<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925</id><updated>2011-08-22T13:48:52.732+01:00</updated><category term='Wales'/><category term='coture'/><category term='slate quarries'/><category term='Love Marcus Helene Donna Kingston Senna heartbreak'/><category term='italy'/><category term='Love Andrey Scotland Home Happiness'/><category term='death'/><category term='volturi'/><category term='Cymru'/><category term='Marcus Helene Love guilt volturi training guard'/><category term='blood'/><category term='beauty'/><category term='love'/><category term='vampire'/><category term='servant'/><category term='Murder vampire twilight death welsh danger'/><title type='text'>A little goes a long way</title><subtitle type='html'>Welcome to the world of a Welsh Vamp</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-5241916112433760904</id><published>2009-08-18T16:30:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T16:32:53.737+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Retired</title><content type='html'>Hi guys, I have officially retired from the OC. There's no secrets, no hard feeling. Just that I've had enough. Some of you know why. Please feel free to follow my personal blog on &lt;a href="http://www.littlemissbethan.blogspot.com/"&gt;www.littlemissbethan.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt;. Thanks for following me all these months and goodbye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-5241916112433760904?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/5241916112433760904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/08/retired.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/5241916112433760904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/5241916112433760904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/08/retired.html' title='Retired'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-1649942656773003391</id><published>2009-07-26T10:53:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T10:57:52.098+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love Andrey Scotland Home Happiness'/><title type='text'>Lost in Translation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SmwoHrk0K9I/AAAAAAAAAGE/1J0v2dyVMm4/s1600-h/johnny_depp_biography_1_trivia_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362705368712752082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SmwoHrk0K9I/AAAAAAAAAGE/1J0v2dyVMm4/s400/johnny_depp_biography_1_trivia_1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My best friend, my heart and Soul. Nothing else matters, apart from what we share. My heart was found within him. To rest with him eternally. He is the other half of me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-1649942656773003391?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/1649942656773003391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/07/lost-in-translation.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/1649942656773003391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/1649942656773003391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/07/lost-in-translation.html' title='Lost in Translation'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SmwoHrk0K9I/AAAAAAAAAGE/1J0v2dyVMm4/s72-c/johnny_depp_biography_1_trivia_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-7450266407931743210</id><published>2009-07-04T13:06:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T13:40:49.165+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Turning tides</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;How far the turning ebb does tie&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Our lives of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;sentimentality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The waters edge turns by and by&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And we forget humanity&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When I returned home with Senna I couldn't remember a thing. I was amazed that months upon months had gone, without a trace. I did what I do best, put a brave face on it and carried on as normal. Even though there was a niggle within me that wanted to push and push to see if I could find any idea of what went on. Pushing got me nowhere, apart from a deep sense of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;forbidding&lt;/span&gt;, that I shouldn't even questions what was past as it had gone. Fluttered away on the breeze like some lone leaf. Through this all there was one constant in my life. The one thing that has not erased. Andrey. My Siberian Sanctuary. He sat with me for days on end while I thought and though. He held me through the confusion I felt through the turmoil and the shadows of faces I had in my mind. He was the only constant. But I knew that I had also tried to push him away though how I don't know. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There is so much missing so many gaps. I remember Maggie and Scarlett and London, but I do not remember &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Callum&lt;/span&gt;. I remember Andrey and Maggie in their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;relationship&lt;/span&gt; and being happy for them but not where we were when it ended although I know he was with me on a beach and we were having fun. I resign myself to the fact that I will never know the answer to the questions zooming around my head. I close my eyes to forget what I can't remember.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Nick and Senna have offered us a home in Scotland and we have accepted. Donna and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Callum&lt;/span&gt; are happy together also and are staying on. Andrey, well he has been busy building extra houses for everyone including one for us near the banks of a magical loch.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Last week came the biggest surprise of all. Andrey knows I've had feelings for him for a while. I can't explain and don't remember why we couldn't be together. But since Senna and I returned to our home, it felt finally as if we were free, that I was "allowed" to be with him and express my emotions for him. He makes me laugh, he makes me smile. In a nutshell he's just adorable. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Last week Andrey took me to Siberia, to his home, it was such a magical place, snow covered and desolate, but he had built an ornate little cabin there for himself. We built a snow family out of snow, and then it happened. He proposed. How idyllic, and of course there was no other answer but yes. I have never been do blissfully happy that I would spend eternity in the company of another, or with another family. Senna is already making dresses. Donna is over the moon. All that deciding on is an appropriate date....I do hope that everything runs smoothly for us.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-7450266407931743210?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/7450266407931743210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/07/turning-tides.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7450266407931743210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7450266407931743210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/07/turning-tides.html' title='Turning tides'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-7088194321992359891</id><published>2009-06-19T12:24:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T18:45:09.807+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marcus Helene Love guilt volturi training guard'/><title type='text'>So this is what goodbye feels like</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Whilst in the infirmary I took two pieces of paper from Senna's notepad. Only two. I wrote hurriedly but had much to say. I hope that the words have some meaning to the recipients. I handed the notes quietly to Afton, a beloved brother who read the pain in my eyes. I held him dear. I hope that these notes find their owners, as I know it will not be long until Senna and I face our fate....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Dearest Helene,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If you read this then I am gone Sister, either to my grave or away somewhere beyond reach. Please do not feel at fault for any of this business. What the heart wants the heart wants. None of us can help but follow, no matter who it is we fall in love with.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Remember me fondly Sister.For all the times that we have spent happy in each others company. All the times we have giggled together like children. All the times you would have made me blush if I were still mortal. All those times were we have sobbed on one &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;anothers&lt;/span&gt; shoulders and been there for one another as true sisters should be. Remember me and smile, don't think of what I became. Remember the one I was before the start of this affair, the laughing joking innocent. If I had a rewind button somewhere, anywhere I would use it gladly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;If I am allowed to exist, by any chance of fate, be happy in the knowledge that I will live for the both of us. Please if we ever meet again, befriend me, but do not speak of Italy. I hope now that I am gone therein lies true happiness for you. There is nothing I wish more my loving big Sister.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'll Miss you,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;B&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;x&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Marcus, My Heart,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I never coveted the small place I held within you. And now, if your reading this I am either ashes or far from you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Know this-every fibre of my being anted to be yours. I gave myself to you willingly. Fate found me torn between a man who loved me and a man who I longed for but couldn't love me back. It broke my soul in two. My only choices were to face death bravely or disappear. I chose to face the music.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I admire the strength in you Marcus, to keep going, to continue as you do with the weight of a broken heart, and all the laws of our world, dragging you down. A part of me will always be yours.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Remember me as the sweet innocent I was. Not as the broken woman I became.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Your Little guard,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bethan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;x&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-7088194321992359891?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/7088194321992359891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/so-this-is-what-goodbye-feels-like.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7088194321992359891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7088194321992359891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/so-this-is-what-goodbye-feels-like.html' title='So this is what goodbye feels like'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-7203588031542536544</id><published>2009-06-15T13:22:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-16T09:37:51.502+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Reasoning and guilt</title><content type='html'>I don't know where to start,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to say,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to make the hurt I felt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just melt away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made myself so numb,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't feel a thing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When all I ever wanted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was to be close to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We have been stuck in a cell in the infirmary of the castle Senna and I now for a week. I don't know if they are even going to let me leave with my life. And of course if I die, then Senna dies too. How could I have been so prolifically stupid. What will happen from here? Are we to be burnt for my sins? I cannot write too much as this will most probably be censored and read. But we are in fear of our lives, when all we want to do is leave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;B&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-7203588031542536544?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/7203588031542536544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/reasoning-and-guilt.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7203588031542536544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7203588031542536544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/reasoning-and-guilt.html' title='Reasoning and guilt'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2884636854864641292</id><published>2009-06-07T18:32:00.004+01:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T19:47:43.329+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Head and Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Purgatory is a strange place to reside. It feels like I have been here far too long not knowing whether to take a step forward into the unknown or to take a step back in to the safe comfort of the familiar. The events of the past few weeks have left me even more confused, firstly catching Helene and Marcus fresh out of bed after 7 days of my absence and shockingly taking the higher moral ground. I knew that my words had smarted the both of them, but it took for him to walk out to start a chain reaction of things in my head. Even though I died many years ago, some parts have remained predominantly human. I &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt; like a human I still &lt;em&gt;feel&lt;/em&gt; like a human and I still &lt;em&gt;fear&lt;/em&gt; like a human. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Weaknesses&lt;/span&gt;, yes, but also the sum of my greatest strengths. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It took a few days for me to come around to talking to either of them about what had happened. Not that I was angry, more numb than anything else. Feeling as if a large velvet blanket had enveloped me and was carrying me away to.....somewhere. I was lucky to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;have Afton&lt;/span&gt; who allowed me to take some of my aggression out on him, but the hours spent afterwards were prolific. Staring at the ceiling for hours, thinking what was wrong with &lt;em&gt;me&lt;/em&gt;. I must have prompted this behaviour somehow within him. What could &lt;strong&gt;I&lt;/strong&gt; do? How could &lt;strong&gt;I&lt;/strong&gt; put things right? The answers in a concise fashion was I couldn't. He needs time and space to mourn the wife he loved so much. He doesn't love....do I? