Past regret reaped in onyx recollection
From six feet under a kiss reclaimed.
(c)Sugar
::::::::::::::: Ophelia :::::::::::::::::
The interior of the house was lavishly furnished with mahogany furniture; the walls adorned with oil paintings of people long dead. An oil lamp was lit here and there, but the atmosphere remained dim and sober. As Florent led me down the stairs I was able to get a better look at him. He was slightly taller than me and of a slender build, with dark shoulder length hair combed back out of his face, a few strands hanging loose. His fingernails were glass. I hadn't noticed this until now and carefully I tried to get a better glimpse. Downstairs, he led me to an ornately carved double door. I stood aside as he opened it and watched in awe as he led me into the vast elaborately decorated room and seated me at the table.
'I understand you must be hungry, I'll see go see what I can get you.' said Florent before leaving the room.
I got up and walked around the room, the priceless paintings of Dutch masters covered the walls and although the fire was burning in the hearth the room had a cold feel about it. I hadn't noticed him come in and set the silver tray of food on the table. When I turned around he sat at the head of the table and watching me and waiting. He stood up and pulled out the chair for me to sit down and lifted the silver cover off the plate. A roast chicken and vegetables finely cooked and a freshly uncorked bottle of wine which he poured generously into the fine crystal glass. As I ate I observed him out of the corner of my eye as he sat there motionless as if under a heavy spell. A carriage pulled up in the drive of the house and I could hear the click of heals coming towards the room, a rich loud voice singing a song, eventually growing louder as he neared the door.
'Florent!' he sang, 'Oh Florent?'
Florent got up and moved towards the double door as it was flung open by a prolifically dressed gentleman wearing a top hat from which his shoulder length flaxen curls cascaded. He took off the top hat and ran a hand through his hair, his wide mouth smiling and his brilliant blue eyes luminous like gems in contrast to his alabaster complexion as he looked at me.
He clamped a hand on Florent's shoulder and exclaimed, 'Why Florent, I see you've got a guest! And who may this charming mademoiselle be?' he asked, grinning at me, his eyes glinting with mischief.
I stared rapt as Florent introduced me and extended my hand to him without knowing it. His lips caressed my shaking hand like a panther caressing its victim before devouring it as I sat there lost in his cobalt eyed gaze. He grinned and called for Florent to bring him a glass, which he obediently did. Rousseau shared the same incandescence Florent possessed, a seemingly ageless quality, though out of the two, he was the more charismatic and did most of the talking while Florent stared into the fire, every now and then glancing at us.
'Why, you're as cold as ice, my dear!' said Rousseau, putting his arm around me and teasing one of my loose curls. His nails, glass like Florent's. Without me noticing he led me to a sofa near the fireplace and we sat down, Rousseau pouring me another glass.
'Oh, I don't feel too good, Rousseau.' I said as he put the bottle down on the table and wrapped his arm around me, 'I think I've had enough.' I insisted.
'Ophelia, darling, you have no head for fine wine like this!' he exclaimed and laughed. He lifted the glass to my lips. 'What would you say if I tasted your lips?' he asked, twisting a lose strand of my hair into a ringlet, his face only inches from mine.
:::::::::::::::: Florent:::::::::::::::
She kisses him; he lets his tongue play with hers, and then runs it down her neck. Ophelia swoons with pleasure and from the laudanum Rousseau laced into the wine. His lips caress her neck as he prepares to sink his teeth into her throat. He turns around and looks at me playfully.
'The honor is yours, Florent, go on, take the first bite, come, taste her lips.' Rousseau beacons.
He fills me with smoldering fury; I throw him off her and onto the Persian rug. He laughs and gets to his feet.
'Oh Florent, I take it that your in love with this mortal! For have you not stalked her every night, your heart giving you no rest! You're resisting the one thing that can give you peace!'
'Rousseau, leave her, I don't want to take her life.'
'Love is terrible for you, Florent; you feel it like a human, still, but you're a vampire! Then do whatever it is in your nature to do. Take her, Florent!'
The sky was beginning to grow a faint shade of purple, dawn was approaching. Ophelia lay on the settee in an perpetual slumber, her mane of hair framing her face and spilling onto the velvet pillows. I picked her up, cradling her as I had once done with Desirée and carried her up the stairs, Rousseau in tow.
'So what is it that you plan to do now, Florent? Make her one of us? Another child of darkness? You pine for Desirée and here you've found another one, to take her place? Admit it, Florent!' demanded Rousseau, standing in the doorway observing me as I laid Ophelia onto the four poster bed and covered her with a blanket. I drew the curtains around her, taking one last look at her. Silently I followed Rousseau to the chamber where we retreated each morning. Rousseau sat up in the coffin, he looked directly at me and was about to say something. Instead I slammed the lid of the coffin shut and fell into a troubled sleep.
A/N: Well I was kind of expecting someone would review and give me an honest opinion of what they think so far, and hopefully some constructive criticism. Those of you familiar with The Vampire Chronicles and the movie will be able to tell what this chapter was inspired from. Well, hope to hear from you soon. Best wishes,
SugarxXx
