Much time indeed has passed since you saw the carrier drive me off from our home country by the cliffs of Bucegi. I have made a great many new experiences, some horrible, some rather interesting. To the latter category I am quite proud to count the experience of drowning.
As I know how impatient the natures of you all are - centuries of life surely have not taught you any endurance - I will not torture you with the exhausting dullness of recounting my travelling through Europe. All endless, muddy roads, boring small towns with narrow-minded peasants, and the occasional hunt.
Yet having arrived at Cherbourg, while strolling along in search of some young French sailor boy's tanned neck, I encountered a fascinating ship: it was an enormous black mass of metal stretching along the quay. She was a new ship, baptized the "Titanic", and bound for New York, far across the Atlantic, to the country they call America.
As you will recall, I set out on my journey in search of blood that runs more free and fresh than that of the peasants of our lands. Standing on the dock, bending my neck to take in this bright sparkling floating city, I came to think of having heard not long ago that the people of America are very healthy, and that a great number of nationalities mix there. So, I reasoned, their blood must indeed be very free and fresh.
I had no difficulties obtaining a ticket, but I had to suffer a rather humiliating medical examination before boarding the ship. A man with an enormous birthmark on half of his face poked me in the eye, as the American authorities, it seems, are scared to death of an eye-disease called trachoma.
While searching for my cabin I somewhat came to regret having chosen to travel 3rd Class - but then, the young Greek, off whom I had taken the ticket, had been a delicious feast indeed - as I soon found out that the unmarried men - as my prey had been - were separated from the women and the families and perched together in the stem, and me being a young lady might not be seen with kind eyes by the waiters with their earnest meddlesomeness assisting passengers to their cabins. So I decided to avoid unnecessary attention, and wait for an occasion to occupate a cabin in more appropriate surroundings, though I must confess it made my mouth water just to think of all the young, muscular working men with dark, sweet blood, that could have been my cabin mates.

Soon the mighty hunk of metal was off ploughing the waves, and I had settled in a nice 2nd Class cabin, whose former occupants had been a young married couple, the lady about my size, whose portmanteaus revealed a rather smart taste.
I much enjoyed travelling on the ship: it was very clean and spacy, and at the same time a vast labyrinth of steel, with a great number of unattended spots to lure unsuspecting gentlemen into. The more I preyed and feasted, the more dazzling became my appearance, and the easier it got to fool the poor fellows.

The evening of the 14th of April I had dared myself to enter the 1st Class lounge. Outside it was a clear, starlit night, with no moon, and the waters were dead calm. I was feeling lucky, and I also sensed the irresistible desire to feel the corroded taste of thick, burgundy blood running down my lusting throat.
Among the haughty, distinguished ladies in their silk and velvet, and the cigar-smoking gentlemen in tuxedoes, in conversation about meaningless topics, with waiters scurrying around the thickly upholstered furniture, I spied a young man, sitting all alone in one of the sofas by the windows. He made me think of poor Silviu, and I felt a little sad, thinking what a pity it is that our males do not prevail.
I had provided myself with a luxurious evening dress the night before, all purple satin and black lace, and after discreetly ogling at the lonely gentleman, I approached him and commenced to covet him, determined to drench my gleaming fangs into his milk white neck before the next day dawned.
He was a handsome young man: dark hair, eyes like velvet ponds, and a very fair complexion with a few freckles.
At first he seemed to be a trifle reserved, but with a little smile here, a little wink there and some pretending to be the most fascinating person he had ever met on top, I soon had him irretrievably entangled in my mucous yarns.
As I took him outside to the promenade, he complained that it was very cold, but then I bade him come closer, and drew him into the shadow of a flight of stairs. It was about half past eleven o'clock. I caressed some locks of hair away from the young gentleman's neck, revealing his soft ivory skin to the chilling air.
I could see the chrystallines of his breath from the corner of my eye as I parted my lips and buried my teeth into his carotid artery. His tender white piano player's hands traced trembling in the air and a hot stream of blood gushed into my delirious mouth. I imbibed the fluid of human life into myself, until he did not move any more.
Being considerably fortified, I dragged the corpse to the railing. Just as I had thrown it overboard, I glanced ahead and saw something in the water that kept coming closer.

