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I am saevitia, creature of night, blood, and death. I am a vampyre and this is my story.

The bar smelled of sweat, liquor and humanity. It was one of the dangerous places that you don't go into unless you've got a couple of friends tagging along and even then it's not a good idea. I've never been one for listening to that inner voice of reason. I went in, pushed my way though, and found the bar's edge. It's a bad idea to walk into a place like that looking for excitement but that was exactly what I was doing. A bad idea to find yourself begging for immotality from a creature who is older than you by many lifetimes. A bad idea to look into his eyes and fall to his grasp. I remember the smell of him, sweet and musky like old blood. I can still remember the way I wanted to give him everything, the way I felt when his teeth sank into my soft flesh. And I thought sex was good?

Waking at the end of that week, unable to meet sunlight, just added to a very bad week. That is what I did, though. My life as I knew it was over completely and another was starting. I can still feel those teeth, still feel the taste of my first drink from a mortal, my first kill. I remember the name my Master gave me. I don't always want to but I do. I have since taken another. I have since become free and walked my own path in the nights.

My name is saevitia and it is Latin for "savage one". It fits my mortal heritage, being Scottish. My family motto is "Fierce when roused" and it sort of fits my new life. I had it etched into a stone entryway to the castle I reside in, a large twisting mass of stone that is half falling apart.

I fit the bill rather well of a vampyre, what you would expect to see. Dark raven hair that shimmers like fine silk tumbles down around my shoulders and back, kept cut almost to the swell of buttocks. Skin parchment white, creamy and smooth, lips full pouting crimson red. My eyes, though, give me away as not being of Slavic decent. They are vivid blue and cold as northern ice, framed in dark sultry lashes. Nothing changed about my body other than it thinning and accenting my curves along its slender form. Clothing of choice is either soft silk to move around in at home or dark clinging finger teasing soft leathers.

Magic is not unknown to me, though I do not use it often, relying more upon my own powers. Each vampyre can call something to them, from within their power. I call felines and I also use glamour to bespell. Firepower is a natural talent I had before the change and has followed me into this life. I'll use whatever means I can to win a battle and stay safe. I've learned the hard way to align myself to powerful friends.

Belonging to a clan means obligations, it means serving a Master vampyre and others older than yourself. I serve no one unless I wish to, so I walk alone, rogue from my kind yet linked.

I learned the pain of silver, my hand brushing across it and feeling the burn. It did not kill me, obviously, but definitely caused some pain. I had my nipple pierced with a silver hoop, a constant burn that is enjoyable to me. Ears were both done with silver hoops. I like the hoops, they sparkle near my jet-black hair and give off a lovely gleam in the low lights. A matching silver chain rests along my collarbone enough pain to cause my almost black crimson lips to turn upward in a smile.

Pain, pleasure, blood, night and death. What more could a girl ask for?