()
Fire crackled and snapped in the mammoth, marble hearth. In a purple, velvet high back wing chair a guant figure sat regally before the orange and yellow glow. Vorath's pale, yellow pallor appeared leathery and stretched tight on his thin frame. In a near-skeletal hand he elegantly held a wine glass. He swirled the red liquid absently wishing it were merlot. Oh how he missed opening up the aroma of merlot. It had been centuries since he had savored oaked wine. The flavour. The bite. He sighed in a lifeless melancholy as he looked about the room and up to the oak trusses in the high vaulted ceiling overhead. The trees that supplied the lumber for those trusses were likely saplings back when he lived. The allure of eternity long since lost its luster as thoughts of climbing into the hearth and submerging and bathing in the flames became his fantasy. His longing. Though he envied death he too feared the non-existence. The uncertainty of the life after death. Surely damnation and judgement would be his eternal strife. Would it, however, be worse than the hell he endured in this life he had to question. He rose from his chair and retired to the window waiting for the endless night to vanquish it's strong grasp. Comparable works include Interview with a Vampire