I watched it, hypnotized. As it approached, straight ahead of us, I realized it had to be an iceberg. Not without some excitement, I watched it grow at a dismal speed, and finally it seemed to be higher than the deck I was standing on. I was beginning to wonder why we just kept going straight at the black ice, as the ship slowly began to sheer backboard. With immense speed the iceberg passed, and I threw myself away from the railing, while small pieces of ice hailed over me. The ship seemed to shiver, as if it was skidding across marbles.
Some moments later, the engines stopped. Sparse groups of men came out on deck to see what was going on, but as they could not see anything out of order, and the night was bitter cold, they soon returned inside to their toddies and card games.
As our kind do not sense neither cold nor heat, I stayed on deck, feeling a fascinated anxiety grinding my intestines. It had looked like a close shave, but somehow I was not entirely sure of that.
I bent my neck to look at the life boats suspended above, and then I noticed a crew member uncovering one of them.
In that moment I saw what was coming.
And as you all know, I had never died before.

In a state beyond panic, I stood beneath the stairs for a long while, and watched the proceedings. Trying to recall it now, it all seems to me like I was in a kind of hazy listlessness. People started to stream onto the decks, and nobody really seemed to know what was going on. The crew began tumultously to fill the lifeboats and lower them, people put on life vests, people took off life vests, everything slowly got out of hands of whomever could have had anything in their hands anyway.
Gazing away at it all, my eyes somehow fixed at a middle aged lady. She seemed very calm amongst all the nervous and exited people pushing one another. Many of the passengers had only their dressing gowns on, but this woman was dressed properly, because she appeared to know what was to expect. It was very clear that she had no-one else but herself to look after.
All of a sudden she looked straight at me.
No other people had taken the slightest no tice of me, being sheltered by the stairs and out of the way. Even as they began dragging women and children up the stairs to boat deck to get the life boats filled, I had passed unnoticed.
The lady walked up to me. Although the promenade was very crowded, she did not have to push anyone out of her way. Everyone just seemed to subconsciously give her way.
She looked me in the eyes and said with a deep, pleasant voice, 'If you want a boatful of feast, you better get upstairs and pick yourself the fattest crew.' Then she smiled shortly and ascended the flight of stairs. I still remember very clearly watching her brushed leather boots disappear step by step. I realized then that she was of our kind. Obviously she had been through all this before and knew exactly what to do.
I shook myself out of my apathy, not without a slight feeling of annoyment at myself, and began struggling through the now even more panic-ridden people to get myself upstairs, but when I finally arrived, I saw it was already too late. The ship was inclining in the most dreadful angle, and all the life boats had already been lowered.
I knew I was going to go through dying. I had known it from the start. Still, I kept my mind busy, careful not to fall into the hands of panic again like all the humans around me. It would simply be beneath my dignity.
I tried to imagine what it would be like. I assumed I had to expect being unconscious for many days, perhaps even weeks. Thus, to make the resurrection less agonizing, I had to gather nutrition.
Not many details of my desperate rampage have remained in my memory, as my mind was dimmed by the overwhelming amounts of blood I drank in such a short while. I can barely recall the ship's stern sinking into the waters with a horrifying roar. After that , the screams drowned everything else.
I lay floating in the waters that seemed to be cold like the streams of the river Styx, already feeling how my limbs were becoming numb, and listened to this insane howl of hundreds of helpless people. It was one single yell, sounding to my hazy mind like the bellowing of all the lost souls of hell, or perhaps the cries of falling angels.
I had lost my consciousness before I could hear any end to it, and thus it was still ringing in my brain as I slowly, in a wavelike fashion, came to again.