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had to talk to Helene so when I spotted her going to her jeep for a drive I decided that it would be best to be civil at least, who else could understand what I was going through apart from my own Sister. Having decided that I needed to live a little we went to a bar she was accustomed to frequenting in Rome. It was hedonistic, pure blood went straight to my head, there was a photo of her in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mens&lt;/span&gt; toilets....at a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Mardi&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;gras&lt;/span&gt;. We danced and then we hit a strip club. I honestly don't know what to make of it at first. Then I looked inside and I thought.....what the hell. I had been struggling with how uptight I had become, how old I was in a young girls body. I could not resist the temptation and ended up having to feed my thirst right there in the club.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It was early on that Friday that Mags phoned for Dane and Myself. She had met some man in Tokyo, and told Andrey of what she had done. Being friend to Andrey also, he came back to Italy and promptly decided that we both needed some fun. We spent a day on the beach, swimming catching fish, just being young. It was, dare I say, refreshing to have male company when I wasn't either getting angry or fooled. I knew full well that Andrey always had feelings for me, and that day maybe I took advantage of his gentle nature and my longing to be wanted so badly. Andrey and I became firm friends a few months ago, but I know I broke his heart when I rejected him. It was nice to help ease his pain and to talk about my own. But we both forgot Marcus' threat last time if he returned to Italy he would kill him. I tried to maintain a distance from Andrey but again my selfishness became too great. I could love him, or so my head kept telling me. But I lied to my heart as that belonged to a dark cruel man. I was so afraid of doing to poor sweet Andrey what I was having done to me. I confessed all in an argument I later had with Maggie. I felt helpless, broken at my wits end.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There was only one way on Earth I was ever going to get rid of the rest of my humanity and that was to test if my body would sing to him as my heart did or would I still be numb? I will soon find out. I have a cruel, cruel heart.........&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2884636854864641292?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2884636854864641292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/head-and-heart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2884636854864641292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2884636854864641292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/06/head-and-heart.html' title='Head and Heart'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-1727819168161147344</id><published>2009-05-27T22:37:00.006+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T19:25:51.532+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love Marcus Helene Donna Kingston Senna heartbreak'/><title type='text'>Betrayal.......</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I stand here, on my own,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Not moving, not blinking, but alone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;In a new City, I'm calling a home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;The truth I laid out there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;For all too see, too hard to bear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Burns under my skin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;You think me a child,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;That I have no clue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I accepted your lies, so cold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Expecting&lt;/span&gt; &lt;strong&gt;YOU&lt;/strong&gt; to be true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I took every moment and locked them away&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Truth turned to ashes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;In the cold light of day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I left for some Soul Searching&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;To know my own love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;To return stronger than before&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Only to return to ultimate betrayal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;What did I do to deserve such heartbreak?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;So now I stand where I began&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I have no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;resilience&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;No more fight to battle&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;In this dalliance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I cannot compete, Or fall at your feet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;The one who betrayed me so easily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I won't let it break me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;But I cannot heal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;The ghosts you stirred in me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;That day-they were real&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;You took what you wanted-what I would not give&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;With time, I would have been yours&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I look to the City,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;And know your both there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Both happy together, you think I don't care?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Because I took time out to know my own heart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Your games and your tortures&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Lust tore me apart&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And so I left my friends to return to Italy. But not before we sorted a little inconvenience for Donna. For weeks now she's been noticing a strange scent in the flat. Coming and going and following her around. She even found the source of it one night. A mystery man. She caught him on her mobile phone, following her around. Me being me I decided we should look for the source within the flat, even though Donna had searched the basement. We found a wretched shirt. It really did stink. That smell lingers with me still. Rotting flesh, filth and London grime. I can't believe even with the comings and goings in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Blackheath&lt;/span&gt; that weekend I didn't pick it up. Demetri has taught me well. Senna is far more sensitive than even I, tracking is not my greatest talent. And so Off we went following our gregarious Amazonian, from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Blackheath&lt;/span&gt; all the way down to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Whitechapel&lt;/span&gt;. And there, behind the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;infamous&lt;/span&gt; Jack the Ripper pub the Four Bells we found a disgusting bundle of rags, a beat up and broken vampire. We took him home, bathed him, and he had the nerve to tell me I stunk of Italy? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Hoorah&lt;/span&gt;, one of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Kingstons&lt;/span&gt;, in my bed. I'm sure Donna will phone me soon and tell me how things are. I am not happy at all that he is in my flat, but as Donna is my friend I have no choice but to offer him the common &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;curtosey&lt;/span&gt; of a place to stay, even though he camped without permission in my basement.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Back to Italy, I returned on Monday night. 7 days absence and I was determined that I was going to meet with Marcus, and forgive him any dalliance. I was actually looking forwards to seeing him once again, feeling stronger, knowing that I had more than enough strength to get both of us through. Sometime during my flight and my arrival home, Helene and Marcus had...I still find it difficult to think of now...they had slept together. It hit like a slap in the face then. How could I compete, why would I bother? Walls have ears in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt; and news travels exceedingly quickly between us guards, believe me I know having been the brunt of this news myself since I met...him. The newbie, the dwarf whatever they have called me. The first man I loved took me by force and I have not known a man since. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't give myself willingly apart from to a man who loved me for all that I was. Who could see into my very soul. Old fashioned? Yes I suppose so. To throw me aside so willingly for lust, how could they have been so needy? How could I have allowed myself to fall so in love with a man who respected me so little that he could not wait 7 days for my return? Both knew I had to report for duty on Tuesday morning. That is when I learnt of the betrayal. Very little secrets remain so here, and some people could not wait but fill me in on the news. Both...were there on Tuesday afternoon after my duty. I was called up to his office. I felt sick in that room. Him smelling of her, her smelling of him, so blatantly just out of bed. My head swimming with a thousand questions that I couldn't ask, as the answers would be empty. Wanting to hurt, wanting to blame, but not wanting to appear childish and unworldly. Helene blaming me for running with her secret....even though I could not help but feel Marcus' power after an hour in his company. Marcus blaming himself, as usual for his conflict. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;I &lt;strong&gt;can't&lt;/strong&gt; play these games any more&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I told him plainly. When I should have held my tongue. I won't play. I'd rather be without anything, anyone, desolate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It will take time I will eventually forgive, but I can't forget. She gave him the one thing I refused him, her body. For all that I am, which is not much, I would rather face death in the face again than share myself with one who did not want me as his equal. Willing to give as much of himself as I have to give to him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And so we are back, where the story began. I want him to know me, but I can't trust him....I don't know if I can ever fully escape his inexplicable pull on me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was ready for his embrace, and I found him in the arms of my sister. But I'm stupid enough to believe that he may choose me still. How I hate myself for feeling this way...this weak...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;We were thinking we would never be apart,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;With your name tattooed across my heart,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Oh, who would have thought it would end up like this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Where everything we talked about is gone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;And the only chance we have of moving on&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Is try to take it back&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;Before it all went wrong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"&gt;The script "before the worst"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;OOC I would like to dedicate this post to the best friend a girl could have, you know who you are ;) Thanks for pressing the publish button whilst I am out getting drunk and if you change this post I'll frigging kill you LOL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-1727819168161147344?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/1727819168161147344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/betrayal.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/1727819168161147344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/1727819168161147344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/betrayal.html' title='Betrayal.......'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-9170176659144537903</id><published>2009-05-24T11:58:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-24T12:32:55.309+01:00</updated><title type='text'>A weekend with the girls (and boys!)</title><content type='html'>My first missions as a guard went surprisingly quickly. I was at least expecting that I would need to show some of my training but this mission seemed to be all about diplomacy. Anyhow I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;emmesly&lt;/span&gt; pleased to be away from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;, away from Helene and Marcus. We travelled to America and I was given a treaty paper to study as well as folklore from some American Indian tribe about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;shapeshifters&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Apparrently&lt;/span&gt; in Washington the amount of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;shapeshifters&lt;/span&gt; in the population was in direct &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;corrolation&lt;/span&gt; to the amount of vampires. Settling vamps in the area were worrying the Masters, obviously because of the amount of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;shape shifters&lt;/span&gt; would increase. On a personal level, Senna my dear friend who lives on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;outskirts&lt;/span&gt; of the County in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Quilence&lt;/span&gt; and she must move having spent three quarters of a Million dollars building a new home away from the forest. She is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;devastated&lt;/span&gt;. All I can do is comfort her, but I know my heart is bleeding as I am one of the ones who is enforcing this rule upon her and countless others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;America was sprawling. As little as I saw of it the Olympic peninsula made me weary for the greens of my own homeland in the Great &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;British&lt;/span&gt; Isles. Lush green and damp, we met with the Head of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Cullens&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Carlisle&lt;/span&gt;. Renata as usual was a mistress of diplomacy. It must have been hard on her too enforcing this rule on one she deems a friend. We left soon after, with an addition. Felix has a lady and he is very much in love. I am more than happy to see him this way, he has met his equal. I have not spoken directly to Thanh as yet, but I left &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt; shortly after I arrived. I could not bare to be there, knowing that I was bound to see him. And I don't think that would be healthy for any of us at the moment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I returned to London, Helene refusing to leave her post to accompany me. Back into the arms of friends. My ample &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;flat&lt;/span&gt; in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Blackheath&lt;/span&gt; full to bursting, Maggie Scar, Donna, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Makenna&lt;/span&gt;, Charles, Andrey, Kristofer, and of course Senna. All the people who I loved but had to leave for the past month. A welcome distraction, but a distraction none the less. It's comforting to be back in the flat, there is an unusual scent here, Donna was right in that respect. Perhaps we could hunt for the source before my return to Italy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Italy. That is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;inevitable&lt;/span&gt;, I must return. But the question I must ask is am I strong enough to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;resist&lt;/span&gt; his lure? Am I strong enough to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;exonerate&lt;/span&gt; the professional guard in me. It seems that I am to live my happiness through the eyes of others and to be content with my own company. So be it. But I still hear him on the wind and remember what he whispered into my willing ear that Sunday afternoon.....I laugh at myself. I could not hope to be near him. He belongs to Helene and she to him. I dread my return.