In honor of Halloween, we’ve invited a most unusual guest to take over the blog: a centuries-old vampire! He’s agreed to share his long, unfortunate experience of outliving his retirement savings.
It Begins in Darkness
With my quill, by my candle’s sputtering flame, I pen my tragic tale. I am immortal, yet impoverished. For all my unholy gifts, I have outlived my retirement savings by five hundred years.
Come closer—though not too close, for you smell…delicious.
Let me share the lament of one who has discovered that forever is a dreadfully long time to be destitute.
Curse of the Eternal Night
Where once mortals scarcely saw forty winters, you now endure to ninety, even one hundred years. Longevity is a blessing, but also a lurking curse. For every eve the moon rises, thy purse grows leaner, and thy fortune wanes.
I have survived countless centuries and can attest—eternity does not enrich—it devours.
Death by a Thousand Cuts
Temptation hungers as bloodlust does—relentless, gnawing, insatiable. For centuries I splurged on gaudy excess: capes black as midnight, mausoleums fit for pharaohs, and candlelight enough to rival the stars.
And alas, poor you, who must abide the ceaseless toll of mortal indulgence! Food, for you are not bloodthirsty; shelter, for you have no coffin; travel, for you are no bat.
Darker still—inflation, that phantom thief, drifts silently as mist through castle gates, draining gold unseen, till only the memory of riches remains.
For all that I am a Count, would that I had counted my coins as carefully as I counted my victims!
Hemorrhage of Fortune
Patience is a virtue, and I, a reprobate, have neither.
I squandered my fortune too quickly, letting it pour like blood from an open vein.
'Twas not immortality that doomed me, but imprudence.
Dust to Dust
I fancied myself an investor, once. Fine suits of armor, weighty tomes, tapestries fine enough for kings—all wrested from trembling hands.
Yet the iron corrodes, the parchments crumble, and the draperies fade. Time itself has dealt me the cruelest fate—leaving me not with fortune, but with folly.
Let my ruin be your warning! Not all that glitters in one age endures to the next.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
I laugh at disease, immune to pestilence and plague. Wounds close at once, and mirrors long to reflect my pale loveliness.
But you—who must pay for apothecaries, elixirs, and salves—bear the grave cost of mortality.
The Graveyard Shift
There are those who whisper of clawing back the years, of laboring still in their twilight to mend their lost fortunes.
But what choices exist for a creature such as I, who can toil only at night? Moonlighting as a crypt-keeper or peddling prophecies to your gullible kind—these are indignities that chafe my immortal pride!
‘Tis too late, I fear, for this wastrel to amend five centuries of decadence and gluttony.
A Bitter End
And so I remain, woebegone, a contemptible wretch clinging to the ashes of my former grandeur.
Learn from my ruin, mortal: an eternity as a pauper is no prize, but a curse heavier than any coffin lid!
Cleave to your savings as though you, too, would live forever, for if fate grants you long years, you will need them—and if not, your heirs will praise your foresight…unless I get to them first. 🦇
Disclaimer: This blog post is in celebration of Halloween and should not be taken as actual financial advice. Please, please do not take financial advice from vampires. They’ll bleed you dry. If you have questions about retirement planning, please schedule a meeting with one of our mortal financial advisors.