New Year's Eve 1899: Nessa walking alone through the streets of Paris.
At 11:30 in the evening, I walked out of my house and joined the thousands of people celebrating the coming of the new century. As I walked among the crowd, I felt disconnected from the people and the celebrations. Alive, or rather undead, for three hundred years, I wandered among people mostly under age forty. What did I have to celebrate? Living forever had been more of a curse than a blessing.
I was walking joylessly through the streets, when a tall, dark-haired man came up beside me. He turned and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me with great vigor on both cheeks. His eyes glistened, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“It is a great time in which to live,” he said.
“I suppose so.”
“You suppose so? Mademoiselle, you are young and beautiful. The twentieth century will be filled with wonders we cannot imagine.” He put his arms on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Be alive, be alive. There is so much joy in life.” He kissed me on the lips then walked away into the crowd, sharing his joy with other women.
If he only knew.
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