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-9170176659144537903?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/9170176659144537903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/weekend-with-girls-and-boys.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/9170176659144537903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/9170176659144537903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/weekend-with-girls-and-boys.html' title='A weekend with the girls (and boys!)'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-6276593600452091971</id><published>2009-05-20T09:31:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-20T09:48:26.543+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving.....</title><content type='html'>Dear Marcus and Helene,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are reading this I have left already. Please, take this time witout me to know yourselves better. I shall miss you both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through the darkness&lt;br /&gt;And pain of despair,&lt;br /&gt;Rejection engulfs me&lt;br /&gt;When you are not there&lt;br /&gt;The rivers of heartache&lt;br /&gt;Grew dark with that loss&lt;br /&gt;But rocks under water&lt;br /&gt;They gather no moss&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's onwards were moving&lt;br /&gt;Away from my heart&lt;br /&gt;Who ripped me to pieces&lt;br /&gt;And tore me apart&lt;br /&gt;It left me to gather&lt;br /&gt;Those pieces alone&lt;br /&gt;To keep myslef worthy&lt;br /&gt;My heart turned to stone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now in the twilight&lt;br /&gt;Sun loosing the fight&lt;br /&gt;I'll wait once again&lt;br /&gt;For the weak breaking light&lt;br /&gt;The stars dazzle gayly&lt;br /&gt;Amidst the crisp air&lt;br /&gt;The realisation-&lt;br /&gt;Will you ever be there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For you love another&lt;br /&gt;So torn from the start&lt;br /&gt;You dazzled me quickly&lt;br /&gt;And ran with my heart&lt;br /&gt;So now, I repair it&lt;br /&gt;and try to be free&lt;br /&gt;Here in the twilight&lt;br /&gt;There is only&lt;br /&gt;me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-6276593600452091971?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/6276593600452091971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/leaving.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6276593600452091971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6276593600452091971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/leaving.html' title='Leaving.....'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2846798142527509935</id><published>2009-05-15T19:06:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T19:38:54.893+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Do I really want to let you go?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;My immortal heart&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My immortal soul&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Something that I gave? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Or something that you Stole?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Blackened as the night&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fear that dark betrayal&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Closes with twilight&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sobbing with dismay&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Take my devotion&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Set me free&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Shatter my song&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Let me be me&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This week has broken me. I cannot find it in me to stop for a minute and catch my breath, because I'm afraid that it will kill me. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt;, poor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt;. Mary decided to call the wedding off whilst away with some friends in America. I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;devastated&lt;/span&gt; for my brother, how dare she punish him like that. He seems to be getting closer to Jane, and Jane is seen to be flitting quite happily around the castle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;which&lt;/span&gt; in itself is odd, as she's always...smiling...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then the news that Renata and Santiago got married in secret. They went away to marry to spare &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Corin's&lt;/span&gt; feelings and to avoid the fuss which a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;volturi&lt;/span&gt; wedding would no doubt ensue.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As for me...I continue to work. I walked in on a stolen moment, they kissed. Ah, what a fool I am! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now he cannot decide. Well how could he? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I cannot believe that I have fallen for a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt; leader. That was never my intention, especially one which my sister had been in love with for twenty years. I am ashamed that I was weak. I wanted him so badly, and I assumed that he reciprocated. Weakness cannot belong to me any more. Helene has forgiven me, and I her. She has far more rights to this man than I could ever have. She has been a guard for many years. Had I never looked into his eyes that day and seen...that something. Had I ignored his subtle calls for me, I would have been fine. My heart would be fine. My sister would be with him now. Why could I not just stay away. Whilst all my friends are away from me and the other guard seem content and happy, why do I struggle with myself so? I've never felt this way. So torn. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So now I work. I expect orders, I train, I distract myself and I avoid having to think at all costs. He will not choose, and heaven nor earth can move him after his heartbreak. I just wish he could hear the silent shards of ice crumbling into nothingness within me. How I sob for him in the small flat in the evenings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Foolish I know. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;But why would he have me?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm nothing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm no one. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2846798142527509935?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2846798142527509935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/do-i-really-want-to-let-you-go.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2846798142527509935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2846798142527509935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/do-i-really-want-to-let-you-go.html' title='Do I really want to let you go?'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2798804269387181805</id><published>2009-05-11T22:25:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T22:48:41.643+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marcus Helene Love guilt volturi training guard'/><title type='text'>Betrayal, Guilt and heartbreak</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Does my heart feel shame&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My conscience full of guilt?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Like a friendship gone wrong&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This pain is felt&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No my love &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Not the pain that brings sorrow&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;painThat&lt;/span&gt; gives birth to all my tomorrows&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Shame for doubting love to be so true&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Love had failed &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;meUntil&lt;/span&gt; the day that I met you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Heartbreak, infidelity&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;An irreconcilable difference&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Misconceptions, no trust&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Happiness without the resemblance&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sorrow for all who do not know heart's satisfaction&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;S&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;haring a love that ignores this world's distractions&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Guilt like I have found a buried treasure&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Or the fountain of youth&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;My future shines bright&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And I am not in need of reproof&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Each day reveals the idiosyncrasy of the need for love&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Pure, without blemish&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The symbol of a flying white dove&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I love who you are&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Not who you feel you need to be&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You are my guiding force&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; Forever my love’s destiny&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I should be flying as high as any success at the moment. But I'm not. I should proud of myself for passing the test my Masters have placed before me after my first few weeks of training. But I am not. I should be elated that my head is spinning with thought of a new love. But I cannot feel. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Helene, my exquisite sister Helene. I have torn her heart from her, because I was too weak and needy to stop myself from falling in love with a man too wrong for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Helene confessed to me that she had a crush. I too had a crush on one of my brothers. We &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;regaled&lt;/span&gt; in tails of how bad it would be to divulge our silly confessions to our family. We danced together, we drunk together. And then she confessed. Directly to Marcus. He did not reciprocate, but he has lost his wife, he cannot love and she fled to Ireland leaving me on my own. Oh I was lost without her. Spending time with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Makenna&lt;/span&gt;. She and I were the only two who knew about Helene's secret.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Now for my secret. After a brief &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; with Marcus, I found myself drawn to him and drawn in by him. He is a proud man, but a hurt man. Having lost his one true love many years ago, he is also a heartbroken man. After hours of talking to him I was weak, and kissed him. Ah, even confessed my love for him. He also has a place for Helene. What are we to do? I am the child, Helene is the Lady. Where she is gracious I am silly. I still find it hard to believe that he finds me stimulating-what have we in common apart from shared hurts? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have already betrayed my family, by shredding Helene's heart. Failure is worse than death. I hope that she is gracious enough to allow me an audience soon. I love you Helene. I followed my heart, and I'm still not convinced that it steers me on to the right path. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am to leave for America soon. An assignment. It will be my first real test in the field. I am to go with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Ren&lt;/span&gt; and Dem. Am I ready to fight? Yes. Am I ready to leave &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;? No. But I carry the memory of the past few days with me. I can have that much to myself surely.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2798804269387181805?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2798804269387181805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/betrayal-guilt-and-heartbreak.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2798804269387181805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2798804269387181805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/betrayal-guilt-and-heartbreak.html' title='Betrayal, Guilt and heartbreak'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-3222818033940551493</id><published>2009-05-08T21:20:00.005+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T21:52:33.293+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Prolific Follying</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Like the title? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Know what it means?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;To be stuck in the middle&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And nowhere between&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;To stick to the ruling&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;And then still be false&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;. God, since I came here, I haven't stood still. I haven't had the chance to be fair. Not only the hard work and effort I'm putting in but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Lordy&lt;/span&gt;, the emotions that go flying around on a daily basis. My own are no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;expetion&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; has taken over my combat training since Felix has disappeared. Where he has gone, no one knows. Mary has now left to meet up with one of her nomadic friends in America, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; thinks everything Felix texts him and speaks to him about hilarious. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hmmmm&lt;/span&gt;, it doesn't take much intelligence to add two and two together. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;FiFi&lt;/span&gt; in love, or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;wonderlust&lt;/span&gt;? Who knows. Must be one hell of a woman.