Dorchadas: Inspired by Anne Rice

If you have read the Queen of the Damned from the Vampire Chronicles written by Anne Rice, you will find this short story to be similar to that novel. It was an experiment & a fun thing to do at the time, written last year.


            This is the tale of Dorchadas. He was a spirit but not a natural one. He was evil, dark and consumed by madness. He could not remember from whence he came; only that he was old, very old and he wanted to be in the flesh. He had seen the worlds of old; from Babylon to ancient Greece, from the Gobi desert to the beautiful land of Americas. Yet it was Egypt that drew Dorchadas close to man. Close to the flesh he sought to embody. Dorchadas yearned to be human. He yearned to feel the wind on a man’s skin, to feel the lips of a woman, to feel liquid water roll down the throat. He yearned for mortality, the very thing he lacked.

             Dorchadas had tried countless times to be in the flesh. Yet it seemed that this being was too dark and too huge to be contained in a human vessel, and all his efforts had either died or turned mad. It seemed his essence could not be accepted by the human cells, and although he could drive out the human spirit, the human body failed to accept him. So his anger and darkness grew with frustration and the ever-growing hunger to finally come in the flesh. Time passed and the hunger only grew more intense. It only increased his sick hatred and desperate love for humans.

             Yet Dorchadas remained in Egypt for he could feel the time was coming. The time would come when he would finally merge with the human flesh and become mortal. So he waited. He waited in silence and soon became a spirit roaming the Egyptian land. The time would come. And it did. It came in the form of Akhenaten, a beautiful Egyptian woman. Her skin was a dusky gold, her eyes as black as night. Her hair was rich ebony, her body full and lush, her face delicate and fine. She was the daughter of a rich trade merchant. Proud and vain, she was cunning and ruthless. Dorchadas had watched her preside over the torture of her slaves and as she gracefully mingled with the aristocrats. Dorchadas recognized the evil and darkness in Akhenaten for it called to him, a secret song in the night.

             The time came when she was to wed a rich son to a papyrus merchant. Dorchadas watched as Akhenaten raged in her room. Her father had given in to her numerous demands, but his only demand was for her to marry the young man to expand the family’s business and reputation. Akhenaten detested the idea for she desired another young man, but he is of lower bearing than her family. So she waited. Dorchadas watched as she plotted the murder of her future husband with the coldness and calculation of a killer. She bided her time until the wedding night, when they were to consummate their marriage. She poisoned him and watched as he suffocated to death.

             The next day, she had been proclaimed a tragic widow and she patiently waited for the mourning period to pass before she married her lover. The darkness in Akhenaten was ripe and Dorchadas yearned to merge with it. Dorchadas decided to torment Akhenaten, to let her inner darkness grow and grow. He began to misplace things, hide precious jewelry, spill fish guts on the floor. His menace grew and the local people began to suspect that there was an evil spirit in the house of Akhenaten. They suspected it was her dead husband; superstition and fear had made Akhenaten a very troubled and furious woman. Her own lover began to fear her tantrums, helplessly watching as she would order up a slave for her to slash to death.

             Dorchadas reveled in the fact that Akhenaten was quickly losing control, and her darkness was reaching a peak. So the time had come. But something terrible had happened. Something he never foresaw. She had been alone in her room weeping. The disturbances had become unbearable and she was tired. So Dorchadas attacked. He showed himself as a huge dark cloud in the room. Akhenaten screamed and screamed every prayer she knew. Her lover was too terrified to do anything as Dorchadas descended upon Akhenaten and entered her body. Rapidly, almost lovingly, he seared into her cells, pushing out her spirit, burning his print into her body. He was going to be human. But he never expected the dark spirit of Akhenaten would refuse to share such a lovely vessel.

             So her body bucked as Dorchadas struggled to remain inside. Akhenaten’s spirit was excited that there was so much power in Dorchadas; it sought to possess its powers. So Dorchadas felt itself leaving the body, tired, but Akhenaten’s spirit had other ideas. It pulled Dorchadas back inside, brutally separating Dorchadas’ spirit from its essence. When the turbulent winds in the room died down, Akhenaten’s lover watched as her body lay on the ground, twitching slightly. He rushed to her, lifted her head. Her eyes were cloudy, her lips trembling. He called her name, and shouted for the slaves to come. Then he screamed when Akhenaten suddenly reared up and bit his throat.

             He tried to free himself, but her grip was too strong, so he lay there as she drunk from him. It seemed that the darkness in Dorchadas and Akhenaten had merged into something terrible and thirsty for human blood, for the blood is the source of mortality. So she drank from her dying lover, ignoring the screams of the servants who ran into the room. Dorchadas was no more. Only its hunger for mortality remained in Akhenaten’s body. She was no longer Akhenaten. She wasn’t Dorchadas either. She became the first vampire. Her endless thirst for human blood has begun.

Again, feel free to comment, I would like to improve my writing skills; thanks! :)

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