:::::::::::::::::TRAPPED IN DEATHS EMBRACE::::::::::::::::::::

It may well be warm you see, a effigy next to me
Melting away in the illusory warmth
Had I not failed to see the signs in front of me
Admonition and sporadic signs, restrained and plain in my blindness
I lost myself.

©Sugar

:::::::::::::::: Florent :::::::::::::::::


I stood there in the dark alley, a soft drizzle sprinkling on my already damp hair, unfurling a few loose strands. I had been following her for quite some time now. Watching her from my box in the theatre and then following her when she left, I had done this every night for the past year. Tonight I had followed her from the theatre through the maze of London's cobblestone streets and dark alley ways to the hovel in White Chapel she called her home. Ophelia's long red gold hair shone like spun gold in the dim lamp light, streaming down her back, as she stalked through the alley clutching her white Lady Macbeth costume that she had been clothed in only an hour or so ago when she stood upon the stage in Drurry Lane. She ducked under the low eaves and wound her way around the corner, I followed like a shadow. I wasn't the only one following her. He had slipped around the corner; she was oblivious to his stealth, like a cat stalking its prey. I was only a few meters away when she stopped dead in her track. She'd heard his footsteps along the slippery ground. Cupping a hand over her mouth, he dragged her to the wall. I saw the silver glint of the blade as he placed the knife at her tender throat; felt her raw terror a her eyes filled with fear and panic and watched the blood pulsate in her vein as the cold metal pressed against her creamy white throat while she struggled against his tight hold. Ophelia fainted and lay limp on the moist ground, the drizzle covering her body in a silvery blanket, while I plunged my teeth into his neck and drained him to the point of death.
I left his corpse where it lay in the gutter, and bent over Ophelia lying slumped against the wall. I picked up her warm body and cradled it, her heart beating against mine, her red gold curls mingled with my dark hair. She smelt faintly of rose petals, her skin so pink and warm compared to my icy alabaster. I looked down at her face, those soft silky lashes and full red lips. It felt as though time ceased to exist while I stood there in that dark alley cradling Ophelia, the rain getting heavier. It brought me back to a memory that I held so dear to my heart, a name I dared not speak. Desirée.
I hailed a cab and took her back to my Mayfair townhouse, all the way, stoking her silky gold hair, reminiscing on the past, of Desirée. I lay Ophelia down on the sofa and lit the fire to bring some warmth into the cold November evening, and in hope of waking her up.

:::::::::::::::::: Ophelia ::::::::::::::::::::

The fire glowed in the grate casting menacing shadows across the dim room; the only source of light was from the oil lamp that stood on the small table beside where I lay on a richly upholstered sofa. The room's lavish rosewood furnishings and extravagant oil paintings told me that I was in the house of someone wealthy. How I had got there remained a mystery to me still. I sat up and was about to get up and move closer to the fire when the door knob moved. He walked into the room and stopped a few paces away from the fire, in the candlelight he appeared like no other man I had ever seen. His piercing emerald eyes seethed with incandescence that seemed to look straight into my very soul. Clothed in an extravagant tailored coat, he had the air of a lord, but something more, something perpetual, like no one I'd ever known. I had seen him somewhere before, but where exactly, I failed to remember. I was reduced to nothing. All of my previous thoughts, even my fear of how I came to be here became completely insignificant. I lost myself. I sat frozen on the sofa watching and waiting. He must have sensed my fear as his face softened and he smiled. I began to relax.

'And so I suppose you're speculating how you came to find yourself here?' he asked, a mild French accent lingering in his voice. 'You were about to have your throat slit in a dark alley and I had to restrain the assailant. You fainted and I having no notion of where you live brought you here instead of living you to die on the street.' I was silent and looked away from him and into the fire. Sensing my discomfort he turned to me again and waited for me to reply. It took me a few moments to get my thoughts in order when he spoke to me again.

::::::::::::::::::: Florent :::::::::::::::::::

I could sense her fear and confusion as she stared back at me after an uncomfortable silence. Those coffee colored brown eyes searched my face, biting her bottom lip anxiously until she bit is so hard that it punctured a hole and burst, the warm crimson blood trickling down her lip. This aroused me and filled me with a strong passion, the meal I had before completely forgotten as I watched the blood treacle slowly down her chin and drip onto the lacy bodice of her indigo gown. I had to steal myself away not to lunge at her. I went over to the dust covered liquor cabinet and poured her a merlot to warm her up. She took it from me appreciatively and put it to her lips. I watched her drain the glass and saw the color begin to rise in her cheeks and her eyes grow brighter. Not long after she spoke again.

'It is most generous of you, but I'm afraid I know not your name.' She said, regarding me with curiosity as I am used to most mortals doing.

'Though ironically I know yours, Ophelia,' I said, 'My name is Florent, I've seen you perform in the Kings Theatre countless times.'

'Oh! I had a feeling I'd seen you somewhere before.' She said, and paused to take another sip, 'I can't thank you enough for what you did.'

'The pleasures all mine.' I took her hand into mine and she got up, her amber eyes told me she trusted me completely and so I led her out of the room and into the hall.

A message from Sugar: It is out of my most sincere respect for the author that alterations have been made to this fanfic, based on a fantastic book and movie which shall not be named, but which you will recognize. The characters are who you think they are; only adjusted out of my respect for the guidelines here. Only those of you who longed to be made immortal will see and understand. Written out of love for Lestat, the Devil himself.

A/N: I was too young in the 1880's so I can't remember much and some details may not be as accurate as I would like them to be. As the story goes on you will realize what sort of fanfic this is. It is only out of my most sincere respect to the author and fan fiction's policies that I have made these necessary alterations. My fondest wishes if you've read and reviewed.

xXx

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Sugar