(This is part IV of the story about Vanessa Riley. If you want to read the previous three parts, you can find them here, here and here.)
“Once upon a time, child, there was a man with a heart like a stone and a soul like miles and miles of waterless wasteland. Although his mind did not lack in inspiration, nothing of warmth and beauty would ever grow there. But what he wanted in goodness and creativity, he made up for a thousandfold in wealth. And so it was that when boredom inevitably struck him it meant two things: that the remedy for said boredom was in plenty within his grasping reach, and that this remedy did without a fault spell misery, suffering and downfall for all those who struck his fancy as ingredients thereof.
In the beginning his victims were people, ordinary humans who had for one reason or the other fallen outside the sphere of societal respect and protection. They were the outcasts, the prostitutes, the slaves and the vagrants. They were the ones of whose disappearance or demise even the hungry tabloids did not write. They were the ones for whom nobody but the most religious would weep, and then only in the most duteous manner. They were the nobodys, the involuntary citizens of our civilization’s underbelly – and thus they were easy prey.
But this man was no vampire. He was human himself, and thus he was also a gregarious herd animal. He started off alone, but soon became many. As he converged with like minded predators a horde formed – a pride of lion men who all shared one mutual hunger; the hunger for ending boredom – the hunger for feeling, fucking and eating the world.
Over time, however, the abuse of outcasts, prostitutes, slaves and vagrants became prosaic routine for these mad, wealthy lion men. Boredom began sneaking its way back into their petrified hearts and their desolate souls. And with this came fear. Was this it? Was this all there was to life and its mysteries? For a short while there was chaos in the horde. Lion slaughtered lion just for the thrill of it, just to feel truly alive again. For a short while it looked as if the mad pride might collapse in on itself and be devoured by history. But then the Discovery was made.
To this day it is still not clear who is to blame. Is it the vampires, the changelings, the mages or the maybe the werecreatures of the night? Chances are we will never know. But somehow, in its intermutual chaos, the mad pride found out about our world, about us. And the existence of forces, elements and creatures so far beyond their wildest and most intoxicated dreams instantly granted them renewed, frantic focus; if there really were such things, the mad pride realized, they had actually not felt, fucked or eaten all of the world just yet. Far from it, in fact.
Then and there began a rabid hunt for everything so called “supernatural”. Like senseless poachers on hunt for lions on the plains of what is now known as Tanzania, these bored and wealthy men and women set out to catch us, to cage us and to slaughter us – all for their own wicked pleasure of course. This marked the perpetual end of boredom for them, and the start of the endless flight for survival for us. None of us went safe, vampires, changelings, mages and werecreatures alike.
This was long ago. The memory of the first hungry man would long since have been devoured by ignorant history, were it not for those of us who live and remember. I too have loved and lost, my child, and I too hold grudges. But my retaliation lies not in bloody iron or oaths of vengeance. No, instead it lies in the telling of this tale and the struggle to, through the passing on of knowledge and wisdom, prevent the mad pride from bringing harm to my blood ever again.
Remember this, my child: while once they went under the name of Fruitio Societatis, they might well have come to change their denomination in alignment with the prevailing time and age. They have been known to do so before. However, two things about them do not change, and those two things are these: Firstly, without a fault they ever brand their members with their mark of fealty, their seal of brotherhood. You shall know them by this mark, so remember it well. Two lines run like the foundation of a twisted Christian cross, only it is vitiated by six warped circles, each of them representing a sense that the mad pride believe themselves to be in possession of. Do not forget this, Vanessa, my child.”
“And what is the second thing that never changes about them, aunt Thali?”
“The second thing, child, is their unending blood thirst. Avoid them at all cost, because if they catch you… If they catch you, my child, they will feel, fuck and eat you. And not necessarily in that order.”
You can find the next part of the story here.
Chris Smedbakken 2017-06-14
...these grains of sand 
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