So… tired…
So… weak…
So… So thirsty…
How long have I been asleep?
Chiara? Where is…
Where is Chiara?
So thirsty.
I need water.
Where is my wife?
Perhaps at the nearby oasis.
The moon is large and… red?
Like blood.
Water.
I drink from it and…
Ugh!
Why does it taste so foul?
Perhaps the supply has been tainted.
But it appears clear and…
…What?!
What is this creature staring back at me?
Skin as grey as cold mountain stones.
Hair as black as coal.
Eyes deep red like dull rubies.
Two sharp fangs.
What is this creature staring back at me?!
No!
It cannot be!
Where is Chiara?!
Where is my wife?!
So thirsty!
I drink from the oasis and again I throw up!
Why does this not satisfy me?!
What happened?
Think Octavian!
You embraced your love on the night of your wedding.
Husband and wife entwined.
It was wonderful.
But you grew weak, as if the energy was being drained from your body.
Until you became paralysed.
Chiara was no woman.
She was a vixen sent by Elysia!
From her mouth spewed long, vile leeches which drained you of your blood.
That is when your wife slit her throat.
You drowned in thick, black blood.
You fell into unconsciousness.
And now you awake anew.
But… What am I?
What do I do?
I need help!
Father!
Father!
Where are you?!
Help me!
I do not know what I’ve become!
Please!
Father!
I beg of you!
Help me!
Save me!
— “The Octavian Monologues: A Bloody Consummation”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO
W.F. Thorne 