Predatoress
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Now Pay Attention! Want My Book Free? Get to Know Me Thirsty for Blood? Dare to Blog?


"It is not enough to be a beauty, which you are, Emma. You must work to make use of your excellent intelligence. The most important thing in the world is to leave this planet a better place than you found it, even in small ways."

Emma's father



Am I beautiful? Does it matter?


Dear Reader, I have not described my physical self in much detail up to this point because I thought it was irrelevant to the story. After all, what difference does it make whether I am a glowing beauty or a drab brown hen? My power does not lie with my beauty, but in my intellect and my intense, supernatural strength as a vampyr. Do vampyrs care if they are physically pleasing or not? Only insofar as being comely attracts more willing prey.

Go on -- or flip through my story now.

I am. Even as a vampire...

In this regard, nature was generous in its endowments towards me. It is almost gratuitous in my current condition, for attractive or not, I will have my feedings. And I can assure you, that when my mouth is engorged with clotted blood, and the excess is spurting from my nostrils, I am not your average conception of beauty. Yet, in my satiated state, and definitely before my transformation, many friends and strangers had told me how symmetrical and vibrant my features are.

I suppose you could say I have characteristic Hungarian features: Thick black wavy hair against contrastingly white, smooth skin. My cheekbones and slightly slanted brown eyes bespeak of the Mongols that swarmed over this land long before the world wars that turned Hungary into what it is today. My pronounced cheekbones and straight nose sculpt my face, much like the actress, Erika Marozsan, except for the darkness of my eye color compared to her violet.

My body, too, I have been told, is the full expression of all that is excellent in the Hungarian gene pool; or at least until childbearing takes place or inactive middle age sets in. I had mentioned Gizi’s round, full breasts that mounted in contradistinction to her incurved waist. I, too, have firm, breasts, but they are not as large as Gizi’s nor are they shaped the same. Hers are globes, like rounded melons from Persia that infrequently appear in our marketplaces. Mine are conical, coming to a more distinctly triangulated point. This is where we will have to alter her gown, I presumed. Also, since my almost exclusive diet of human blood, I have lost quite a bit of weight in my waist, probably occasioning further adjustment to the gown. I am taller than Gizi, which could also present problems with the fitting.

The first gown Gizi showed me was an obvious “No.” It was a diaphanous light blue, with layers of shimmering translucence floating around the shoulders and hips. She had favored light blue, thinking it would diminish the pallor of my skin. On second thought, we agreed the color was impractical for possible blood spatter or trickles.

The second gown was perfect for my situation. It was a deep ruby velvet, simple in its lines, glowing richly in the soft light of the declining day. It’s low bosom and body-grazing flow of fabric created visual drama and needed little alteration. Even its length could pass as intentionally mid-ankle. Since vampyrs can’t see themselves in the mirror, I relied on Gizi’s reaction. “Emma, you look good enough to eat and drink in this gown.” We both laughed, knowing who was going to be doing the eating and drinking.

“Don’t tease about such matters, Gizi,” I said. “I just hope I will be able to overcome the temptation to feast on Zoltan. I will have to devise some kind of neuro-imagistic programming. Every time I desire to devour Zoltan’s neck, I will picture. . . what? A stake going through my heart? A cross? Wolfbane (which I have heard is very painful to vampyrs, though have no experience with it)? I need to be able to dance with him and talk with him, so I can’t picture something too repulsive or I won’t be able to go near him at all. This psychological self-manipulation must only take place when I am overcome with a desire to puncture his neck with my fangs. I will work on this and hope to perfect it by Friday.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Gizi. “You manage to do everything you want, Miss Emma. Don’t you? Such perfection may in itself be a flaw.”

“I hardly think being a life-draining parasite is perfection,” I replied.




Free at last!

July 4, 2009

is the day when the story of my life emerged from its bloody existence.

Are YOU ready for what's to come? Because,

from now on...

I PROMISE to bring you into my circle. Tell you everything as it happens. Are YOU game for my blog? Committed to following me on Face-book? And tweet me at my every whim?

Here you go!

Blood Predatoress blog

Emma Gabor's Facebook profile

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This way I can make my journey into the world of the Undead both enticing and awe inspiring to YOU....

Blood-soaked horror? Vampire lore? Dark desires? Sex and love? Yearning to be human again?

This will be a trip you'll never forget!
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