Long ago, when the lands were sunk in shadow and evil creatures walked the earth, a race known as Vampires rose from the darkness to plague mankind. They preyed upon them in the dark and in their sleep, when they least expected it and when they were lost in ignorance. They were evil creatures, these blood-sucking leeches, and against them mere mortal man had no weapons.
But a mighty Wizard by the name of Mosquite rose to the cause, where all others faltered and fell. He knew that as a man, he was powerless against the vile creatures, but as a Wizard, he might be able to lessen their power. The cost, he knew, would be terribly high. So he delayed, spending years poking through old manuscripts in forgotten tombs, while out in the world mankind wasted away beneath the iron heels of the Vampires.
One day, however, as he sat in his study, searching to find a better, more thorough way to defeat the Vampires than the way he had already hit upon, a furious pounding sounded at the door. With utmost caution – for in those times, and with the Vampire menace, no man opened his door frivolously – he drew back the bolt and peered out. And there on the step he beheld his daughter, his only child, the beautiful woman the picture of his lost wife, collapsed in heap upon the steps. He threw back the door with a cry, and bore her limp body, cold as if formed of ice, to the couch before the fire. She woke, and he saw in her eyes and her snow white skin that she had been drained of all life by a cursed Vampire and left to die. She begged him with her dying breaths to do something, anything, to stop the Vampires and save others from her fate. And as she died in his arms, he wept and swore that he would do all he could, at whatever cost to himself. For now she was gone, and he had nothing left in this world.
“This has transpired on account of my apathy!” he cried. “O my daughter, forgive my foolish heart! I will put an end to the Vampires, as you have asked, and so put an end to myself.”
Rising, the Wizard Mosquite ordered his daughter to be buried with all honor, and went himself to prepare the spell.
It was a spell unlike any that had ever before been forged, a spell to alter the very nature of every magical creature, good and evil, for he could not devise a spell to parse the two. On a great hillside overlooking the kingdom of his birth, Mosquite cast his final spell, a spell that cost him his life to cast. Around the world, Wizards, Sorcerers and Witches alike lost their power and became as mere men; fairies became butterflies; dryads became ordinary trees; and the Vampires became small, fly-like creatures. Their bite still stole blood, but they could no longer do so great of harm as they did in yesteryear. Their power was crippled and they were brought low, never to rise again. And because it was Mosquite, the last and the greatest Wizard, who had remade them and saved mankind, the Vampires were named Mosquitoes in his honor. His memory, and the story of his heroic deed, was forgotten by the fleeting minds of the mortals, but still his legacy continues, carried on by the creatures he brought down: mosquitoes.
And that, my friends, is the true origin of mosquitoes. They are indeed Vampires in their fallen state. But don’t remind them of that unless you want to get chewed. Thanks to Mosquite, we no longer have to fear Vampires sucking us in our sleep; unfortunately, that also means no fairies, but hey, every great victory comes with a price.