#### Jim has spent the last 200 years haunting the shadows of mortal men, slipping them into his arms and mercilessly off this coil.
<br>  
No one would resist him once they found themselves under his cold, firm fingertips and the graze of his teeth teased at their flesh before sinking to bone. Drawing essence and life from them to sustain his alabaster glow. 

He had spent decades perfecting his stealth, watching the horror wash over their faces when he claimed them. He always fancied himself dark, handsome, and mysterious. The fear and repulsion on their faces from the shock of seeing someone so elegant and striking transformed into a monster. 

*That was, until Vampcorp released the biggest break in undead technology since the stake-proof cummerbund.* 

"Has it been centuries since you checked to see if your hairstyle is out of date?! For flesh stuck in your fangs?!", the pamphlet read. Jim noticed the odd slip of paper in with the usual mail dropped through the slot of his suburban townhouse. He had just unfolded himself from his tupperware tote to begin his evening. Coffins didn't really fly anymore, but a container used to house a Christmas tree post-festivities was a suitable modern day alternative. Discreet. 

Blurry eyed, he meandered into the kitchen. With one hand, reached into the fridge and pulled out a plasma bag, yawning. He tore it open with his teeth, and poured it into the coffee maker to warm. He lackadaisically flicked open the advert, reading while he waited for his breakfast. 

Apparently, Vampcorp had finally figured out how to make a mirror that was capable of showing their reflection. A small thrill ran through him. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his own face. 

He was an old world creature of lore, shrouded in devilish charm with striking features. An old world creature thrust into modern day and gave up the hunt to work at a blood bank to nick himself bagged meals. And a rather meager salary. So much had changed around him over the centuries, but he was always reassured that his irresistible appearance was the one unwavering constant. 

**He was fucking hot, and he knew it.** 

Jim poured his warmed blood brew into a modest cup emblazoned with "World's Most Okayest Vampire" and sipped thoughtfully. He was vain before he was turned, and remained vain to this day... but with the loss of his reflection, he lost the ability to admire himself. That was something he sorely missed. There was no hesitation in his mind, and he called in to place his order for rush delivery. 

He headed to his overnight shift, a bit more flounce and spring in his step, knowing that soon enough, he could see his own fanged grin. He wondered how the turn has affected his features, his cheek bones, set jaw. He bristled lewdly imagining the spectacular picture he must make. 

The whole night was a blur of mundane activity, ticking away the hours, knowing the overnight shipping was already in process. He has lived for 200 years and this was easily the LONGEST evening of his life. His one small thrill was that there was a new employee and her fascinated stares in his direction fed the narcissistic flame that was burning with a brand new intensity inside him.

"Yes, darling. I know." he thought, smirking to himself. 

At the end of his shift he rushed home, just before dawn. He paced around, unable to rest, far too excited, and pulled out his daylight kit. Jim began smothering himself in sunscreen, put on three coats, a pair of gloves, and a ridiculous hat he had left over from a Halloween party that he attended as a "Pimp". Whatever that was. 

He grabbed an umbrella and crouched by the door, listening with intent ears for the tell tale sounds of the mail. Scooting along the wall as the sun rose and shifted, keeping himself in the shadows. Then he heard it. The familiar rumble of the vehicle and the soft footfalls of the post man. 

*knock, knock, knock*

He sprung upright, took a deep breath, opened the umbrella, and swung open the door.

"Good morning, Sir, I have a..."

Jim stepped outside on the landing, the harsh sun searing his skin with the intensity of a million fires, and looked down into the friendly face of the mail lady. 

# "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

<br>

He screamed in what he hoped was a pleasant greeting despite his crippling agony, thrusting his hand out in a beckoning motion for the package. The middle aged woman jumped back, startled, and extended the parcel containing his much anticipated treasure as it shook in her hands. 

"S... Sir, I need a sig..." she stammered. 

Jim turned on his heel, package clutched tight to his chest, purple crushed velvet hat bouncing in time with his haste, as he screamed his way swiftly back inside. Once safely sheltered from the vicious, stabbing pain, he dropped his umbrella and chirped a cheery "Thank you, Dorris!" through the door. 
   
He greedily ripped through the wrappings and plastic, like tearing the clothes away from a lover. The exposed glass shimmering and reflecting his ceiling. He ran a slender finger down the frame and savored the moment. So long he had gone, so long he was left with only the flickering memory of his self image, faded and spotted with the degradation of time. 

He let out a shaky breath, set what he believed to be his most seductive expression upon his face, and slowly tilted the mirror towards him. 

The whole room spun. The air went static in his ears as he dropped the mirror to the ground where it shattered and scattered. 

**It couldn't be.**

No, it had to have been... the angle. Perhaps the lighting? Maybe his eyes just weren't prepared to take in his own glorious embodiment and they failed him. 

He slowly sank to the ground and looked into a large shard of mirror, only to see that the image hadn't wavered. That there was no lie here, no trickery. He scampered across the floor, picking up as many pieces as he could, bringing each of them up to him and looking. Hoping that maybe parts of the glass were defective, warping the truth. Every piece told the same story, held that face. 

He was *horrendous*. He... he had snaggle fangs. They hung over his lips dumbly, one half the size of the other. He was cross eyed. His cheeks were hollow and ashen, almost green in hue. On the bridge of his nose, there was a bulbous wart that appeared to be... weeping? Even his *ears* hung hideously lopsided.

# All those years, people were staring in horror and fascination, not at his monstrous nature, but his monstrous appearance.

<center>![vamp2.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmamNTh1Edt1vAq9wp2cHC3v5JGfTGKKsnQ5R1oysBG4jx/vamp2.jpg)</center>

<br>
<hr>

<center>
![vampire prompt.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmQGK7ZEvCq8d7hGWDRdKnM6Z7WBcYaurpqQJQ1CQ7HRje/vampire%20prompt.png)
</center>

<center> 
###### Based on this wonderful writing prompt from Reddit.</center> 
###### Display image credit to Pixabay. 

<hr>
<br>

![stitchhead.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmZ9Ueo53g58yXpTKvG3Ce8aJWFWdFgCKCkXrDKYPDQrfw/stitchhead.png)