Psychic Vampires

My name is Attila and today I’ll introduce a new technology on how to turn living Psychic vampires into Human beings while you let them taste your energy fields.

This irreversible self generating mechanism had been developed in 1655 during the years of darkness and light gate opening works by volunteers.

I was a private musician for a French count in a small town close to Paris. My father was a poor miller owning his own mill and trying to make a living while his competition had more advanced mills and better equipment. As a child I played many times in the always green and beautifully planned garden in back yard of the mill and was wondering if I should or should not make my father’s life easier, but as I’ve scanned his incarnations I’ve realized that he had to go through the hardships of losing my mother while giving birth to me, fighting poverty and having an ambition for his only child. If you remember the king in Sumer that had attacked Ur, you’ll have very good idea why it was me to be a son and why the hardships for him. He had huge plans with me imagining my future as a great musician and while he had drunk himself to sleep in his lonely evenings he was still murmuring distorted words to me about my great future as a composer in the king’s court. He had this grandiose idea that I’ll become some kind of royalty by marring one of the ladies in attendance. As a child I’ve learned throughout my many incarnations that the easiest way is to go with the flow and never rebel against the plan if there was any.

One intoxicated night while the oil lamps were casting long dancing shadows on the walls he had opened up an old traveling chest. He was fighting for his balance as he had handed over a sacredly guarded treasure left there by my mother. Her memory had resonated on the warmish as the light had thrown short gazes against its beautiful body. His eyes were red and hopeful. He was a powerful man but there was more humility in his fields then in Sumer. He had not been able to give up his strength; he did not dare to let it go, so he had taken a muscular gigantic figure for himself.

After all those talks I knew what he had expected me to do, so as soon as I’ve seen his approving nod I’ve taken the violin under my chin. There was no bow. He urged me to pick at the unturned strings as a practice. He sank back on his chair and had listened to me as I’ve started to pick the strings. His face now had turned into a mellow relaxed pudgy and the energy in the room had changed from darkness into a seeping starry sky with a cricket chirp. He had heard more in that chirp than there was to be heard by three dimensional ears. He had heard beauty and future, love and youth, strength and light. I saw a transmutation in his self sacrifice in that moment and tears had swollen into my eyes and run down my cheeks. I was 8 years old and I knew that, that night I’ve helped with my humility a soul to become a giant within, without stepping on anyone.

The next day he had took off with a few bags of fine wheat and had told me to start the fire, because he’ll be back late. The only donkey we had looked back at the old mill and as my father’s whip had nipped his back he had started down on the muddy road towards Paris.

The next morning as I woke up I’ve seen my breath in the air. He still didn’t get back. I went outside and drew some water then started the fire back up again. I’ve been thinking about the transition this soul had just gone through and I’ve started to understand the purpose of his absence this morning. I’ve fed the animals and walked outside to see to the mill. I’ve known milling for a long while of course and I knew how it could be made to be a better mill a more productive one for my father to be more prosperous. As an 8 year old boy I did not want to push the issue of this knowledge and most of you’ll possibly understand why. I’ve started up the mill with my well built muscles inherited from my father and milled a while when I’ve heard my father enter the old door hanging on one hinge.

He had told me that this is the last time I’ve worked with my hands and he doesn’t want to see me or rather hear about me do any physical labor as long as he lives. He had urged me to the yard. I was expecting to see the donkey and the cart, but instead of that a man dressed in a long appropriately designed coat, and a feathered hat, waiting for me. I’ve looked into his bright light blue eyes and I’ve already knew who he was. A musician.

My father had sold the wheat the donkey and the cart and placed me into the apprenticeship of this kind musician. He had also bought a bow for me and a case for my violin. He ordered me to hurry up and get my stuff and be back in five minutes. I’ve noticed that he didn’t smell like alcohol and his eyes were clear, clearer than in any lives I’ve ever seen them. I’ve even seen a small spark of love smolder up in them as he had tapped me on my head to leave already.
I’ve followed the musician’s long strides and I had to pick my foot as fast as a runner, but I had taken a last look at this new entity that I was proud to call my father. This man had reached a new level of evolution and understanding in his suffering and grief. He was standing there like a broken twig although his gigantic figure had filled the double gates. He had looked away then disappeared to do his work.

I’ve never played the violin in any of my lives before, this would’ve been the first occasion, but I knew that it wasn’t the violin that I’ll have to play from now on judging from the clothes of the musician. He wasn’t from the king’s court; he was working for a Baron. He didn’t talk much and I knew that his courteous questions were only initiated to break up the assumed discomfort within me. I’ve answered as a child should and the conversation had ended right there and then for the next eight to ten years between us. From that day on it would be him to talk and my place was to listen.

We had walked through Paris. It hasn’t changed too much since the last time I’ve been there. Women were flirty and solid at the same predicament, and I saw the musician dropping his chin all along. The streets were semi clean, but still dirty for my taste. Poverty had hid in many corners unnoticed and brewing with rebellious laziness. I thought that exchanging lives with any of the children running around unattended would be a terrible waste at this moment. My human thoughts had overpowered me as I looked into their wild eyes. My traveling companion must have heard them because he started to calm me with his juicy stories of the Baroness and her company she had kept day and night. I’ve given a name to the place already: The nest, the nest of dramas, unattended sexual explosivity, dark pleasures and vampirism. From his stories I’ve gathered that this place will be my next station to practice alchemy and build spiritual technology.

