The Tenderness of the Grave

This will be my first entry. How delightfully grave that sounds, and how perfectly fitting for a night as pregnant with possibility as this one. I imagine the ink seeping into paper like shadow into cryptstone, a confession written in the dark, not to seek forgiveness, but to savor the memory of each delicious trespass against the world’s expectations.

It is a rather dramatic way to begin a new diary. Then again, waking to a heartbeat that no longer belongs to me after sleeping for so long feels like an occasion worth marking. I remember the silence first, a hush so complete it pressed against my ears. Then came the prickling ache in my limbs, nerves waking from their century of slumber. My first breath tasted of stone and dust, colder than memory, and when my eyes fluttered open, darkness itself seemed to shimmer: fabric and shadow whispering against my skin, the scent of earth tinged with something sharp and sweet. And beneath it all, the alien rhythm in my chest, a pulse not entirely my own, coaxing me back into the world.

I am a vampire. There, it is written, etched in this diary as if carving a symbol into an altar stone. I expected the words to weigh upon me like a shroud, but instead, I find them as comforting as silk velvet drawn close to the skin. There is a strange, sensual solace in naming oneself for what one truly is. I do not shrink from it. I embrace it, as one might a forbidden lover in the candlelit hush of midnight.

I never really enjoyed my previous life, since I wasn't the kind of person that people looked forward to seeing. I was merely tolerated, overlooked, and eventually forgotten. Each time someone showed me affection, I always found it difficult to tell whether they were genuine or simply being polite. Maybe that is the reason why immortality doesn't scare me as much as it ought to. There is a kind of freedom in no longer having to ask oneself if someone is faking their love. I prefer to be hated sincerely than to be adored insincerely. At least hatred has the decency to display itself. Love, on the other hand, can be a great deal more deceptive.

Now, everything feels sharper. The night has a pulse of its own. I can hear footsteps from rooms away, the rustling of leaves outside the window, and the tiny, irritating heartbeat of a creature hiding beneath the floorboards. I can smell rain before it reaches the earth. I can see moonlight spilling across the room as though someone poured silver over the floor. And hunger...Well, hunger is an entirely different matter.

There is something almost embarrassing about realizing your first thought upon awakening from a century-long slumber is not how wonderful to be alive again, but that something nearby has blood. Still, I suppose every rebirth comes with its inconveniences. The mirror is perhaps the strangest part. I look the same, and yet I don’t. The face staring back at me belongs to the girl I remember, but something is missing behind her eyes... or perhaps something new has taken its place. She looks less like someone waiting to be chosen, and more like someone who has finally chosen herself. I think I like her. I spent enough of my former life being quiet, soft, and easy to love. It was a tedious way to spend a lifetime. Now, I have another one, and I intend to be unbearable.

I intend to wear what I like, say what I mean, and walk beneath the moon without apologizing for preferring it to the sun. I will climb trees at unreasonable hours, drink blood from beautiful glasses, and become intimately acquainted with every dark corner of this world. If people find me frightening, so be it. If they find me strange, wonderful. If they hate me, they may do so freely. I spent too much of my life craving affection that was never truly mine. I no longer want to be someone’s favorite person simply because they were afraid to tell me they didn't like me. I want truth, even when it is ugly, especially when it is rottingly ugly.
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Perhaps that is the strangest gift immortality has given me. Either way, I will still be here, and for the first time in my existence, I am rather pleased about that.