&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ren&lt;/span&gt; and San have just disappeared into their own little world for days on end, well fair play to them I say. Something &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;happenned&lt;/span&gt; around about the time of her birthday after she returned home from a round trip of Ireland and America. I only saw the flowers, and heard something whispered....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And Helene, poor Helene confessing her love and then leaving for Ireland. Master Marcus, oh what a puzzle is he....such an interesting subject for my musings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Me? Oh I had a visitor.I even took a day off for him. It was nice learning about Andrey's life, he even made me a table. It sits in my flat as I'm writing this. He's a lonely soul after a bit of a laugh, I think my running away from him at the most &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;inopportune&lt;/span&gt; moments made him giggle. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, we had a bit of a moment, but that was it. It was over before it begun, but I know I have a wandering friend in him. I could not give him what he wanted. My heart is ice, I am frozen in time as my heart belongs to another. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;dare not&lt;/span&gt; disclose as I am sure he does not feel the same and it would be my ruin to act upon it. But the temptation is great, even though I have a skittish &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;tendency&lt;/span&gt; to run, or kill. It is the &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;poco&lt;/span&gt; con passionate&lt;/em&gt; in me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;apparently&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I still miss my Wales. I may ask soon if I can at least go to London. Donna is using my London flat at the moment, I think she may have met Maggie and Helene in Ireland for a few days.Perhaps return to Cardiff. Surely even a trainee can have a few days off. I miss the constant reassurance of my mother, the pure clean fresh air of Wales. In the meantime, I'm hoping they send me into some action soon. I need to kill something pretty bad. Prolific &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;follying&lt;/span&gt; has the way of doing that to a girl, especially a girl like me, little, who has come so far anyway, long way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-3222818033940551493?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/3222818033940551493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/prolific-follying.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/3222818033940551493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/3222818033940551493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/prolific-follying.html' title='Prolific Follying'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2795457490035831461</id><published>2009-05-06T20:36:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T20:46:59.975+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Dirty little Secrets</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Silence engulfs her once screaming night&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; She sits biting at the withered skin that &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;gathers around the edges of her nails&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Shards of icy tingles haunt her spine &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;while she reflects upon her past&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Her legs shake when she gets nervous &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;so she digs her teeth hard into her tongue &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;to focus on something else.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Wet flesh rolling in a dumb stupor, she knows what she wants to say&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It is trying to claw its way out from inside her but her lips remain padlockedNo wetness softens her cheeks&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;She’s numb&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Eyes wide Pupils dilated&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;She just stares, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;at nothing she stares, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;no story in her eyes just an etched in look of grief&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Motionless she sits, d&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;oesn’t know how long she has been there &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;or how long until she can move again&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;She just sits paralysed by the silence&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;We all have them. We all hide them. We all hope beyond hope that no one will fall inadvertently onto them. This family is riddled with them. Whilst poor Ren is trying to figure out ours, I muse on how familliar this situation feels to me. The litter sister again. The schoolgirl whom no one takes seriously. The girl with a crush. And a dangerous one at that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I miss home, the familiarity of it. I miss my friends. It's been a heartbraking week, oh, I'm being overtly dramatic. I hate dirty little secrets, they eat you up from the inside out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2795457490035831461?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2795457490035831461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/dirty-little-secrets.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2795457490035831461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2795457490035831461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/dirty-little-secrets.html' title='Dirty little Secrets'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-979434502274916822</id><published>2009-05-03T13:20:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T13:51:40.798+01:00</updated><title type='text'>New Horizons</title><content type='html'>Like a breath of springtime air,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you breathed your life on me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fresh and new I bloomed right there,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And my eyes began to see&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Horizons,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the colors of Your reflecting glow of love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am for the first time in many years content with my place in the World. I am happy just to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bethan&lt;/span&gt;, to be myself. My world has revolved so fast this last week, it amuses me. One minute desolate, the next surrounded by a rich and varied family. My timetable for training is jam packed, I hardly have time to think, which is a blessing as I have plenty to think about. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have always kept myself busy, even in the Wilds of Wales, there was study, composition, exploration, to be done. Here it is a more tangled web we weave, and I find myself at a loss of what to do on my free time. Perhaps I will wonder the countryside for a time, I'm not yearning as I did and do not feel so empty. I could almost go so far as to say that I am close to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;fulfilled&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One small irk in my perfect life is that I still think about the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Snowdons&lt;/span&gt;. The old fashioned values I carried with me to this day tell me that I was wrong to kiss Coraline. But it felt very right at the time. Should I continue along this path and find a female to spend the rest of my life with? But then I think of the passion that burns within me for a good looking man. A part of me fears that I can never trust another with my heart after the hurt the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Snowdons&lt;/span&gt; have caused. Perhaps I should just take the boys advice and "chase some tail" for a while, but this isn't really me either. Time will tell I suppose, at the moment no time to think is a blessing. It is in the quiet times that the ghosts of the past come back to rip our hearts from our sleeves. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-979434502274916822?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/979434502274916822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/new-horizons.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/979434502274916822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/979434502274916822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/05/new-horizons.html' title='New Horizons'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2335363775415767589</id><published>2009-04-29T18:29:00.008+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T20:37:20.949+01:00</updated><title type='text'>When a heart breaks, it don't break even</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;So close no matter how far&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;couldn't be much more from the heart&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;forever trusting who we are&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;and nothing else matters&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;never opened myself this way&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;life is ours, we live it our way&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;all these words I don't just say&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;a&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;nd&lt;/span&gt; nothing else matters&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;trust I seek and I find in you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;every day for us something new&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;open mind for a different view&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;and nothing else matters&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;never cared for what they do&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;never cared for what they know&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;but I know&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-&lt;em&gt;Nothing Else Matters, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Mettalica&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A day of complete extremes. Loss and then Joy. I sent a final letter home today and it broke my heart. I don't know if mam will ever get over it, and I am so selfish for tearing her heart out, but she's so much stronger than I. I asked for my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;possessions&lt;/span&gt;, even though I had very few. My journals and manuscripts. I also wished for her to visit me. But she will not. I will optimistically keep hoping that one day, maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also in shock, having been accepted as a member of the general guard of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt;. This means that I'll be working to uphold the Laws of our kind. The bitter sweet feeling of having lost one family I held so dear, to being accepted into the heart &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;of&lt;/span&gt; a prestigious royal family. I am in awe and still dumbfounded as to why they would choose a small insignificant &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Welshgirl&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Iesu&lt;/span&gt; Gwyn, give me strength to be able to prove myself worthy to them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My New Family&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whom We Serve&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfid-f3KQhI/AAAAAAAAADQ/fXIW0CpMM-U/s1600-h/aro-red%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330183856023290386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 104px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 95px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfid-f3KQhI/AAAAAAAAADQ/fXIW0CpMM-U/s200/aro-red%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Aro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, Head of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt;, Married to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Sulpicia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;He's a cool guy really but really intimidating when you first meet him&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;He can read your thoughts just by touching you, which is very cool &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;btw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Caius&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, brother to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Aro&lt;/span&gt; Married to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Athenodora&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;He's sort of the crazy warring man in the bunch&lt;/em&gt; . &lt;em&gt;He doesn't really like&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Peace in our time&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVJcMRNI/AAAAAAAAADg/IBgCGn3mi4A/s1600-h/Oli_bushes%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185344653214930" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 108px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 146px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVJcMRNI/AAAAAAAAADg/IBgCGn3mi4A/s200/Oli_bushes%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Marcus&lt;/strong&gt;, brother in law to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Aro&lt;/span&gt;. He was married to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Didyme&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Aro's&lt;/span&gt; sister, but she died a violent death :(&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Always looks "quite bored"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt; Guards&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;For the time being these guys are my mentors, and the reason I want to fight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVT5eZiI/AAAAAAAAADw/87P1i4VVQQo/s1600-h/Christina-R%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185347460392482" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 96px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 137px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVT5eZiI/AAAAAAAAADw/87P1i4VVQQo/s200/Christina-R%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Ren&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt; if I were writing for Society magazine, This is where I would start&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;This woman is the glue in the backbone of the guard, owns a million pairs of shoes, oh, and she is a pretty impressive shield-what more could you ask? