Book: Stefan's Old Journals. Blood lust

The poets and philosophers I once loved, beat wrong. Death comes not to all, the passage of time dulls memories and pays no body to dust. I was declared dead and installed on the cold ground of the grave stone with my name on it. It symbolized the end of the earthly journey, but in fact my life had just begun. Like I slept for years, languished in the dark, and then I woke up and the world was brighter, freer and more interesting than I ever imagined.
The people I knew continued to exist in the same way as I used to. They spend their short life on the market, tending the fields and kissing furtively after sunset. For me they are just shadows, not more significant than the frightened squirrels and rabbits that are jumping through the forest, unaware of the world around.
But I was not a shadow. I was alive and at the same time beyond the fear of death. I conquered death. I no longer was just a random guest in this world. I was his master, and eternity had to bow down before me...