Black Jade's Masquerade | home
Nightfall in New Orleans | Storylines | Black Jade | Rules | Approved Characters | Vampire the Masquerade | The Sabbat | The Clan Page | Werewolf the Apocalypse
Black Jade
Cypress Tides
“The world is too big and too intricate to conform to our ideas of what it should be like ........... The world is confusing, and just because we invent myths and theories to explain away the chaos we’re still going to live in a world that’s older and more complex than we’ll ever understand.” --- Moby
“He gazed upon the mirth around him, as if he could not participate therein. Apparently, the light laughter of the fair only attracted his attention, that he might by a look quell it and throw fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness reigned.” --- John Polidori, “The Vampyre”
“There have been two transformations: her white dress is now red, and where a girl once stood a corpse now lies.” --- Alejandra Pizarnik, “The Bloody Countess”
Welcome all children of the night. I am Black Jade, as you have guessed by now. I am your hostess. Thank you for visiting my site. I hope you enjoy your stay in my domain. I am of Clan Toreador and Primogen of this sect. Please make yourself at home. Be comfortable. I am sure after you hear all that I have to tell that you will need it ......... and by all means, help yourself to the bar. We keep it well stocked for special occasions as these. You will find a variety of things to suit your taste. Are we comfortable yet? Good .......... we shall proceed.
So you want to know my story? In the words of my own favorite fiction "Shall I begin like David Copperfield? I was born. I grew up ........ Or shall I begin when I was, as I like to call it, born to Darkness." Louie, Interview With The Vampire. It is not nice to ask a vampire their age, so without that generosity, I shall proceed to tell you of my Embrace. Certain things must happen in order to have an Embrace take place. First of all, the vampire creating the progeny, must drink all of the person's blood, to the point of death, as in normal feeding. Second, if they time it right, the vampire bites their wrist, etc., and places a few drops in the person's mouth. The blood only has to go past the lips for it's powerful transformation to take effect. Third, the person being Embraced must be willing. This is VERY important. These are the basics of the Embrace. The rules that apply differ from sect to sect. Vampire of the Camarilla must obey the Traditions of the Masquerade, which states that all progeny created must be done so only with the elder's permission (See The Traditions, on Vampire the Masquerade Page).
As for me and my story, it seems to go for such a long time, in the recesses of my mind. Alas, I am immortal and what can be said of the immortal mind? It all lies in perspective, even though it be the perspective of time itself. There it is hard to begin .........
Alas, I get to tell a little about myself. You can call me Jade if you wish. I am from the States. I am a writer of poetry, novels, memories, history and whatever else come to mind. I collect words. When I am restless I like to go to a local theater and let out my temperament in my acting skills. The more I act, the more I write, the more life is unreal and I am unreal as the world spins in its endless motion to make me more real to it than to myself. The world does not know me but I know the world. I am the other side of the mirror, the dark side of the looking glass. But ‘tis past, and I start anew. And here I give myself another face, I am also a Puppeteer.
I have no dealings with that which is false. Only the Real and True are likely to capture my attentions ............. But what is the real and true? Truth is not for me to distinguish. As for what is real to me ............. that alone is in my power to decide. I am both truth and untruth spinning within my own mind. I am the paradoxical existence that reaches beyond the webs of time into the realm of impossibility. My very existence is impossible, yet I live. I live but I not longer breathe, and as the lungs of my body no longer hold the breath of life, my spirit sustains me. But even this spirit sometimes has not the power of the breath of the spirit, of the true life, and once again I shut the doors of admittance to my soul.
I saw her there in the darkness as she gave the moonlight that surrounded her a pale glow in comparison to her radiance. She found me there by the black sea, the black sea that was my soul. In my darkness she found me and as my eyes gazed upon her, all that was me became her. That night she loved me as if I were the only one in her world. We became friends and occasional lovers, all the while, with each caress, a piece of my soul became hers. With each of her passionate kisses, she unknowingly became all that I had craved. We laughed, we danced. She would silently await outside my window and listen to the strokes of my fingers on the ivory keys as I poured my essence into each note, the sadness and desire that haunted my soul. The emptiness admitted itself into the music as she was admitted into me, the unknowing amplifier of my deepest pain and desire. The only one that had ever attempted to fill the void, the silent Goddess who now possessed my soul.
She heard it in the music, she saw it pour forth from my pen. Yet, the pen never wrote that it was now her that magnified the deepest parts of me. I could not sing for her. My voice would not let those sounds escape, for it knew that in her presence it could not hide the truth. Alas, she heard me still. From the most remote places my voice carried to her, like feral whispers in the wind, telling her things that my words dared not. There I longed for death and death had found me, but did death love me enough to take me? For only death would put an end to this endless longing, to the hope of being filled.
I an unknown blood disease. I was dying. She came to me and revealed her nature, explained what she offered and how it was not a pretty existence. I accepted. She took me and Embraced me. In passion’s kiss all that was left of me now belonged to her. She told me that she could not bear to see such talent go to waste. Little did she know that it was not my talent that needed the breath of Life. No it was my very soul that now belonged to eternity, her eternity, but my words spoke naught. And still my voice lies silent in those feral whispers in the wind. In the silent place I still sing, but the song is always the same, a pitiful pining of this eternal heart for love. Yet, it is love that I do not care to know. For we are still lovers, but my arms alone will never be enough. There was a man before me and is still there. That has never taken toll upon my weary spirit. No. I never wished that away. I only wanted to be her woman but , alas, there I can never fulfill her. There will always be someone else, and my eternal love goes to the silence realm, there to exist and make happy all that is left of me, and all that is left of me cannot be touched. The doors that closed long ago and opened for a brief second in eternity became steel walls and no power, here or beyond can know what lies behind. For all who dare to pass meet death. Death becomes me. A death that shall never die. And that death lets me remember no dates, as all was lost to eternity and that now lies behind the steel walls that none shall dare to pass. Her name was Wydow ..............