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVW05mMI/AAAAAAAAADo/FskPoc1b1cw/s1600-h/01%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185348246509762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 97px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVW05mMI/AAAAAAAAADo/FskPoc1b1cw/s200/01%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Santiago, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Ren's&lt;/span&gt; other half, he has the power to mimic other peoples abilities. I have one word for this man Adorable (sorry &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Ren&lt;/span&gt;!) but I am very glad he is on my side when I get to fight&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfinDkENRsI/AAAAAAAAAEg/OBnFkZSz0dA/s1600-h/normal_036-1%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330193838655751874" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 84px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 110px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfinDkENRsI/AAAAAAAAAEg/OBnFkZSz0dA/s200/normal_036-1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfinDpmLqXI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Jbqm3CSqWJE/s1600-h/hbp18%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330193840140429682" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 88px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 108px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfinDpmLqXI/AAAAAAAAAEY/Jbqm3CSqWJE/s200/hbp18%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Alec&lt;/strong&gt; and &lt;strong&gt;Jane&lt;/strong&gt; or the twins&lt;strong&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt; These two are really death on legs even though they look like cherubim. Alec has the ability to numb, Jane to inflict &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;excrutiating&lt;/span&gt; pain. Man, I'm never breaking any laws.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfimz74ncoI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ZfV_9jY7FV4/s1600-h/_nico_rosberg_williams_fw28%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330193570171679362" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 131px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 114px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfimz74ncoI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/ZfV_9jY7FV4/s200/_nico_rosberg_williams_fw28%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;ahhh&lt;/span&gt; bless him. My F1 loving (familiar?) Big brother. He's a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;smoosh&lt;/span&gt; head but I love him. He's got the ability to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;teleport&lt;/span&gt; which is pretty cool. He's also madly in love with one of the most amazing non &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt; women ever &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;MaryBethune&lt;/span&gt;-watch this space, she is soon to become our sister on Law.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVbJWIyI/AAAAAAAAAD4/0se2yUwcQnE/s1600-h/Dem8%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185349406008098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 124px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfifVbJWIyI/AAAAAAAAAD4/0se2yUwcQnE/s200/Dem8%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;Demitri&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;/strong&gt;he's been busy really since I arrived, but he seems quite pleasant. He's English, so it makes me feel more at home. He's also one of the most amazing trackers in the history of Our kind. Pretty hot too huh?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfifrg8uwaI/AAAAAAAAAEA/jY0RtvPqBSI/s1600-h/vin%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185728920830370" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 109px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfifrg8uwaI/AAAAAAAAAEA/jY0RtvPqBSI/s200/vin%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Felix,aka &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"&gt;Scarymutha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;if you saw this guy on a dark night you'd sprint in the other direction. He scared the living daylights out of me my first few days in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;, now? Well I hope he's warming to me now I'm family...&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfid-f3KQhI/AAAAAAAAADQ/fXIW0CpMM-U/s1600-h/aro-red%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Chelsea, as we know did a stupid thing and died. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm yet to meet Afton, he was sent off to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"&gt;greive&lt;/span&gt; by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"&gt;aro&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="right"&gt;Oh, and Helen send me a pic when you have one and I'll do an awesome Bio for you too, Finally&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfifruv2UTI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Jjqxj8q0t-k/s1600-h/katherine_jenkins%5B1%5D.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330185732624896306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 115px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 125px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfifruv2UTI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Jjqxj8q0t-k/s200/katherine_jenkins%5B1%5D.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Beth&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;,  &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"&gt;rentagob&lt;/span&gt; with a heart. For what I lack in height I make up in noise. Oh, and Nothing Else Matters&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I have my robes, a party is planned, and then to work. Back to my roots, serving a Master. First though to get to grips with those pesky laws.........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfid-f3KQhI/AAAAAAAAADQ/fXIW0CpMM-U/s1600-h/aro-red%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2335363775415767589?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2335363775415767589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-heart-breaks-it-dont-break-even.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2335363775415767589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2335363775415767589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-heart-breaks-it-dont-break-even.html' title='When a heart breaks, it don&apos;t break even'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/Sfid-f3KQhI/AAAAAAAAADQ/fXIW0CpMM-U/s72-c/aro-red%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-702523765619857820</id><published>2009-04-28T19:13:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T19:30:10.345+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Disowned</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Had I Known I would have loved you then.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; Had I known, I would have asked less questions... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Followed my heart a little more. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Had I known one day you'd be gone, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and I couldn't show you anymore. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'd have lived each moment as if it were the last. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Remember every word... not let time go by so fast.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; But I was wrapped in my own image, afraid to let it show, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;But now I wish I loved you. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Why couldn't I know that you would leave me, &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;and I'd be caught in the past. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;In the moments I could have changed, the times that were your last.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; I would have lived a lifetime in a few short days. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Instead I have a few brief moments, that I let my heart show. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Memories of a love that I refused to know,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt; until it was almost too late. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Then it was over, and I was all alone. In a daze, I wonder...... &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Did you know &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I loved you all along?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have fed, on human blood. I am stronger, physically and the crimson tinge has returned to my once amber eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A letter arrived this morning after a tumultuous night. I am disowned by my coven, I am not to return. All day I have silently sobbed, grieved. Is it wrong to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;relieved&lt;/span&gt;? Was I rash in my decisions? In 95 years of my feeble existence I have never put myself first, until I could take no more and I had to flee to find my way. Mother dominated me, mollycoddled like the child she couldn't birth herself. She has arranged for my bonds be shipped to me. She says it would be too painful to see me now and that I will be killed if I return. I am not wealthy and now have to make my own way in the world. Where am I to go? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have been interviewed for a position in the guard. A foolish child was killed leaving a vacancy. I am not trained in fighting but do understand servitude, and hard work. I shall have to return to London for a few days, just to put my affairs in order. I got my wish, I am now having to be in control of my own destiny. And carving my own path.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-702523765619857820?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/702523765619857820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/disowned.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/702523765619857820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/702523765619857820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/disowned.html' title='Disowned'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-7029472418692029722</id><published>2009-04-24T21:50:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T22:58:40.879+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Murder vampire twilight death welsh danger'/><title type='text'>Unwelcome News</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rF1EIF7EnD8/SfIrWjzm-XI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZYJUTXfblqw/s1600-h/ts%5B2%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328368975701539186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 219px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rF1EIF7EnD8/SfIrWjzm-XI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZYJUTXfblqw/s320/ts%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;An unexpected Text Message. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;****She's in Calais****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That's all that was required. My heart carried a dark secret, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;vengeful&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; sorrow that I had carried with me all these years. It was not a number I recognised, but I could have guessed who had sent it to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I knew what I had to do. No mean feat for the coward I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;truly&lt;/span&gt; am. Quickly I packed my belongings. Not knowing if I wold ever return from my journey. Leaving friends that I held so dear in the midst of their own turmoils. I took only the bare minimum. No explanations. My business my own. Who could I entrust my responsibilities to? No one apart from myself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am weak. In the days as my newborn, I was directionless, but one burning desire alone revenge. Lord &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Snowdon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; had abused me and left me to die. I had to avenge myself, so I had hit his heart, the only thing that mattered to him before immortality, his daughter. I knew that even after he had been made immortal he watched over his daughter like a precious jewel. His diamond. I had always craved for his love, his acceptance, and the rage that burnt in me having been used like I had ate at what was left of my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;humanity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Burned me to damnation. I had to damage and dislodge this jewel in his crown. To make him as numb in this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ever life&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; as I was. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I knew that the Lady and her daughter resided in London for the Summer. For all my plainness in life, they surely would not recognise me now, and I would ensure that I was suitably well fed as to not make a scene once I arrived in their Society circle. It was 1934. I hunted them to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Notting&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Hill, an exclusive part of the City. Ha! I should have known. It was all too easy to pass for a Lady, stealing clothing had become second nature. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Coraline was 24 engaged to be married to an officer, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;extraordinarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; beautiful. Quite refined from head to toe. The night before her wedding I jumped up to her balcony, entered her bedroom, kissed her forehead gently, sang her a sweet lullaby and drained her of blood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Or so I thought.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had no word for thirty years. Kept in Rural Wales with my family in my sanctuary, I had no reason to suspect otherwise, until I received a hand written note&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Beth,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;You have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;failed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; again. "Alive" and well my dear girl.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Please visit me soon,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;C&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I begged my mother to look, and she did. Finding no trace of Coraline &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Snowdon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. No trail of bodies where she had been or gone. I was a foolish &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;youngling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; who was not up to the job. Shame flowed through me that I had not killed her entirely, and changed her into a violent elegant killer. I had not received word until my stay in Italy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I cannot describe the hatred and panic that spasmed through me when I read that message. The anguish as I knew that I had to destroy the one that I had created in revenge. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Intrigued&lt;/span&gt; as I was also to see what my deviant angel was like. ~I knew her smell~&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I headed North, the moon and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Beemer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; my only companions. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Grateful&lt;/span&gt; for the pulse of the powerful engine of the bike. Scared that I had to face this entirely alone. She was easy to track. Too easy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;She had not changed. Still glorious still beautiful, still seductive. Her fathers &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfIyjocylqI/AAAAAAAAADI/MJh17bxKLwg/s1600-h/CA74RCYHCA15B5EXCAPPQ0E0CAAUO33ACA3GZDZBCABH7SRKCA811BZDCA8NZ99OCAVS14I2CA2QSR60CA09Z8JUCAVBHK3OCAYNOVS8CA8MEN1DCAD70KSTCALBXNRBCAQB3VPJCAPTOT3YCANN8DX1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328376896867702434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 96px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SfIyjocylqI/AAAAAAAAADI/MJh17bxKLwg/s320/CA74RCYHCA15B5EXCAPPQ0E0CAAUO33ACA3GZDZBCABH7SRKCA811BZDCA8NZ99OCAVS14I2CA2QSR60CA09Z8JUCAVBHK3OCAYNOVS8CA8MEN1DCAD70KSTCALBXNRBCAQB3VPJCAPTOT3YCANN8DX1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;eyes and her mothers delicate features. She was also all to aware that I was coming-and why.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"It's been a long time little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Friend&lt;/span&gt;" she purred effortlessly. Long versed in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; art of seduction.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Too long, you know why I'm here" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My voice broke with anticipation and I felt the small hairs on the back of my neck raise for the fight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Before we fight", she raised herself up on the bed and touched my face running her finger down my cheekbone to my collar. She kissed me, a full, tender warm kiss of a lover.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was utterly lost. The tender moments with her father although fuzzy and far away came rushing back to me. I urged myself not to get lost in that tender kiss. I hissed and pulled away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Ah, always the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;bridesmaid&lt;/span&gt;, but you enjoyed that. Let's fight" she growled.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I took all my friends notes on board, but she was quicker and stronger than I. I could not find my voice as I knew that she was mine, and we could be together forever if she were not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;abhorrently&lt;/span&gt; wrong-I had created her in revenge. I had killed her father in cold blood.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;From some source I found strength, Donna had taught me to go for a weak point. The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt; had taught me respect. I was not giving in. In a split second I had her pinned on the floor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"To your death bitch"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;And I kissed her, passionately, deeply, hard, before moving down to her neck, and then I just bit. The howls were unbearable, the screams between &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Ecstasy&lt;/span&gt; and torture. I tore her to shreds. Taking everything with me to burn her, keeping a lock of her hair in a pendant around my neck.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Victory was not sweet. I morn now for what could have been. But my torture is over. There may be light yet over some distant hill. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;A little goes along way.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-7029472418692029722?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/7029472418692029722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/unwelcome-news.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7029472418692029722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/7029472418692029722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/unwelcome-news.html' title='Unwelcome News'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rF1EIF7EnD8/SfIrWjzm-XI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZYJUTXfblqw/s72-c/ts%5B2%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-9037301482814015790</id><published>2009-04-20T21:01:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T20:42:55.902+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Decisions</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Relationships between my mother and I continue to deteriorate whilst I am visiting Volterra. My absence from home is causing her great pain I know. And the last thing I want is to tear at the heart of the one who rescued me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am torn, between great friends and admiration for the Volturi, with a homeland and mother who kept me repressed and hid me in safety for so many years. Help, me....Let me sing...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I must leave Italy, there is that one last dark secret that I must confront. I dare not tell anyone. I cannot, must not, leave this any longer. I must go into danger head on and hope, to God, that I make it back in one piece. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-9037301482814015790?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/9037301482814015790/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/big-decisions.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/9037301482814015790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/9037301482814015790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/big-decisions.html' title='Big Decisions'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-6263595305696812576</id><published>2009-04-16T12:17:00.007+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T19:42:29.127+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Drama...........</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Would things have really been so different&lt;br /&gt;Would the world really have been so shaken&lt;br /&gt;If when I were a much younger&lt;br /&gt;I had chosen the road not taken&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would the days have been any the brighter&lt;br /&gt;Or the nights darker than they are&lt;br /&gt;Would I still have lived in such obscurity&lt;br /&gt;Or shined brighter than any star&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It does little good to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;wonder Of&lt;/span&gt; things&lt;br /&gt;that might have been&lt;br /&gt;For who, and what I have become&lt;br /&gt;I must live with in the end&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though life could have been much better&lt;br /&gt;All in all I do not feel forsaken&lt;br /&gt;I count the blessings that I have&lt;br /&gt;And cry not of the road not taken&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My head is spinning! It's not an altogether unpleasant feeling, but nonetheless I find it difficult to concentrate. There is so much going on in Italy, and my little head cannot fully grasp or savour all of what is going on around me. So many &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;intricate&lt;/span&gt; relationships, so many arguments. I will have to become accustomed to the speed of life here. I played on the harp for hours on end the evening before, playing the welsh songs and calming myself down listening to the familiar thrum of the string against my finger. &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SecaymP2GxI/AAAAAAAAADA/0FiK-xQeNeU/s1600-h/viva_la_diva_2%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325254540951690002" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 255px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SecaymP2GxI/AAAAAAAAADA/0FiK-xQeNeU/s320/viva_la_diva_2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;For the first time since leaving home, I am confident that this road was right for me. I am enjoying my new skin, and have learnt to fight. I have also learnt a very important lesson. I dare not speak it even to my own heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Drama, melodrama, arguments, fighting and making up again. Italians are passionate, resolved and confusing! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My Irish sister has been in the middle of most of the tumult, her and Felix. We have an agreement, I don't understand him, he doesn't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;understand&lt;/span&gt; me, all good there. All I can do is be here for her when she needs me as a good friend should be. Her life is her own and she has her own roads to follow. I know that she will probably break some hearts on the way, I just hope they are not her families. At least I have my first credit card to keep me happy from trouble, that and my new Bugatti.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm all partied out and yet I continue, and am getting to know myself more each day. F1 weekend this weekend should be very forthcoming&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-6263595305696812576?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/6263595305696812576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/drama.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6263595305696812576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6263595305696812576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/drama.html' title='Drama...........'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SecaymP2GxI/AAAAAAAAADA/0FiK-xQeNeU/s72-c/viva_la_diva_2%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-5176775917756099684</id><published>2009-04-13T19:41:00.008+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T20:44:43.906+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vampire'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cymru'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='italy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='volturi'/><title type='text'>When in Rome....Well Volturri</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SeOIy3NS0MI/AAAAAAAAACw/7jhmpY_8MaI/s1600-h/volterra_2%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324249591876604098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SeOIy3NS0MI/AAAAAAAAACw/7jhmpY_8MaI/s320/volterra_2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I arrived in Italy shortly after ten in the morning. The sun was beating down and having had a flight full of glorious smelling humans, in a seat next door to a surfer who could not stop saying the word "dude" (what an earth is a dude anyway?), I felt the familiar tight knot in my stomach. Having quickly put on my helmet and collect my bike I made way for the Villa deep in the Tuscan hills, a tucked away reclusive spot, breathtakingly beautiful and so different to my own home. My nervousness quickly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dissipated&lt;/span&gt; with the ease of our hostess, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ren&lt;/span&gt;. How one person can exude such warmth and hospitality is quite beyond me, I watched in awe as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; and Mary spoke in whispers on the couch, San played teasingly with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Ren's&lt;/span&gt; hair in the lounge room. I automatically felt part of the family. Before I knew it I was staying for the Summer. I was glad Siobhan and Maggie had arrived before me, I sensed straight away that Maggie needed to talk, so we made our excuses and headed to the music room to the harp I had sent on. Oh, and we talked about everything and nothing, loosing hours. Donna joined us later and talking to the shy, yet self assured rebel put &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324253464217826578" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SeOMUQzYtRI/AAAAAAAAAC4/uxy6I4YODLc/s320/volterra_1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;me strangely at ease. As soon as Scarlett arrived, then we knew there would be trouble! So strange to me who before now had been reclusive and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;untrusting&lt;/span&gt; to be comfortable in the tumult of Italy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Saturday evening was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;extremely&lt;/span&gt; entertaining. We raced. Firstly we had a car race, Santiago, Renata, Siobhan and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; and their multi million pound collection of cars. Fascinated I watched as the cars flew into action around me, thrilling me, adrenalin coursing through me in the first time in what seems like an eon. Renata won, which cost me my college fund, I had bet on Siobhan. Now &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;penniless&lt;/span&gt;, my nerves were ten fold! We were up next.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had met the mysterious Felix once before but was unsure of how to take him. He's monosyllabic, but something about him makes me smile, mostly because he makes Maggie come alive. Maggie, Felix and I raced on our bikes. I must say I did cheat a little, a man cannot help but be distracted from a girl in a good fitting pair of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Versace's&lt;/span&gt;. I'm sure he felt quite uncomfortable between Maggie and I. Thankfully I won, ending the race with more money than I had ever seen in my lifetime. Gladly, Santiago and I went on the hunt for a car with a portion of it. He is adamant that I am not allowed to see his choice until he is ready to unveil it. I just hope that it's not pink and not a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;porsche&lt;/span&gt;! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Easter egg hunt was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;intriguing&lt;/span&gt;, organised by the Athendora, the wife of the elder Caius, as many questions have been raised in my head since arriving in Italy. I feel at home here, three days, I know what lunacy! Do I join the guard? Should I even &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;contemplate&lt;/span&gt; it and break the heart of my mother? I talked at length to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; who allowed me to patrol the borders with him last night.I shall take my time, and enjoy it. Shame there were no chocolate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;covered&lt;/span&gt; rugby players hidden in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;.....I was quite hungry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SeOMUQzYtRI/AAAAAAAAAC4/uxy6I4YODLc/s1600-h/volterra_1%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-5176775917756099684?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/5176775917756099684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-in-romewell-volturri.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/5176775917756099684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/5176775917756099684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/when-in-romewell-volturri.html' title='When in Rome....Well Volturri'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SeOIy3NS0MI/AAAAAAAAACw/7jhmpY_8MaI/s72-c/volterra_2%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-6364458017701875898</id><published>2009-04-11T23:05:00.003+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T23:40:23.575+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaving Home.........