These Dark Endeavors

AN: Please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes.

France, 1645

Prologue

They all stood with impatient ears pressed against the wooden door eager to grasp whatever information they could find. Not-so-quiet whispers were spoken between the groups of young men; all exceptionably good looking. The eldest of the group, had found an opening in the door way, catching a glimpse of the event unfolding before him. Even with all the grand suits and dresses made from the finest silk he was only content on seeing one thing. Lord Valentine Morgenstern. Everyone throughout the town feared him. They said he was ruthless, he was cold and uncaring, and that he was incapable of emotions. No one except the kings and queens from the grandest of places knew his face. There were no monuments nor did portraits of him display anywhere. The villagers only could recognize him by one thing, his carriage. Even his presence was enough to shock everyone through silence. Stories were told about his grand carriage, according to some, the pure white marble came straight from the Greek Gods or the gold was touched by Caesar himself, nevertheless they were all myths to be laughed at because Lord Valentine had lived even longer than that. But the eager spies wanted to see the true form of the legend themselves. Across the room cautious eyes peered at the man cloaked in black velvets, only to be met by the suitor himself. Black onyx eyes stared coldly at the boy and the boy returned a glare with just as venom. Valentine felt his eyes narrow at the boy stupid enough to even consider looking at his direction, but also felt recognition of his human self in the stranger. He felt his thin lips tilting upwards at the sense of something exciting was about to happen. The young man felt intimidated by the chalk white man his stale, unmoving appearance gave an aura of unease towards him. Something about him was….off. It was only then did the boy realize he was alone... Or so he thought. The beat of polished leather shoes pounded against the patterned stone alerting Jace there was a visitor. He felt his muscles tense at the supposed intruder; if anyone caught him he would be beheaded. He was a simple serf, a peasant unfit for the pleasures of high society. He felt a presence behind him and he was welcomed with the same soulless eyes that challenged him earlier. His youthful face began shine with sweat and he felt stones building up in his throat. He was nervous. The man was just so….unnerving. The chalk man pulled his blood red lips back with a sneer "what are doing here boy". The lad felt a spark of anger towards the inferior bastard. He wasn't a boy he was a man. He was about to give a smart retort but a loud crack prevented him from speaking out loud his rude insults. The man's hands were right next to his face blocking from anyway of escaping. The movement was so fast he couldn't even register how they got there in the first place. "ANSWER MY QUESTION YOU BOY!" and without any opportunity to answer he felt a sharp burning pain in his neck. And the last thing he saw was red blood streaking against white, his blood before his whole world turned black.

London, 1887

The air resonated with a dark silence; there was something out there, something dark, something unworldly, and unnatural. The night sky was painted over with a gust of grey clouds and nothing but the mysterious moon lit the cobblestone pathway ahead. Rain from earlier settled in every crevice and dip, creating reflections of grand wooden cathedrals. It was like this every night. Fear leaving everyone restless and paranoid, the inescapable feeling of evil lurking in shadows and the very thought of never getting to see morning ever again. Tonight was different, the feeling of unease still masked over the town, but something curious was left on the steps of an old abandoned Church. A bundle of dirtied yellow cloth, and inside was something alive and thriving, kicking at the tight fabric encased around it. At the other end of the street was a young man holding cane made of pure marble, his face obscured by silk top hat he was wearing. He seemed to drowning in cloths but underneath his taut muscles was obvious, making an intimidating effect. He whistled a melancholy tune while allowing his finely polished cane to leave a constant beat against the stone tiles, echoing throughout the quite night, leaving a certain message I have the power here. His gold eyes were rimmed red from alcohol and his breath was stale but he still somehow remained alert as ever. His sharp senses could pick out anything through the fog, at least not everything. He was expecting another boring day but was greeted with something unusual in front of his "home". At first it seemed as if it was just a piece of tattered yellow cloth but then he realized… A baby! Probably just a whore's child and only few months old. Bending over to take a closer look he spotted a note tucked hidden underneath the cloth. His original plans of ridding the baby had soon diffused once he read it.

This child needs your protection and needs to be kept hidden

Her name is Clarissa

Keep her safe and away from Valentine

I will return for her when the time is ready

-Love, her mum Jocelyn

Valentine! Jace examined the note over and over again making sure he read everything correctly. Upon closer inspection he could see the child was covered in filth but underneath all that he could still see the innocent beauty she held. Swiftly he cradled the child in his arms and she began to stir, he cooed her, praying she wouldn't attract attention. It was the last thing she needed; he felt the drumming of her heart through his unbeating chest and almost felt human again. He felt alive. He felt something he never thought he would ever be able to feel again; something that was locked away in the deep dark maze of his mind, something that was taken away ever since his humanity was stolen from him, ever since he became a monster. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel this but he couldn't help it. He felt hope. Springing open a stream of light in his hollow darkness, breaking down barriers he'd held for so long and making him everything but dead. After a night of drunken shouts and bruising laughter all he could maintain was a whisper. He said the name of baby." Clarissa". He felt himself being sentimental, no, not here before he could change his mind to leave he felt his body move automatically bringing her into a place of warmth and safety.

AN: I would love some reviews…. negative or positive. I'd like to know what i should work on.