Physical Description:
I am 5’7, weigh about 130 pounds. I have long, dark brown hair, brown/green eyes that turn silver to gray when excited or emotional, ample, perky breasts, and curves where it counts.
The Black Jade
by BlackJade
for Wydow ............
Rare and ancient beauty
Misunderstood in time and lore
Enshrouded quintet
through the blackened veil
Where the aching hearts implore
Catcher of the mists of time
Seeking shelter from the sun
Where the Song of the Eternal Night
forever has begun
Enchantment of the lunar light
Each petal there unfolds
the Masks of the Ballroom faces
Mirrors to the eluded soul
Dancing to the ancient Graces
of the mysteries Her treasure holds
Her thorns are her warning
To all who care to see
The reflection of her pain
mirrored in Eternity
And up her stem the Widow crawls
Making webbing among her leaves
That caress the hands of the weary heart
Where eyes are forced to see
Death of omen, Death of lore
Dew upon the strings of the
instrument of No More
The gathering of bloody tears
Of the hearts that here implore
In the dwelling of No More
In the ethereal webbing
the Widow makes her spin
There the Twain shall meet
and the music shall begin
In the twilight's shade
Dancing to The Song of the Eternal Night,
the Wydow and the Jade,
Happily entangled there
In an endless Masquerade
***********************************************
“The Song of The Eternal Night”
by Black Jade
Endless night, eternal
that surrounds my form
Take me from this forgotten world
Where I have craved for so long
For naught do I care to see but my eternal lust
For it will never bring me back
to those moments of bloody tears
In a world that I forgot to trust
In a world where memories fade
As the night into the dawn
Caught in an endless haze
Where I have craved for so long
Never will I be the mirror
To the world that refused to see
For I am the Truth through the darkened veil
The dark side of the looking glass,
the mirror of Eternity
And when I roam the endless night
I strike without a sound
To the endless night I call
And here am I in darkness realm
And here I will begin
The song of the Eternal Night
May the music have no end
***************************************************************************************
There's blood on the windowsill. That wouldn't be too bad, if the window in question weren't nine stories up, but as things stand, it might be a bit of an oddity. The police are going to look at that, notice the distinct lack of a fire escape and of a body in the alley below, and start asking questions. Then, when the coroner reports that the body on the sofa has been sucked dry, more questions are going to be asked. Someone will eventually put two and two together, and get fangs, and then my ass is going to be in a sling because its my childe who's responsible for this whole mess. So I've got to be the one to clean it up, otherwise Prince “I've got a stick shoved so far up my ass it ought to paralyze me” she is going to use this as an excuse to turn my kid and me into ash. And while at this point I could give a rat's ass about what happens to my errant Embrace, I sure as hell don't want to get crucified because he's a binge eater.
So first things first. I smash the place up as quietly as I can. There's some blood left in the body, so I splash that around as evenly as possible, taking care not to leave bootprints. Whatever valuables I find in the process, I scoop up -- hopefully some bored homicide detective will write this off as another case of a crackhead knocking over an apartment and finding the resident home. The fix won't hold up to intense scrutiny, but at least it will take the cops down the wrong road if they actually mount an investigation.
Then I take the body and toss it out the window. I wait a second for that wet “thump” I know and love from way too many of these cleanup jobs, then concentrate for a second and slough off my human shape like ---- well, screw the metaphor. If anyone's looking for where the body in the alley came from, all they're going to see is a bat heading up into the night.
Mind you, I'm one very pissed-off bat, its hard to tell that kind of thing from a distance.
***************************************************************************************
Its three in the morning and I'm in the process of figuring out how good it feels to be dead. The streets are slick with rain and the streetlights are reflecting off the pavement like God wants every manhole cover to have a halo. A block down Bourbon street, I can see a car pulling out from a turn. I can read the license plate from here ---- I never could have done that when I was alive. At the end of the street I can see the trees, and I swear I can count every leaf and every bead of water on each one.
I can see it all, and it is so beautiful.
I can see him, too. He's wearing a tan trench coat and carrying a closed-up black umbrella. I start walking toward the Square, timing my pace so that I'll bump into him at the crosswalk. Now I can see the streaks of gray in his hair, the lines on his face. He looks about 40, a little tired of life but still chugging alone in his rut. His pace is steady, mechanical. I move faster.
He suddenly stops and looks up at the clearing sky. Maybe he's looking for an answer though the branches of the park's trees. Maybe he's just got the animal instinct that screams “Predator!” It doesn't matter. I'm closer now ......
He turns form the sky and starts walking again. His eyes meet mine from a block away, and I think he knows. He doesn't stop again, though. He doesn't turn away. And see the pain and the hope and the history written on his face, every last moment of a life that's about to end, and I fall in love with him.
I fall in love this way every night, and every evening I wake up with a broken heart again. There's no one to blame but me, though. No one to blame but me.
**************************************************************************************
Link to History of My Home (Cyrpess Tides):