</title><content type='html'>I know God forgave me long ago,&lt;br /&gt;but I still feel some need for absolution.&lt;br /&gt;To pry my clenched fists from the torments of the past&lt;br /&gt;and lay each palm open to what I hunger for&lt;br /&gt;and fear I may never see again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am outcast from my own heart.    &lt;br /&gt;I cannot hear the voices    &lt;br /&gt;that would guide my return.    &lt;br /&gt;I cannot see the hand    &lt;br /&gt;that holds the key&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It has been a week of great anticipation, and great sadness. To be truthful, leaving Wales for the Tuscan village has shaken me more than I realised. I looked out of the window &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ar&lt;/span&gt; the break of dawn, watching the sun creep slowly over the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cragged&lt;/span&gt; edges of the grey, still and silent mountains. Listening to the birds singing their chorus to the dawn. I felt more like lamenting. As I took that first cold breath into my long dead lungs, I wanted it to envelope me, to choke any humanity out of what is left of my shell. Yes, it was hard to say goodbye, to a place which has been my life for almost a century. Difficult to leave a family who know my quirks, and accept and love me for all that I am. I know that it may be a while before I return to these mountains, to the clear running streams which thrum through their valleys, to the music and pasture of the wild untamed heaths. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;destination&lt;/span&gt;? Straight to the heart of the family my mother has warned me about since I was a child. I go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Volterra&lt;/span&gt;, to a family so different to my own, so diverse, electric in every way. It's a short flight, two and a half hours, but it's a world of sophistication, satire and freedom, yes I hope to find some freedom. One of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Aro's&lt;/span&gt; guard, Renata  has kindly invited us to stay at her Villa. We are to participate in a street race, and a hunt (the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Easter&lt;/span&gt; egg variety) on the Sunday. There are a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;handful&lt;/span&gt; of us younger girls gathering this weekend and it will be nice to spend some time getting to know them better. Scarlett Dane  is the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Cullen's&lt;/span&gt; replacement forger I think that she will be my advocate in mischief. Donna  is a soulful Southern American who has fled from the clutches of her "family" who were overpowering of her, and finally Maggie  my Irish sister at arms. I look forward to meeting the gypsy musician Mary and of course guard &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;who's&lt;/span&gt; love affair made us quite week at the knees over the past few weeks. It's all about love in Italy, Renata finally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;yielding&lt;/span&gt; to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Santi&lt;/span&gt;, Mary and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Corin&lt;/span&gt;, I am almost sure that Maggie will find a mate. If Italy is indeed the land of love, then with three Single girls in town can the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Volturi&lt;/span&gt; guard really withstand such an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;onslaught&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As I sit now on the Early flight, I also feel a change within myself. I've managed to sit on the plain in a reasonable fashion, my bike safely in the storehold. I feel some apprehension of things to come and know that this visit signifies a change, either for the good or bad. And I have to question why, after all this time, do I need to subject myself to change. Do I need to be different? Am I not accepted now? Am I a silly young girl, the class clown who makes everyone laugh? Or can I be perhaps more complicated than the facade everyone around me sees. Only time will tell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-6364458017701875898?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/6364458017701875898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/leaving-home.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6364458017701875898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6364458017701875898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/leaving-home.html' title='Leaving Home.........'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-2021188665315173745</id><published>2009-04-06T18:54:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T23:43:58.937+01:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends, Celts, and everone else</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A country of mountains and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;valesOf&lt;/span&gt; daffodils, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;rugby and song&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A country of coal mines and dragons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;And a people whose spirit is strong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A country of hills and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;valleysOf&lt;/span&gt; land so rich and green&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Of Eisteddfods, poets and bards&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;And a people whose pride can be seen. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A country of warriors and heroes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A tapestry of legends and tales&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;An oppressed people’s fight for freedom&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;This is my country, this is my Wales&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;You guessed that my "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Welshness&lt;/span&gt;" is important to me right? I speak &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdpDNrZB8TI/AAAAAAAAACA/V_Rg2fTP-Sw/s1600-h/DSCF4148%5B2%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321639811956732210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdpDNrZB8TI/AAAAAAAAACA/V_Rg2fTP-Sw/s320/DSCF4148%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;sh, I think Welsh and I am very proud of my heritage. It's a Celtic thing, I love the Scottish and the Irish and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;reamianing&lt;/span&gt; peoples of Cornwall. All things have their drawbacks though and I find myself &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;somwhat&lt;/span&gt; "old fashioned" in some of my ways. Oh not of the dress sense variety, or the fact that I can party my little size 2's Jimmy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;choo's&lt;/span&gt;. Oh, no just in the ways of the world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Our coven of Four have settled in the Welsh hills for years, our home is reclusive. "The Bell House" was built as a watchtower on the old Road between North and South Wales, to guard for highwaymen. My adoptive family have now owned the property for the last 25 years, and are 30 miles from the nearest village. Good for hunting, not good for a social life. My elder brother loves the area, he was first "born" a farmers son &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Iwan&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ap&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Dafydd&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Ddu&lt;/span&gt; was born in the 17C to my adoptive parents. He then found and turned my Sister Mari Llywellyn in 1890. I am the Youngest.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have not yet found myself a partner, but having had bad encounters with seemingly honest &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Manpires&lt;/span&gt; who have turned out less than gentlemanly I have decided it's me time. My passion for all things risky, my bikes and fast cars, my sport, tear me apart form my family and my roots. I'm still unable to decide if life as a nomad is the way forward. I have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;acquired&lt;/span&gt; a flat in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;BlackHeath&lt;/span&gt; in London and think it may be time to see if I can live alone. I think I'll be very happy as long as I have my bike.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I recently spent a weekend in Ireland with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Siobhan&lt;/span&gt;, Maggie and Liam. I wish to thank them from the bottom of my "heart" for their hospitality, and for helping me to become a true &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;independent&lt;/span&gt; woman. I feel like I have found a true soulmate in Maggie. She is the same as me, restless and wants to be free. She has even invested in a bike, a Ducati. I adore my BMW K1200RS, and I need the bike as an extention of myself. It makes me feel "real" and whole again, like there's something in the world that's worth living on for. Maggie has made me feel my worth again, she's a cracking girl and although she towers over me in stature, she's such a fragile little thing. I wouldn't want anything to happen to her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322081919985948818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 256px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdvVTwJKmJI/AAAAAAAAACI/pOdRLKDt7Jc/s320/BMW_K1200S%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Along with the lovely fellow Celts in Ireland, I have met a few Nomads, mainly Donna and Scarlett, they have also taught me to have a new sense of freedon and not to be bound by the constraints of my home and family. I'm anticipating a great time ahead. And for the first time thinking seriously about my future life being just Beth Pyrs from Wales, and being proud of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-2021188665315173745?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/2021188665315173745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/friends-celts-and-everone-else.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2021188665315173745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/2021188665315173745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/friends-celts-and-everone-else.html' title='Friends, Celts, and everone else'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdpDNrZB8TI/AAAAAAAAACA/V_Rg2fTP-Sw/s72-c/DSCF4148%5B2%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-6646480223922494425</id><published>2009-04-06T13:02:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T19:12:38.927+01:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life so far, the past 45 years</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdnxJ0mTkkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gw19jQdo-4k/s1600-h/images%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321549585755378242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 87px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 119px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdnxJ0mTkkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gw19jQdo-4k/s320/images%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Having spent the last 40 years of my life a sanguine Vegetarian, I'm still finding it hard to resist temptation. Does it ever get any better? I have just completed my last year of secondary school again this time concentrating on languages and Science. I first went to Corpus Christie Foundation college in 1977, before I attended the Guild Hall in London for training as a performer and Musician. It was only then that I found that I could not sing the songs that I used to sing in a controlled way. My life has always revolved around music, it is food to my soul and I found that I had my voice, but was unable to use it without it becoming a siren call for my prey luring them to me and destroying their senses, even other vampires are not immune. I have thought constantly about taking my talent to the Volturi for their use. It is far too dangerous to have such a talent and to throw it away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It makes this life seem even lonlier to me, that I have had to sacrifice the one thing I loved. I hope some day I will be able to sing again to my hearts content. Until that day, I'll just have to twitter (celticgirl1913@twitter.com).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-6646480223922494425?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/6646480223922494425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-life-so-far-past-45-years.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6646480223922494425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/6646480223922494425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-life-so-far-past-45-years.html' title='My Life so far, the past 45 years'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdnxJ0mTkkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/Gw19jQdo-4k/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-3222908921064222404</id><published>2009-04-02T20:25:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T19:11:08.402+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='death'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='beauty'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='coture'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wales'/><title type='text'>The dark years</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdURpvozCjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9IFRDMUPepM/s1600-h/images%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320177943668001330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 140px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 105px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdURpvozCjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9IFRDMUPepM/s400/images%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mostly Wales is cold, dark mysterious and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;devistatingly&lt;/span&gt; beautiful. It's a lonely barren wilderness. I was lost for many hears, heartbroken, not caring, not feeling, not living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Oh gentle winds 'neath moonlit skies,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Below the branches, here about,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do not you sense my fear and doubt?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do not you hear my woeful screams?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Upon the meadows, touched with dew,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do not you see my hearts &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;a'skew&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Beneath the thousand twinkling stars,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do not you feel my jagged scars?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;For you'll not find it '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;mongst&lt;/span&gt; these trees.