The Nest was artistically perfect but not friendly. Every corner and delicate design had the ability to generate migraines for those on the unhealthy diet. The badly designed corridors were too wide at the backside and too narrow at the closer location to the main entrance. The kitchen was the only place that was designed or left to be human. It was warm and inviting. Reminded me of a cave pit that had love and togetherness engraved in its wet cold walls.

My master did also have a problem with sweet wine just like my father, and it had made him unruly and groggy in the mornings. Taking me was -he thought- the solution for his hangovers in the mornings. He thought that a couple of hours of music lessons he will satisfy my father’s wishes, while he would’ve used me as a servant to prepare him, wash for him, take care of his things. It didn’t bother me at all. Compare to work in a Korean slave gold mine for a half a century it was light work. In those mines darkness was physical and bringing light through your spiritual gateways and showing that to other humans was easier then show light to darkness above ground to those whom doesn’t want to admit that they suffer from their over stimulated pleasure filled lives.

My master was quiet surprised of my fast advancement of understanding the notes. Well the notes weren’t my problem since I could read and write music already, but to get my thick miller fingers around the strings and play the right notes all the time, caused a bit of a trouble for me.
In my free time I hid in the library, where usually I’ve ended up in every lifetime and searched for earth human knowledge and gate openings. Every written human word is a miracle for the residents of the universe. Every word carries a message, a vortex opening into thick gravitational pulls and manifestations. Every word gives a key to understanding the knowledge of the One, the all, the Infinity. This is where I’ve met this little nosy soul. She was the daughter of the cook. She didn’t know how to read. She had searched the bookshelves in secrets while intrigues were entangling the residents of the palace. She was hungry to crack the codes of these words.

Our first encounter had happened during a banquette, where her mother was busy with the food and my master had to play with his quartette to entertain the guests. She was like a deer as she had approached the bookshelves. Her blondish red hair had just been braided; her eyes were green with golden sparkles in it. She was bit heavy but still miraculous. She didn’t see me as I’ve been also hiding in the shadow of the shelves. She had approached the children’s book section and lifted out a book with beautifully drawn pictures. I’ve shifted my weight from my frozen left leg to the right and that caused a small crackling sound in the old wooden floor. She was startled. She looked at my direction with deep fear in her eyes. I had to say something. My child voice had calmed her somewhat and we’ve got acquainted as fast as any child on planet earth.

I knew it for a fact that she didn’t read and I’ve decided to remedy that. She wasn’t innocent as most children are. She was burning with desire and energy that was warm and restless. She had always been in trouble and been beaten by her mother. She wasn’t evil or bad, she was just a soul ready for adventure and exploration. She had loved animals and I had only seen her being calmed down when she had fed them or stroked them. It wasn’t allowed for us servants to keep any animals, so she had always sneaked into the bedroom of the baroness’ son to pet and marvel at his exotic animals. I’ve scanned her incarnations and I’ve found her in the temple of Isis as her highest. She was cured from a genetic mutation by the priests. She had never reached the priesthood due to her inability to transmute the condition of her energy structure and burn out her animalistic instinctive desires. But she had learned to control some of it and had gained an outstanding ability to analyze any upcoming energy issue even through incarnation after incarnation.

She had learned to read French and that’s where I’ve left it off, it wasn’t the language skill that she had needed the most but the experience that had awaited her in that house.

I was 17 when my master had allowed me to introduce my own piece that I’ve composed to the baroness. This was the spotlight which I knew I couldn’t escape from. I’ve tried to compose something according to the period’s fashion, nothing outstanding or marvelous. I knew that my work would start that day. As the quartet and I’ve played the long piece I’ve started to feel the lines of antennas from the female audience as they had scanned my body and face. My father’s body was intriguing for them, something that had reminded them of strength, but at the same time of fear of poverty. Rich men in those days were puffy and fat, anything else meant lover statuesque.

When we had finished the congratulations had burning touches in those puffy hands. All the women wanted to taste my energies, and it helped them to do so that I was dressed in a court musician’s masquerade for that afternoon and not in my shabby servant’s clothes. Naturally the baroness would’ve had privilege to have first bite from my innocence. I’ve been served with fine wine and been invited to some ladies company to gossip. The other musicians went back to provide the background music. I’ve felt the antennas of the baroness to scan me for my injuries and my weaknesses to be able to clothe me with her powers. I had to act as shy as possible to be able to fool her scan. When I’ve used an unsure body language after one of the girls had touched me on the arm I’ve felt that she had relaxed her awareness and settled on my energy structure with her warm vampirising antennas. I had fooled her. Now the work could’ve begun. I’ve found my subject to develop a new technology on. It would’ve taken me years of careful experimenting as she would’ve want to use all of her ancient techniques to lure me into her circle of energy to suckle whatever youth I’ve had.

