled really good, but not as good as he smelled though. I could hear the sound of a fountain rushing and flowing, a rhythmic pounding of sorts that was so hypnotic I could not help but sway to the sound. ‘bump bump pause bump bump' it was the most intoxicating sound I have ever heard, well one of the few sounds I have ever heard though.

I wanted it, I wanted to feel its source, I wanted to hear it speed up and I wanted to hear it slow down and stop. To go silent forever. I pounced in desperation, moving into a lunge that had such power the ground beneath my feet broke into splinters like rotten wood. I traversed the distance between me and my bump bump, hands out stretched, mouth opened wide and my tongue hanging between my mouth like a panting dog.

I saw the blow coming but couldn’t do anything to avoid it. I was fast yes, but this man was faster. His fist covered with a glove of sparkling silver crashed into the side of my temple and flung me like a rag doll to the other side of my cell. My back and head impacted on the rock wall, leaving an indentation there for future residents to see.

It hurt, but not as much as the burning pain that spread from where the man had struck my temple. I could feel it run through my body as the pain was so overwhelming I felt tear and blood drip from my eyes. I shook and convulsed like a fish out of water as the pain ran all over my body before it finally stopped. The man walked over to me and dropped the bowl he had been holding in front of me. It was filled with blood but I was to tired and spent from my earlier ordeal to make any move at all.

“Don’t worry, you would get used to it. They all do.”

With this words he left my cell, locking it behind as he walked away, and me, I was stuck there weak, helpless with nothing to do but wonder I would really have no choice but to get used to this pain. It did not sound appealing.

*************************************

I don’t remember how long I laid there helpless. But this pain was new to me so I had no idea how to process it. Everything was actually and the full scope of my senses were also so overwhelming. From where I was lying down I could see my right wrist. My brown skin had symbols tattooed on it. I did not understand its function or how it got there but it really freaked my out that symbol was moving. It circled around my wrist like a bracelet, and kept on moving round and round like a snake chasing it’s own tail. When I could finally summon control of my body the first thing I did was drink the bowl of blood.

I did not want to initially because come one, it’s blood. But the itch behind my throat had gotten so intense that I really wanted to rid myself of it by any means possible.

It was heavenly, drinking that blood every thing was heightened and I closed my eyes as ecstasy washed through me bringing forth a feeling I have never experienced before. My eyes rolled into my head as I rode this feeling in waves and waves if pure pleasure. It didn’t last long though. Only for a few minutes but once I opened my eyes, my itch was gone, my cotton trousers which was nothing more than rags at the moment spotted a tent and the front area was all wet making me wonder if I had soiled myself in my throes of passion.

I really did not like what that blood did to me, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I dragged my still elated body back to the straw bed. As refreshed and energetic as I felt I was mentally exhausted, but as I lay there sleep never came so I busied my self by studying the tattoo that was dancing around my wrist.

It was fascinating really, but I had a gauge feeling that such a thing should not be on my wrist. And that no matter how elegant it looked it was still something of great danger. But with nothing left to do all I could do was stare at it, and feel it. Sometime around my seventh hour awake I could feel the tattoo as it moved, it buzzed and vibrated and it hummed with a power I could not understand. The feeling got stronger as the hours went by, and soon it became days as the itch returned again and this time more intense than before.

It hurt and it irritated me. I clawed and clutched at my throat leaving bloody scars on my skin. Blood flowed down in rivulets but I didn’t care enough to notice as my skin sealed shot and my injuries disappeared. I would run round my cell, hitting the walls, screaming my rage and hunger out to whoever could listen. It was torture.

It was around one of those days that that man returned. This time with another bowl of blood. And much like the first time, the sound of his heart beating and his blood pumping through his veins was so intense, even more so than the first time he was here. I did not know why, but I just had this urge to sink my teeth into his neck.

