Yes, much sorrow I feel for that night, and much anger I keep for those responsible by it. I know by experience that being Embraced isn't a good thing to happen to a mortal, but what happened to me in that fatidic day was inhuman indeed.
But allow me to start my tale from the beginning.
It was the year of Our Lord 1132, and I lived as well as a peasant like me could in a small hamlet nearby the city that even today they call London. I had a fine life, and was about to marry. The local priest called me for "wedding arrangements". He might has well have said trip to hell.
I have to admit I hadn't seen him for quite a while, as he had claimed a minor illness had taken over his body, and neither had anybody, and so we were performing our religious duties in another church nearby.
Knowing that, I was quite relieved when a young boy delivered a message calling me to meet him in the church after dusk. I bid farewell to my fiancée and headed for the church. I was not used to go there at night, and I must confess the shades of the nearby cemetery's graces spooked me. If only I would know the horrors I would witness that same night, such shades would but cause me calmness, if anything, by their apparent immobility.
I softly opened the church's doors and blindly made my way to the cleric's chambers: the only lit place in the whole temple.
Lying on the floor, his throat slit, laid the man whose Sunday sermons' I had grown to accept and long for. The room itself was a blood festival, and not one sacred symbol had escaped the desecration: broken crosses, blood-dipped statuettes, torn vests and ripped paintings: the once peaceful chamber was now a gateway to hell.
Then, someone - something - pushed me, and I fell on the bloody mutilated priest's body. The repulsion won over me, and I tried first to get it away from me than to face my adversary.
Then, an evil, twisted laugher flooded the room. It was a man - or at least it looked like one - but his laughter revealed two teeth bigger than usual. They were his canines, and gleamed red with the blood they had been dipped in. With madness in his (its?) eyes, the fiend approached me, and with a sudden jump he headed for my neck. He feasted on my blood, until no drop of the precious vitae remained.
I couldn't do a thing. He was there, with his maniac frenzy, and I was paralyzed by his Dark Kiss. After that, when I thought it was all over, he laughed again, and bit his own lip: a single drop of blood falling through my throat. I didn't resist it. How could I? Even on the edge of salvation life is still sweet indeed. But it was not to life I would awake to, and only bitterness awaited my awakening.
With only my sire's single drop of blood in my veins, an unspeakable hunger started to consume me. I needed blood, and I wouldn't care when I would get it. I only remember that twisted laughter, and screams of pain and terror, as my hunger was consummated. Then, as the Beast left my body, I saw it. Such an unbearable memory... Nailed to a wooden cross in the middle of the church, Christ-like, laid my fiancée: her clothes torn apart, blood soaking her hair, and a terrified look on her dead face.
My heart was filled with wrath, and I figured out the fiend who attacked me and the priest must have been the one who had done that during my madness, and I decided in that moment to hunt him down with all my remaining strength.
But no. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Why were my hands red? What was all the blood doing in my clothes and body?.. including... my mouth?? My teeth?? Why are they bigger and sharper? Suddenly, like a thunder, the truth hit me. I don't recall what I felt then. Was it hatred? Repulse? Fear? Despair? All of those would be probable feelings, but it mattered not, as the only thing I could do was to try to get away from that nightmare.
Unfortunately, the sadistic fiend was not yet done with me. As I ran out of the church, I heard the maniacal laughter once again. I hasted, but it was of no use. He was wielding a wooden stake when he jumped over me, and with the two most bizarre eyes I have ever witnessed in my life and unlife, he pierced it into my heart.
"This is it" - I thought - "The end... it is better to die than to live in despair...” - relieved in knowing it was all going to end.
As you could have guessed, it didn't. Instead of killing me, it merely paralyzed all my movements, and I could but watch the insane dance the Beast performed around me. His fingers - claws - grabbed my hand and pierced it from the back of the hand all the way to the palm. I couldn't scream. Then, he pulled me through my pierced hand to the old cemetery. The pain was excruciating.
The cemetery gate opened with a whisper of his, and he led me through the tombstones to the entrance of a crypt. He said something along the lines of "This will be your haven" and more things, but I can't remember it any better. It is odd what you can't remember when you're about to pass out.
He threw me inside, and with a swift gesture he removed the stake from my heart. - I could move again. - He mocked my new Nature, my life - that had became unlife, he told me - he told me of the Kindred, the undead stalkers of the night, and of their clans, powers and of their hatred for sunlight. He told me of the vitae, the sweet blood of the living, and then he laughed again, leaving, closing the door shut at his wake.
So I was trapped, my repugnance for my actions consuming my soul. I wanted do die, again. I wanted to make me pay for my murder, but above all, I wanted to make my torturer pay. I wanted him to feel what I felt - if only his maniac nature would allow him so.
By now, that anger hasn't been quite erased yet, and I think it never will, but has been postponed, at least until I find a way to stop this madness. He brings me dead animals every night. Or perhaps it's someone else, as I myself can't stay awake after sunrise. I feel the urge to leave them to rot, ending this accursed existence by starvation, but soon, something awakes inside me, and against my will I drink the precious liquid from their blood vessels. I've also tried to destroy myself by exposing my pale body to sunlight, but this crypt is completely isolated from the outside world, and whatever is the way the fiend uses to stay awake during the day is unknown to me.
But other thoughts haunt me, thoughts which are not my own: I think that maybe this existence is not so damned, and I think about letting my keeper know of my realization. The Beast takes over me.
I had a good life. How could God allow this to happen? Does He care not? Why doesn't He do anything? How can He allow one of his children to fall so much?
I made him know, by drawing in the dust-covered floor of the crypt, that I wished something to write, and here it was the next day. Here I record the memories of that night, so that perhaps one day I can share them with someone.
If only I can make it out of this hell sane...