Most of her company had learned this technique from her and used it superiorly, since she had also been feasting from their energies. Her son had mastered the techniques the best. He had become a heartbreaker by the age of 23. His illegitimate children around the villages had been giving more trouble to families than joy. He was traveling a lot too and become an opium addict, but this fact didn’t cancel out of his sexual addiction, only made him more developed in it.
The Cook’s daughter Sophie was 19 now. She was dirty most of the time and untouched by the gossip going around the palace. I’ve helped her with a mild protective shield that she had developed on her own while we were talking about spiritualism. She didn’t care about me as a man since I was immature compare to her. But this weak shield could only last for so long in the environment of the Nest. One day when the son came home from his dark adventures, he had noticed Sophie raking leaves in the English garden.

Their connection was fast and she was lured in by her own desires and interest for lust. The son had used her as long as her pregnancy had shown. She was a beautiful woman; he could not have enough of her beauty and her knowledge to please a man. She had enjoyed their love as much as he did, but the consequences were always only one sided in cases like this.

The Baroness had called me more and more often. Her saggy skin was covered with powder to cover the gigantic pores developed by alcoholism and unclean sexual relations. She did wash, but her body was diseased by one of her lovers. She was more interested in trying to seduce my energies then to sleep with me. Naturally we had long talks. Hours upon hours. She had fed me well and made sure that I am well off with money. Her coffee room was quiet and she accepted fewer guests as she had started to discover another dimension on energy transfers. I’ve only talked about knowledge and discoveries that earth Humans in those years had been able to gather for themselves. She didn’t like to read despite her extensive library that was established by her mother in-law. Slowly I’ve developed the technology that I’ve needed to guard off her vampire attempts and turn her into a Human being. It was hard. She had techniques I’ve never heard of before, and she certainly knew how to use it well. When I’ve thought that one machine had worked next day she had came up with a new way to suckle all of my energy. Her surprise grew by the months and I was almost done with the perfect solution when Sophie happened. She was in her 5th month just started to show. The son had fled the scene and the baroness was left with a powerful servant girl with an ability that allowed Sophie to copy all of her psychic vampire techniques flown directly into her from their union. The Baroness was furious, and finally she had revealed herself in her biggest vampire act to try to keep the lid on the problem. It was especially hard since her guests had known about the relations of the servant girl and her son.

The baroness and Sophie had started a war. This had allowed me study her techniques. But since none of their destructive dramas were directed towards me, I could not work on furthering the technology. It is my golden rule to not to interlope.
Sophie was powerful and defeated the Baroness.

One day the baroness had called me in the Library room, to the room where she barely stepped in. She had started to use one of her techniques which she thought would get me involved in this drama and take the weight off of her back. She didn’t like the idea that she was vampirized by someone else. He had aged under her powdered face decades within a couple of weeks. She thought that it was her that convinced me to take Sophie.

It was a perfect chance now for my never emotionally discharged existence. I’d have a person right next to me with bigger vampire abilities then the Baroness. Sophie’s damages would take decades to be healed and to turn her back into Human existence even longer. I took the offer to marry her for this reason. The baroness had offered Sophie a huge sum of money if she would marry me. It took Sophie a few weeks and a lot more drama before she’d accept. She had accepted without talking to me the whole time or looking into my eyes. She had realized that her illegitimate son would not help her life any longer, there was no chance for that the baroness’ son would return and she needed a husband and father for the child. She had calculated coldly and had blackmailed the baroness even further. I was surprised that she was still alive by the time we’ve left the Nest. The Baroness with this last act had been completely defeated and burned out. I’ve met her during the 19th century again as a philosopher painter in France. The only thing she had still loved is the gossip, but my technology had helped her to remain human and not to use vampire techniques ever again.

Sophie and I’ve headed towards the Count’s villa where I’d be a private musician and music teacher for the count’s children. The baroness made sure that the count knew who Sophie was, but also prepared a place for her where she would have an easy life according to the agreement they had. The baroness deep down was satisfied with Sophie and she had even had affections for her strength, and she knew that Sophie will raise a worthy child to her Bloodline.

Sophie and I had never had warmth in our marriage. She had rather visited the count’s bed then mine, and she had used all her knowledge to climb. “Our” son had looked just like the Baroness’ son but with the light hair of Sophie’s. Naturally she could hardly wait to leave me and provide an office to Brutus in the King’s court. The 15 years I’ve spent with her had been the most useful time in my work to perfect the technology. She had dropped most of her dramas, but her desire seeking restlessness, which was much older than I could reach into was never dissolved. As a healer scientist I had to work extra careful in the pretext of history anyways. I couldn’t afford too many unproductive childhoods.

The day she had left me she still had guarded many of her psychic vampire technique that I could not dissolve since it was attached to her desires.

Her son had become an ambassador to England and his political abilities had reached the heights of a music composer’s. Naturally I had given him something for the road too. Sophie had never found peace. She was rich by the age of sixty eight beyond imagination. She was cold and a bit cruel. She had sent me money occasionally and as she had got older her letters had become longer but not opened for conversations only one sided ranting, which haven’t bothered me. I wrote back casually and this had helped to open up a new channel for a new technology to work on her desires, which I could not finish in that particular lifetime.