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's scattered 'cross the moonlit skies,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Accompanied by heartfelt sighs.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's drifting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;o're&lt;/span&gt; the gentle rain,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;A symbol of my silent pain.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's buried 'neath the meadow fair,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Conjoined with all the sorrow there.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It's lost among the stars this night,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Too far to ease my quiet fright.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No gentle winds, seek not my heart,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;For simply ... it has torn apart.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family cared for me as if I were a baby, but I was wild and had a very hard time coming to terms with my "new" self. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Iolo&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Shân&lt;/span&gt; loved me as if I were their own child. Barely 18, the girl I knew before locked inside my broken heart. I was cold, unfeeling. How could he have done this to me? I heard that he was living in India, I had to face him and rip out his heart like he had mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I loved my "new" family dearly, but I was eaten by desire to avenge my "change". I travelled to him, following whispers on the breeze. I went alone, to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Mumbai&lt;/span&gt;, never stopping once. It was 1964, the world was changing around me. I embraced the change but was thirsty for revenge. I found him in the Royal Palace, but watched and waited as he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;courtisaned&lt;/span&gt; many a lovely dancer. More than anything I needed to know what I meant to him if anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;That night I murdered for the last time. It was a necessity, the Lady in Question was an arrogant snob who had access to a ball at the palace held by the maharishi. I stumbled around in her wardrobe and found my first item of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;coture&lt;/span&gt;, a sequined Mary &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Quant&lt;/span&gt; dress in deep burgundy, which accentuated my waist length &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;blonde&lt;/span&gt; hair and pale skin. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was beautiful.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In a moment of doubt in front of the mirror I asked myself what I was doing so far away from home, on my own, was he worth it? I perused for a long time, not moving, not daring to look away from the girl woman in the mirror. My God, look at what I had become.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I lost track of time there deep within my own self doubt. I lost myself completely allowing the dark to encompass me. No heartbeat to count, no warmth. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I ran, all the way to the dance, in shoes so large they swallowed my feet. I did not care I had to get some answers. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;When he saw me he knew why I had come. He stared at me with his death dark beautiful eyes and took my hand, and silently led me to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;dancefloor&lt;/span&gt;. I felt so weak against him, so feeble. But this had to end. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"Well now child" he whispered to me, softly sweetly just as I remembered in those fuzzy memories&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"just as perfect as I remember!" He laughed then and I think it was the laugh that tipped me over the edge.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;"How dare you" I sang him his favourite oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;fortuna&lt;/span&gt;, and in that moment I served my justice, his body only dancing it's macabre dance. I had taken his head in my hands. I ran with it and threw it into the flames of the fireplace. I can still hear the screams today. I had no answers, my heart was still in tatters, but I had my revenge. It made me no happier this way, but it has made me the wary, lonely figure you see today. A square peg in a round hole, never quite adapting to the vegetarian way of life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I am a child of Wales, dark, changing, perhaps even aloof and proud. But I have time on my side and my heart must mend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-3222908921064222404?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/3222908921064222404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/dark-years.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/3222908921064222404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/3222908921064222404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/04/dark-years.html' title='The dark years'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdURpvozCjI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9IFRDMUPepM/s72-c/images%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-623369576008179376</id><published>2009-03-31T19:58:00.002+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T19:06:55.149+01:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vampire'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='servant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='slate quarries'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wales'/><title type='text'>"becoming"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJrQ5XR73I/AAAAAAAAAA4/N_cfXxPyzsg/s1600-h/essie%26otherdavis%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319432047898521458" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 262px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJrQ5XR73I/AAAAAAAAAA4/N_cfXxPyzsg/s400/essie%26otherdavis%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;This is my story, I'm not sad things turned out this way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Flowers for a grave,Both dainty and distressing,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;As tears escape twin rivers of the soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Convenient time I gave,Infrequently expressing,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;The sentiment between routine and role.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Words left unspoken,Considered unnecessary,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Sunshine and shadows, petals and tears.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Now the bridge is broken,The chance was temporary,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;To cross back and stroll through tender years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Eulogies and regret,As mysterious as Jade,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;I failed to say just what I really meant.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;A cemetery debt,For love that went unpaid,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;And greeting cards I never even sent.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was born to a poor welsh family in the poorest of times. Turn of the Century meant that all men were occupied in the slate mines for hours on end whilst women worked labouriously bringing the home to perfection. Boys as young as six went to the quarries, and girls at ten or eleven were turned out to serve in the larger towns.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In this time of "dim Cymraeg" or the Welsh not all people were taught in English if education was given at all. This was my fate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;As a child my father although harsh in manner made me sing. I sang my heart out. In churches, in eisteddfods, in school (for what little time I had there), hoping that one day I would be whisked away to a life which would allow me to sing for ever. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;At ten I was as the youngest daughter sent to work for lord Snowdon in the then up and coming town of Caernarfon. I left my family for the first time with a great fear in my heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I worked for the first three years as the lowest of the low, a scullery maid. I cleaned out the fireplaces in the morning, washed the hearths, beat the carpets, dusted. Then it was washing smalls, starching shirts, only stopping at ten in the evening for food (leftovers from the main meal) and a shared single bed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJtSJhBQvI/AAAAAAAAABA/lS7u1NaEk8s/s1600-h/perthmaid2%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319434268437463794" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 148px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJtSJhBQvI/AAAAAAAAABA/lS7u1NaEk8s/s400/perthmaid2%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the first War we never saw the master of the house. I used to skulk in doorways listening and learning the beautiful songs sung by our Lady and her daughters at the Piano Forte. I promised that I would escape my existence and sing again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At thirteen I became a serving assistant. Meaning that my day now begun at five instead of four, and I was to learn to serve breakfast and meals to the gentry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;At the end of the War our Master came home. He was pallid and week and spent most of the days in his bed. Some said he had Diptheria, some say he had the cholera from serving in India. I kept my opinions to myself as I knew not what he was like before he left. Time passed, we left trays for him at the door, they remained uneaten. Lady Snowdon and her daughters went to London for the season leaving the Master in his bed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was 14 when he first laid eyes on me. It was quiet without the mistresses in the house and I had taken to playing and singing at the piano myself. I had never been disturbed before. That morning, as I sung the first few lines of a familiar tune he was just there as if from thin air. I was so embarrassed I jumped for my life. He just smiled at me and told me I was to see him again and sing for him in the morning. He was a beautiful man, black hair, pale skin, very refined. Of course I was flattered. I was barely a woman, childlike and unlearned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;During the next four years he tutored me so, let me sing for his guests and let me fall in love with him, like a puppy dog, he taught me everything. One thing only he neglected to mention was his lust for my blood. As the Lady Snowdon divorced him, I thought perhaps I may become his new choice. What a fool I was! On the day I could afford to leave for University, he found my plan and begged me to stay. I would have for the world if he married me. He laughed at the thought and became a monster. I would not yeild my body to him, but he took it regardless. Leaving me for dead, he had his "men" leave me in the wilderness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure how long I lay still for, dead, dying I could not care less. I would never sing again. I was wracked with burning pain, but numb and plummeted knowingly hoping for death. When it did not come I rebelled..........&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319437892300499618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 217px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJwlFdS6qI/AAAAAAAAABI/DdADnNtgZwM/s400/images%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I killed feverently because of hunger. No one could guess that this small blonde girlwoman could have such a voracious appetite. I murdered and burned, and became lonely and numb. I wondered how many years without direction, howling for a saviour.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One came in the shape of Iolo my "father", he took me to his mate Shân who had to spend years attempting to tame the ferile side of my nature. I had become like our landscape, hard and unielding. I was taught that I could heal, and perhaps love again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-623369576008179376?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/623369576008179376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/03/becoming.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/623369576008179376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/623369576008179376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/03/becoming.html' title='&quot;becoming&quot;'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/SdJrQ5XR73I/AAAAAAAAAA4/N_cfXxPyzsg/s72-c/essie%26otherdavis%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391889880854678925.post-329985780559433746</id><published>2009-03-30T19:51:00.001+01:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T18:52:06.842+01:00</updated><title type='text'>This is me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Welcome to my Blog! Here are a few thinkg you may like to know&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;name: Bethan Pyrs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;dob: 13/9/1913, Bangor North Wales&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Mother: Jên Pyrs died 1913&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Father: Ellis Pyrs died 1945&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;Sired by: Sir Edmont Snowdon whilst working as a maid in 1931&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;height: 5ft&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;hair:strawberry blonde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;color:#cc66cc;"&gt;eyes: amber&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am now part of the Welsh coven, my mother (Shân) took me in after she found me wondering aimlessly in the undergrowth of Snowdownia. I have one sister Mari and a brother in law Iwan. I am currently a secondary school student studying for my finals, and hoping to go and study medicine. I'm a quiet girl, as a mortal I used to have a exquisite singing voice and when I was newborn this voice helped me lure my pray. I supposed you can say it's a siren call. So now as a reformed vegitarian, I must be careful in which medium I communicate, just incase.&lt;br /&gt;I am searching for a solemate, but love the thought of a "naughty boy" or someone I shouldn't belong with. Perhaps a wolf? Who knows....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7391889880854678925-329985780559433746?l=welshvampire.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/feeds/329985780559433746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/329985780559433746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7391889880854678925/posts/default/329985780559433746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://welshvampire.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is-me.html' title='This is me!'/><author><name>Bethan Pierce</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08604824132059081365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tufwJQ_4Rd8/StHQA3_uoKI/AAAAAAAAAGs/0B0XneFSw6Q/S220/random+108.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
