The Violet Hour - Before the Beginning - Phisto

I'd spent the night with an unmemorable coloratura.  Her blood tasted like her voice, light and uninteresting.  I'd broken a cardinal rule when I compelled her from sheer boredom, to allow me to taste the thin line of blood that ran inside her thigh.  I fought my nature and sliced into the teal lined flesh with sensitivity that I did not feel. I couldn't afford to leave the silly little soprano, with the voice of a bird, scarred.   Her blood did little to excite me.  It was almost as insufferable as the antiseptic fare that I procured, through other means, from labs and hospitals.

"That was delightful my dear." I lied.  "I don't think that your talent will take you far, so I'd perfect  your other abilities.  Men can be very generous when you know how to please them in the bedroom."   I rose from the disheveled bed, gathered my few things and had closed the apartment door before a glass slammed behind me into the door's cheap wooden veneer.

I hated boredom.  It was too tedious.  I had begun to think of a little vacation or sport in a less populated area than New York.  We had auditions the next day for the new season at the American Opera Center.  Singers, singers and more singers.  Had I known that I was about to meet her, i would have spent a more comfortable night.

Jasmine was about to change everything.  I saw a way to accomplish everything that mattered   fame, power and the destruction of my bete noir - all because of one girl with a gift in her throat.

I laughed and laughed until lightening slashed the New York skyline.  I could now control the elements and that made me laugh even more.  And thunder shook the concrete that I stood upon, and rain slashed the night.