I woke up, but I could not bring myself to move. I faintly sensed that half of me was laying in water, and that a strong light was making me feel hot and heavy. I tried opening my eyes. The bolt of pain that suddenly struck me as the tiny muscles holding my eyelids shivered, made me open my mouth, which only resulted in even more pain.
I tried not to move any more. I assumed that our nature would help me put myself together again in time. Instead, I tried to guess where I was. I could hear the screams of seagulls nearby, and as I was laying half in the water, surely on a beach somewhere.
Waves kept rolling on me, and the sun's weakening light told me it must be evening, as I decided to try to move again. I knew my eyes would hurt being exposed to the still fierce light, but I was growing impatient, not knowing where I was.
The left eye tractably opened, although it required some effort, but the right one remained shut. I reflected for a while whether I should just try again later, but then, the left eye had not taken the light too badly, and I was beginning to feel a slight sense of healthy hunger through my winding intestines.
I tried to move my right hand. It responded, and I could feel overgrown nails scratching at the sand. I brought it to my face. Then, I stretched the forefinger and the thumb and placed them on each shut eyelid. With an incredible effort I delicately separated the eyelids, careful not to rip the skin or lose too many eyelashes.
The left eye's sight was perhaps a trifle dimmed, but the right one was turbid and made the clear white light appear greenish and diffuse, like seen from underneath muddy water. I took a wheezing breath. My lungs most definitely craved nutrition.
I began the exertion of getting up. Each muscle had to be summoned into action separately with infinite patience. And, Mother, Grandmother Zaharina, Grand-grandmother Luciana, Aunt Rodica and Silvana, you all know what resurrection is like. I never quite could imagine what you meant when you used to tell us young ones that all the torture and agony of dying are perfectly nothing compared to resurrecting. But I know better now. Many humans wish they could live forever, but they have no idea what it is like, going through all that pain and then having to come back, to suffer it all once again all over, a hundred times worse. They say it is evil, what we do, but we do pay our debt.
I struggled on the beach for a long time; the sun set and rose thrice before I finally stood upright in the sand, swaying violently, while every single twitch in my body hurt like thousands of burning deaths.
Still, I knew I would feel better the instant I feasted.

I shuffled along the beach, and somehow managed to catch a seagull after a while. Its plumage smelled stuffy and damp, but the blood trickling unto my rough lips tasted to me like the wines of paradise. I began feeling more like myself, and now the hunger came even stronger on me. In the distance I spotted a fisherman's cabin.
Having strengthened myself on the thick, salty blood of an old man mending his nets, I, having discovered that my clothes were nothing but slimy shreds, provided myself with an old pair of breeches and a striped pullover. I promised the vain parts of myself that I would change the instant I had come across a well-dressed lady.
By evening I arrived at a small town called Bangor. I was now wearing a brown dress, which once had belonged to a careless girl who had never listened when her mother told her not to talk to strangers.
While strolling along, I came to stop in front of a shop window. There were greeting-cards on a shelf, and some were obviously a bit out of date. Although it was early spring, there were Christmas cards and some new years' cards. And for a moment I just kept staring at the latter.
They said,

'Happy new year 1913!'

I had been drifting in the ocean for nearly one year. The thought was shocking and at the same time amusing. I wondered if I had missed anything funny.
With an of a sudden almost euphoric feeling in my chest I walked on. The townspeople kept staring at me, me being a stranger - and such a happy stranger, too. I put up at an inn that night, and left early in the morning, having feasted on each and every human within its now blood-stained walls.
I had arrived at my destination, and the vast countries of the new continent lay before my feet. It was an enormous hunting ground, crying me on its knees to explore it and prosper on it.

At this moment, writing this, I am at the house of a fairly young and pleasant undertaker called Christopher Saithe. It seems he has fallen in love with me, and I am bravely trying to keep off feasting on him. Yet I have not revealed my true being to him. If I eventually do, I will either have to rid him of his troubles, or - if he shows comprehension, make him my mate, which he might regret, as our males suffer so much more of our destiny, as they, after all, do not menstruate.
I am very well here, and I will let none of you be concerned for my sake. It is, as I said, a vast hunting ground, and the blood of this country runs truly free and fresh.
I hope you are enjoying yourselves as much as I am. I send you the most loving greetings, and I will be

forever yours,

Tudorana.

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Written by: Tinet Elmgren