Her world was, quite literally, falling down around her.
Her father had been crushed under the weight of a wall. The columns supporting the soaring ceiling buckled and crumpled under the quaking as the castle that was her home shook to its deep-rooted foundations. The cries and screams around her mingled fear, terror and agony. Many voices stilled suddenly into silence as massive piece of the stone ceiling slammed down, instantly crushing and killing those too slow to get out of the way.
Having already turned her back on the only method of survival, embracing the totality of who she was and forsaking salvation, she looked up. The rough rock face in front of her mocked her, reminding her of her father's death, pinned to and crushed under the weight of the worked surface of the wall when it fell. An odd counterpoint was the as yet undamaged wall directly to the left. That wall, as if blessed in some way, still bore the portrait whose visage often comforted her. Ignoring the chaos around her, she walked with slow, steady steps to stand in front of the portrait.
There was something noble about the painted image. It appeared to be a man, seated on a heavy, throne-like chair. He was sitting almost sideways on the seat of the chair, in a nearly casual, yet still poised way, with both hands folded across the arm of the chair.
"Ruffles and roses," she thought to herself. A sad smile crossed her face at the thought. It had been her very first thought upon seeing the image for the first time. It seemed appropriate that it would also be one of her last.
She had loved her father, despite his dissipative flaws. She recognized that he had been cruel, but that cruelty had never been leveled at her. In fact, he'd kept a secret from her, an important secret, as a sort of kindness. The secret her father had kept allowed her to remain ignorant of her own origins and thus happy in the world she lived in. It was a world full of random cruelties, but the secret allowed her to be one of those wielding the stick instead of one of those struck by it.
She wondered about the man whose image graced the portrait. Was he also cruel, as her father had been? Or was he instead, gentle -- like the one who had tried to save her?
"He won't let anyone helpless be killed..." A woman's light voice floated to the top of the jetsam of her thoughts.
"Are you cruel, like my father; or gentle, like your son?" she cried aloud to the portrait on the wall. Tears streamed down her face. "Ancient god, what should I do?"
As if a sort of macabre answer, the portrait finally shook loose in the mystic quake destroying the castle and plummeted toward her. In a moment of perfect clarity, her final moment of life and awareness, her final moment of being before "going back into the darkness" she couldn't help but admire one last time the beauty of the man whose massive portrait would now crush the life from her.
"Ruffles and roses..."
The portrait, along with a sizable chunk of the wall it had been hung upon, smashed to the ground and shattered into thousands of pieces.
----------
"Have you heard?!"
"A ship..."
"A ship?! Coming here?"
"It's been so long..."
"I thought they were all destroyed..."
"It's a wonder it can fly!"
The congregation of the shadowed market square paused in their buying, selling and trading as the news ran like wildfire through all their conversations. A ship, such as many of them had used to come here, had been sighted. Such a thing had not happened for so long, and it was such an exciting occurrence that it co-opted all other topics.
During the two days it took the ship to approach it became the most newsworthy event. Telescopes and other sky-watching instruments were pointed toward the ship constantly while those who watched ventured to guess who might be on it. There was a very real chance they would never know; the course was far from steady -- the ship wobbled and veered as if guided by a drunkard. Wagers were placed as to whether it would wander irretrievably off-course, burn up in the atmosphere or crash and spill its likely inhabitants as broken dolls across their bleak landscape.
All the wagers were wrong. The ship, though quite unsteadily, kept to its course, survived the entry through the atmosphere and crash-landed on the surface.
While the first group was still making their way to the crash site, the door of the craft opened. A single being, a man from the looks of it, stood in the doorway, holding a woman in his arms. He stepped out, took three steps, and collapsed, turning as he did, so that he fell under the woman, protecting her from the fall.
The first one to the man's side made a discovery; the being in front of him, though he appeared to be a man, was a vampire.
----------------------
Author's Notes -
Next chapter teaser - Chapter One - The Way of Things
Reviews, comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! Please feel free to email me also if you see something awkward that needs to be clarified or fixed. I need all the help I can get!
stargarde (at) stargarde (dot) com