The Book of Cesare Moore

[ROGUE JINX MOORE]

And I'll be distant, the stars reminiscing

Cesare Moore

Your heart's been wasted on me

template © Quinn at caution.

[ROGUE JINX MOORE]

DEAR DIARY ,


I never used to believe in keeping a journal . . . never used to believe in vampires, either.

Of course, what with both of my parents being a pure-blooded witch and wizard, and what with myself being a graduate of Durmstrang, I knew plenty about the Wizarding world. I knew and understood how one was to behave. I knew the difference between what you could do, and what you were permitted to do. I knew that there were things nastier out there than me -- a mildly psychotic, near middle-aged wizard. I'd met several werewolves, come into contact with a Sphinx, and knew plenty about Dementors. Vampires, though? For some reason, I just never could even wonder if they existed . . . that is, until my thirty-fifth birthday, anyway.

My older sister, Cecilia, had chosen to host a fantastic ball for my birthday. And not just any old ball held in her husband's posh mansion, either . . . a masquerade. Cecilia had always adored masquerades. Personally, I blame our mother -- always throwing grand parties and forcing everyone to wear masks. I must confess, however, that masks have always held a slight fascination in me. It was such an amazing thing -- to be able to hold up a mask, hide your identity, and even create a new one . . . to make the person before you know only what you let them know about you. I should have protested . . . should have declined the invitation or feigned ill. But, alas, I was a mere wizard -- not a Seer.

The ball proved to be truly marvelous; it appeared as though all of Venice had arrived just for my birthday. There must have been a thousand masked faces there. I doubt I knew even half of them, to be honest. Regardless, I can't deny Cecilia's remarkable imagination. I remember stepping over the threshold and beginning to question if I had just touched a portkey -- the house looked like something right out of a dream. Crowded with wealthy, pure-blooded witches and wizards dressed in the finest clothing and wearing the most fascinating masks. Each person had a different face -- though, I swear, there were hundreds of foxes. As for myself, I'd adorned the mask that used to belong to my father -- the black and silver mask of a dragon.

What with so many people there, and being the center of it all, you would think I would have hardly had the time to meet every individual. Yet . . . I swear, I saw the same man throughout the party -- almost every minute. Something about him, I remember, had deeply concerned me. It was as though, with that hollow stare of his, he was ripping open my mind and pulling everything out. The man had had on the mask of a wolf with a wicked grin but, despite the overwhelming amount of detail to the mask, it was quite difficult to see anything but those red eyes whenever I looked at him.

He never got too close, though -- he tended to stick to the other half of the room and sip at a glass of wine. I never saw him mingle with the other party attendants . . . just stand there and stare. It unsettled me how I never once saw him move and, yet, I could move about the mansion freely and whenever I turned around he would be there . . . sipping from his glass and eying me. He never spoke to me, either -- just gave a small nod of acknowledgment, once . . . that was it.

The party ended either terribly late at night, or excruciatingly early in the morning. I, of course, was the last to leave. I had spent a little extra time speaking with my sister and her husband. It was during that time I was informed that, at last, Cecilia was pregnant. Sure, I had thought there was a bit of a bump to her stomach beneath her corset . . . but, why would I have said anything? That would have been terribly inconsiderate, given she had been the one to host the grand occasion. At some point in time, I changed the subject to the mysterious man in the wolf mask. When I inquired of his identity, both Cecilia and her husband seemed to know nothing of the character.

I was on my way home when I had the sneaking suspicion I was being followed. Perhaps I was just imagining things, though? Every time I turned about to face the person behind me, however, there wouldn't be so much as the sound of breathing to indicate the presence of another. After investigating, I would turn around and walk a couple more paces . . . then hear a footstep or a pebble be kicked up. The cycle continued until I finally reached my manor. Even then, I couldn't rest easy.

As I readied myself for bed, I couldn't help but wonder of the mysterious man. Who was he? How was it possible for him to have red eyes? I assured myself that it was possible it was just a friend who had bewitched his eyes to some extent, attempting to frighten me. But, on my way to bed as I passed the window . . . I saw something. After cautiously peeling away the curtains, my heart was found in the clutches of fear as my eyes landed on the figure of the masked man. There he was . . . just standing there. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark, like two little red flames set into his skull. Perhaps it was just the glass of champagne in me talking . . . but, I swear I saw him smile. A broad smile, too . . . with fangs.

[/color]
Fuck you, Cesare.[/center]