Free Essays on Vampire

What occurrence it had been that had sent Victoria so boldly striding through the terrace is now inconceivably forgotten. The trees shook and the energy of decay arose like an ember from hell, for if the energy of decay abides anywhere, it is in the damp cobblestone alleyways of downtown Transylvania on a dim and bitter November morning. Briskly tumbling through the primeval alleyways, the rawness of the morning seemed ruined; the woman absorbed all innocence, and became a terrible porous sponge through which all spirit and sound would penetrate, and her conscience, tense and overflowing with irritation (unless distracted by a nearby self reflection), failed to take notice of any nearby serenity. Occurring by chance, a jagged memory of her childhood; the scathing chastisement from her father’s most recent wife, when Victoria misplaced a pearl necklace she had borrowed in secrecy. The memory chilled her, but vanished before long, and returned to the buried vault that held the rest of her scars, and lay to rest for a temporary respite. Still an hour would linger before her meeting at the chapel, and what could she do? Sit on a secluded bench? Stop in a nearby bakery with the pretense of hunger? Certainly this would be considered ordinary for the villagers; the ice casually defrosted as the plaza began to illuminate under the gradually looming sun, so that the overwhelming glow relaxed the tension in the surroundings, but left Victoria distant, as she pulled her cloak’s hood up over her head. Surely others had noticed the stirring new atmosphere, for men and women began to emerge from the aged structures of stonework and masonry, which were snugly fixed around the looming open plaza, and welcomed the sunlight by visiting the bakery and taking claim to the benches encircling the square; there was no yearning to do either. It proved satisfying to watch the parishioners assemble themselves outside of the chapel, her eventual des... Free Essays on Vampire Free Essays on Vampire What occurrence it had been that had sent Victoria so boldly striding through the terrace is now inconceivably forgotten. The trees shook and the energy of decay arose like an ember from hell, for if the energy of decay abides anywhere, it is in the damp cobblestone alleyways of downtown Transylvania on a dim and bitter November morning. Briskly tumbling through the primeval alleyways, the rawness of the morning seemed ruined; the woman absorbed all innocence, and became a terrible porous sponge through which all spirit and sound would penetrate, and her conscience, tense and overflowing with irritation (unless distracted by a nearby self reflection), failed to take notice of any nearby serenity. Occurring by chance, a jagged memory of her childhood; the scathing chastisement from her father’s most recent wife, when Victoria misplaced a pearl necklace she had borrowed in secrecy. The memory chilled her, but vanished before long, and returned to the buried vault that held the rest of her scars, and lay to rest for a temporary respite. Still an hour would linger before her meeting at the chapel, and what could she do? Sit on a secluded bench? Stop in a nearby bakery with the pretense of hunger? Certainly this would be considered ordinary for the villagers; the ice casually defrosted as the plaza began to illuminate under the gradually looming sun, so that the overwhelming glow relaxed the tension in the surroundings, but left Victoria distant, as she pulled her cloak’s hood up over her head. Surely others had noticed the stirring new atmosphere, for men and women began to emerge from the aged structures of stonework and masonry, which were snugly fixed around the looming open plaza, and welcomed the sunlight by visiting the bakery and taking claim to the benches encircling the square; there was no yearning to do either. It proved satisfying to watch the parishioners assemble themselves outside of the chapel, her eventual des...