I later found out that the doctor I'd taken Luce to was a moron, as almost all doctors seem to be these days. Luce was sickly pale within the next week, and despite getting the proper nutrients from formulated milk, he only seemed to grow weaker by the day. Afraid of losing him, I went to a supernatural doctor instead. This doctor told me that the child had been born with vampirism, which shocked me greatly. Had I once been a vampire? Or had my love been one in secret? This drew me to realize there was much I have yet to discover about myself and my lover. I could hardly believe it until the doctor told me that must've been how Luce's mother had died. Whenever she drank blood Luce had taken most of it, leaving her with only the bare minimum necessary for survival. She had been starving, because she never got enough blood for the both of them. Then when the baby came the amount of blood lost in the birth was enough that it killed her. The supernatural doctor also explained that Luce must've been feeding off of what little blood his dead mother still had left when I found him, and that if he didn't get more blood soon he would die too. I couldn't let him die though. It was already my fault that he was motherless. I should've been more observant of her, but being the young fool I was my gaze turned to the universe around me rather than my own universe, Her.

At first I was sickened by blood. The way it stains and grows foul as that pretty red changes to brown is grotesque. Thoughts of so much of that filth passing through my love's sweet lips and defiling her so was unthinkable. That would mean that all along she was impure, but that is impossible. Even in death, whilst stained with so much ugly red, she still remained gracefully beautiful. There was not a scream to be heard from her, nor our child. The only scream in the room that day was my own of agony. That is because both of them are of the purest delicacies.

I regret that I allowed myself to lose my composure that day. You must pity me so, but I won't have it. Others surely would tell me grieving is a normal reaction to loss, but they are foolish. I do not cast blame upon their sympathies however, because they are cursed to be so terribly foolish, just as I am. I won't let you tell me such things, however. Even a fool is smart enough to see such obvious differences as the ones between Luce, you, and myself. I am not as gracious as you both. I am a vile thing. I am not even a person, merely a thing which was built with the purpose to entertain your heart's fraility. Although such a cruel role to be cast, I am overjoyed to be allowed the honor to carry it out, because a heart such as yours should be treated with only the upmost care. We can't allow for the reaper to shatter it. A beauty such as yours deserves to be immortal, and I decided once the tears were wiped from my judgement that I would make it so. I decided that I would bring you back to live forever onward.

When I touched the freshly spilled blood of my first victim I found its thickness curious as it dripped down between my fingers. Indeed, it was thicker than water, but water goes down so much more smoothly. Out of my curiosity I did taste it, but it was revolting. It probably was a little odd, but as I looked down upon her body, covered in deep slashes that poured rivers of hopelessness for her future, all I could think about was whether or not Luce would care for her particular taste. I felt that perhaps I should kill another to compare, but time was dwindling. I would have to continue my research at a later time, and hope for now that her vileness wouldn't ruin my precious miracle. I presented her in a mixture of sugar water to tame the bitterness she had harbored in life, so that she might finally have been a use to someone after death. I could tell that she was wretched without much observation when I first saw her. It was in her eyes. Human eyes are such profound things. I really do believe them to be the gateways to the soul, because in them I always can tell who is pure fruit of the ages and who is a common rubbish heap.

My young Lucifer seemed quite satisfied at long last with the reformed blood. As I watched him contently le his sustenance from a bottle I couldn't help pondering if I could be reformed like that through blending of sweetness. I wondered if I killed the pure and bathed in their blood, would my own bitterness become diluted enough by their purities that I could become equal to my lover and my miracle? No, I could never be up on the clouds with them, but I could be close. I could pile bodies high enough that when I stand upon them I can graze the heavens they live in. I can be close enough to touch my lover again, and for that I would do absolutely anything. While thinking in such depths I then watched as my first victim's tragedy further unfolded. Despite all her life's wickedness, still someone was left to mourn for her. I had returned to leave her with a white rose that pitifully had been stained red by her blood in the mess of her parting. What can one expect from the undeserving though? As I approached to lay the rose atop her chest I discovered a small boy knelt beside her. I dropped the rose as I stood over him fearlessly. When it landed on its mark, the boy cried further. Perhaps the world had stopped for him when he saw his dear like that, and the graceful elegance of a falling flower slowly turned the hands of the clock for him again. I had intended to leave after giving her my little parting gift for her help in securing my son's vitality, but something shocked me. The boy's tears, although salty, remained pure enough to wash away the rose's imperfections. It was then that I realized killing was for madmen. How would my lover like seeing me do such a thing? I was an even greater fool for believing in something so primative as that such violence should ever be my ticket to rise up to meet at the golden gates. I knew then that impurities, mistakes even as grand as mine could be washed away with love, but not without pain.