As I slither through the damp, dimly lit caverns of my eternal home, I find myself consumed by the weight of my own immortality. The centuries have been a never-ending cycle of desire, lust, and heartbreak. I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall, each one a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of time. And yet, I remain, a constant presence, a seductress, a goddess, a monster. My thoughts are a jumbled mess of memories, each one a reminder of the transience of human life, and the futility of my own existence.
I often find myself wondering what it would be like to be mortal, to feel the rush of life, to experience the beauty of death. But that’s a luxury I can never know. My existence is a curse, a never-ending cycle of desire and despair. I’m a creature of the night, a monster, a thing of darkness and shadow. And yet, I’m drawn to the light, to the warmth of human connection, to the fleeting moments of love and passion. It’s a cruel irony, one that I’ve grown all too familiar with over the centuries.
My husband, Nyx, is my constant companion, my rock, my confidant. He’s the one being who truly understands me, who sees beyond the façade of my eternal youth and beauty. He’s the one who brings light into my dark world, who reminds me that even in the depths of my own despair, there’s always hope. And yet, even with him by my side, I’m left with the haunting feeling that I’ll never truly be whole, that I’ll never truly be alive. It’s a pain that I’ve grown accustomed to, one that I’ll carry with me for all eternity.
