Part One

       My name is Klaus; I have no last name for I am what you would call a bastard child. If you were to look at me you would probably assume that I was no older then 19, but you would be horribly mistaken. I am in fact soon entering my two-hundred fortieth birthday, you may say that is ludicrous or simply impossible, but if it were then how is it that I am writing these words to you? I was born in 1775, on March 17.
      My hair is the shade of the blackest of blacks, quite normal for my kind, along with my eyes, so pale that they appear to be white. My abilities are quite normal for the creatures who share my disease.
      My eyes can detect any possible form or movement for more then two thousand feet if I allow them. My ears can catch the sound currents from four miles if the winds right. I can climb far better then any mortal could ever dream of. And I can hurl myself into the air higher then a New York building at the very least, I have not pushed my bodies to the extreme so I am still in the dark on how far I can push my body. Also my paranormal body can withstand me throwing myself off of the Empire State Building and withstand the impact without hardly and pain.
      Ah, but my strength--the biggest mystery too all--is astonishing, for I could lift up an entire city bus full of humans and not be hurt--that is if I could be so much as a affected my man kinds little inventions. And I am by far the fastest thing you could get your mind around.
    My eyes are so effective that if I were to look into your eyes I could look into your soul, hear what you’re thinking, see what’s in your minds eye and feast upon your fears. But that is only if I chose  to, which I never do unless I’m about to take my next victim.
     When I get angry--or am just out for my hunt-- my eyes turn into pools of liquid charcoal and my ‘fangs’ come out--as you naive Homo Sapiens would say.
      The biggest mystery to me and to my people, is how I became so powerful for I am not old enough to contain such fortitude.
      Lastly I am immortal, I can never age, and I can—for the most part—never die. I do not understand why it is that flesh lings wish to be undying. For it is not what they were meant to be, it is not what god intended upon. And frankly, I agree with him, for never being able to die is nothing but an eternal hell, a firry imprisonment of torture, misery and suffering. For I see all of my loved ones grown old, their hair turns to white, bones grow weak, muscles wear down to tiredness and eventually die, and to know that I will never join them in the afterlife is the deepest  pools of misery.
      Of course there are ways that I can be demised but if I used those methods of death, I would still never see my mother or anyone else I ever cared about, my hell bound diseased body would go to hell, where I belong. And I know that no one that I adored or cherished would be staying in Lucifer’s hotel.
     There are only a few ways I can meet death. The first is sunlight; for my pale skin is far too fragile to be caught in the suns harsh rays. The second is fire, for fire is the suns maker and far more effective. And the final thing that can cease my murderous suffering, is separating my head from my body, far, far away from my body.  
     The garlic and stake through the heart thing was absolutely ridiculous, along with the cross and silver bullet myths. If you haven’t already guessed – which I’m sure you haven’t, your abhorrent brain knowledge for a human is awfully low. For I am in fact a Vampire.
      In order to explain how I was inflicted with this infection I have to bring you to the beginning of my life.
      I was born in Germany with my mother who was a servant for King Frederick ||, also known as Frederick the Great. Since my darling mum was a slave, unfortunately I was the moment I first opened my mouth the cry. She had forbidden me to so much as utter a single or word of my father, much less ask who he was, so I was never given a last name.  
    When I was nearing my sixth year of existence King Frederick saw me in my cell with my mother and for some unexplained reason he took a liking to me. He always said I was like a son he never had, but he never dare spoke or told anyone about me, for what reasons I can only take bitter guesses. Yet he would always tell the guards to never put me through any labor of any kind or to never lie on filthy finger upon my head, any of which rules were disobeyed on their part they would suffer the utmost consequences.
    Not one day would go by without me up in his palace learning to read or write, always giving me the foremost education there was to offer. When I was sixteen I had fallen in love with the beautiful, angelic maiden, just like my mother and myself she was a slave, her name was Gabriella Christension.