And much like the first time I attacked him. And he still bated me out of the air with one swing of his fist like I was nothing more than a nuisance. His silver gloves burned much like the first time, my body contorted as pain wracked my lean frame. Saliva, tears and mucus flowed from my eyes as the burn danced through my veins like wild fire.

The man dropped the bowl of blood in front of me, while picking the pieces of the previous one which I had smashed to pieces in my hunger. As he was leaving he gave me a word of advice.

“you should ration the way you feed. There’s no abundance of blood in this place so you should take it a little at a time before the next feeding day arrives. It would keep your hunger manageable.”

Of course I did not listen to him. As soon as I could move my body I downed the whole contents of the bowl down my throat, wanting with every fiber of my being for the painful itch behind my throat to stop. I rode the wave once again, not caring for my blood drenched cotton shirt as I lay there catatonic and drunk.

It took going through my unbearable throes of hunger four more times, before I took my feeders advice and learnt to take the blood in little quantities and save some for later. But even then it was hardly enough as the duration between the time a new bowl will arrive was always long, sometimes longer.

I had no idea how long I stayed in that cell. It was all I have ever known, and I sometimes wonder if it was all I would know. The only thing different was my feeder. He came and he left at his own discretion. He gave me advice on how to survive and gave vague words and sentences that seemed to imply he knew me. One time he said

“You don’t deserve this.”

“don’t deserve what?” I asked, that was the first word I had ever said.

He turned and looked at me with a look that spoke volumes of the pity he felt for me. It seemed he was going to say something, but he left abruptly leaving me with more questions. In fact it was the first time I ever felt the need to know something. To understand what he meant.

Every time after that day when he came to feed me, I tried asking him questions, tried coercing him into telling me what he meant. Until one day I asked him a question that left him so shocked he was forced to answer my questions. I asked him.

“what is your name?”

He raised his head abruptly with a sharp look in his eyes.

“You don’t know who I am?”

“am I supposed too?” I asked back confused.

“The turning might stressful but you of all people would not have problems remembering who I am.”

“don’t flatter yourself, I don’t remember anything. The only thing I remember is waking up here, and darkness lots and lots of darkness” I spoke in a subdued tone.

The issue of my memories or what I remembered before I woke up has been a depressing experience for me. I could not quite shake the feeling of loss and guilt every time I thought of it.

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything?” my feeder asked, his voice frantic and desperate.

I was very much annoyed by his incessant questioning. How many times did I have to make it clear to this guy that I couldn’t remember anything. Is he and idiot or something.

“I said I don’t remember anything!!!” I snapped at him.

He seemed surprised at my sudden outburst, and then I saw him smile for the first time. It wasn’t much of a smile, his lips just curved a bit in mirth as he let out an almost imperceptible chuckle. I could hear him whisper under his breath.

“Still as short tempered as I remember.”

Then he turned to me and said.

“my name is Asare Solaga, I use to be a retainer for your father. And your name is Kael……Kael Cor. But I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you without putting you in danger.

It is better if you forgot who you we’re before you woke up here. That way you would have less enemies and make something out of this immortal yet cursed life that has been forced on you.”

And then he stopped. Knowing his name was all good and fine, even knowing my name was an awesome turn of events, but why did I now have more questions. What enemies, what father, and what the hell is a retainer. I asked all this questions and more, but he was already leaving. Before his figure left through the opened cell door he said.

“only you can answer those questions. But unfortunately those answers are no longer in your head. So it would be in your best interest to forget it. You should get some rest, tomorrow I will return and teach all that you need to survive. You won’t be in here for long.”

And then he left, the silence that stayed behind however after his departure seemed suffocating. The first conversation I had since I woke up and it has left me upset. Though Asare did not seem like someone who talks a lot, I had to admit I expected a lot more from him. I lay back down on my straw bed as I looked at the dull unadorned cell roof and spoke my name to the silence while watching the tattoo revolve around my wrist. I wondered who Kael Cor was before I opened my eyes in this cell. And I wondered if there was any connection between who I was and the tattoo on my wrist. I wondered about a lot of things.