Two for tragedy. Volume 1
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"I'm getting a little lazy and thinking about that mortal too much!" – I thought to myself irritably. I was angry with myself and with Viper because she had been on my mind ever since I'd first met her. I could suppress them, block them out, but they still found tricks and secret passages in my mind and broke free. Never in my long life had I thought of mortals at all – they were of no interest to me. Their mundane short lives taught them nothing, and I was sure that all mortals were stupid and ignorant. And I had never thought about a woman for so long. Much less a mortal. Mentally tracing my life's journey and remembering my temporary admiration and brief attraction to one of the vampires that was so much prettier, smarter, more perfect than Viper, I chuckled derisively, laughing at myself and my obsession with some mortal.
Where the hell had my morbid interest in this girl come from? Unhealthy, because I'd only ever thought of humans as a source of food before. And I certainly didn't care what impression I might make on them, whether I hurt them, frightened them, made them hate me and think I was a son of a bitch. The predator sees no beauty in his prey, except that he will soon satisfy his hunger with it.
So what's wrong with me? Am I destructive? Is that why I'm attracted to Viper? What do I do if that's really the case? What if my infatuation with this mortal turns into something more? Then I'll be finished. We only fall in love once. For life. We are either eternally happy, or we give our passion in vain, living in the agony of unrequited love, unable to cure our heart with another love, because it will be given to only one life for the rest of our lives.
No, I will not go to that extreme and love a mortal. It would be impossible. The torment of love is not my lot.
So what do I do? What do I do to get the image of Viper out of my mind? How do I get rid of these conflicting feelings for a predator? There's something strange going on in my soul. But what? There's no name for it. You can't go any further, you can't enjoy the company of a mortal. You cannot allow yourself to think of her, allow yourself to savour her beauty, and her voice. Her existence. She is nothing but a food source… Damn, it's so easy to say all this! However, I haven't even tried to carry out my own plans to banish Viper from my head and force my own thoughts into submission. I'm sure I'll have the willpower to give her up later, in case I feel like I'm infatuated with Viper beyond measure. I will simply forget about her and erase her image, but until that moment of collapse comes, I will try to understand these feelings, to comprehend this mystery, to try to solve the riddle of this mortal.
It will be a kind of experiment for me to find out how strong I am and how much my mind obeys me. Just seeing Viper. Just talking to her, hearing her voice, and looking into her bright dark eyes that always held a slight sadness and some reticence. I felt there was something beautiful behind that barrier, something that could only be unravelled when I succeeded in destroying that wall.
Viper's soul is like a pearl languishing in a hard shell at the bottom of an ocean trough.
CHAPTER 9
Cedric Morgan's behaviour discouraged me. Well, how could one understand this strange guy? One minute he is insulting, the next he is apologising! Then he is cold and angry, calling me a coward, accusing me of cowardice, and suddenly he seeks to meet me! He even apologised twice, and, as if to make amends for his rudeness, shared something very personal with me. When Cedric talked about Charles Baudelaire, I felt a kindred spirit in him. I was inexpressibly pleased by Morgan's reasoning, for I had reasoned the same way myself. He put into words what I felt when I read the gloomy works of this great French poet.
What a pity that I do not speak French, so that, like Cedric, I could feel the true beauty and original thoughts of Baudelaire, not distorted by the Czech translation! But, even in a very distorted form, his poems remained beautiful.
Cedric is a romantic. It can't be otherwise. He who favours Goethe, Petrarch and Baudelaire cannot be a mere detached connoisseur without experiencing the force and power of the genius of these authors. They can only be understood by one in whose soul there is romance. When I saw how engrossed Cedric was in our conversation about poetry and literature, I realised that he was seriously interested in it. But while we were almost unanimous on poetry, our tastes in literature were monumentally different: Cedric liked serious, heavy literature, while I preferred the light and captivating genre of vampire novels.
"Well, now he thinks I'm thoughtless… Who cares what he thinks, though?" I thought with distaste. – I thought grudgingly, but in my heart I admitted to myself that it was important to know what he thought. What could I hope for, though? In Cedric's eyes, I looked stupid, or even shallow. But, God, he's so strange. And he's so persuasive. I was determined to refuse his help, and I had already said goodbye to him, but tomorrow I'm meeting him in the library!
That's absurd. Just a short conversation that cleared up so much.
I spent the rest of the day thinking, but it faded along with a presentation for a seminar on Czech history. The presentation took me a long time: I had to describe the biography and the influence of a historical figure on the development of the Czech Republic in a fairly short and accessible way. My choice was a national hero – Jan Hus. I didn't like to do things with my sleeves rolled up, so the presentation was very good. To stretch my back and legs, I occasionally took a break from the laptop monitor and wandered around the room, or went to the kitchen to make coffee. By evening, I had no energy left. After editing the last slide, I closed the laptop, looked at my watch and was surprised at my stamina: six hours! It had gone by quickly, like one minute!
It had long since gone dark outside the window, and only a lone streetlight dimly illuminated the street and a piece of the neighbourhood.
Like an oxygen-deprived dolphin, I needed a breath of fresh air: my head felt like it was cast in bronze. So, putting on my coat and boots, I went down to the courtyard. The evening was quiet and cool. Everything breathed freshness. I put my hands in my pockets and began to wind round the lantern. After the long hours I had spent in the stuffy flat, I was glad to feel the freedom and clarity of my tired mind again. The evening air seemed to bring me out of my lethargic sleep. Glancing at the windows of my flat, I regretted that I would have to go back there. But suddenly, out of nowhere, a stubborn desire to walk around evening Prague was born in me.
Evening Prague is not safe for lonely girls, but that fact never scared me, so I headed to the Nusle Bridge. It was quite a long walk to my favourite bridge, but I spent this time thinking and contemplating the gloomy beauty of the Gothic churches and the old, unique Prague architecture, as fascinating in its mystery as Baudelaire's poetry. Besides, there were always a lot of tourists in Prague, so I felt completely safe.
Half an hour later I was on the bridge, and as usual, leaning on the railing, surrounded by protective bars, I admired the evening Prague. Its lights shone in the darkness, filling the evening with joy and grandeur. Prague. My beautiful favourite city! My favourite country! How lucky I am to be born in the Czech Republic and to be part of this beautiful culture!