Hello, everyone! I hope you don't find this week's chapter too terribly cliche. As I've said before, I'm very new at this. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and I'm still not exactly satisfied with it. I'm much more pleased with how the next one, which is nearly complete, is going. I'd considered holding this one back to post both at once, but I'm having some RL problems and would rather have the buffer on hand. See you next week! NH

"What?" Elizabeth asked, stunned.

"There are no injuries," her father answered, "At least, none that are visible."

"It is not possible! The blood! You must have seen it!"

"The doctor said that perhaps Mr. Darcy had injured his nose as he fell from his horse. I did find him face-down. It is very likely. Otherwise there could have been a small unseen gash—such things can bleed profusely. We cannot know how hard his fall was, so we cannot know if he will recover from the impact. He has not yet awoken."

"It is not possible," Lizzy repeated, "I saw it happen, Papa! I saw it all happen!"

"It was very early, child. Perhaps you had fallen back asleep and dreamed it all. There was no monster. It was just an unfortunate accident."

"But-"

"-No," Mr. Bennet interrupted, "We shall speak no more of this. You are not yourself. Go back to your room. I shall have a tray brought up to you. I suggest you go to bed early and pray that your wits are returned in the morning."

Elizabeth said nothing as she left the room. She knew it would do no good. She knew that her account of events would sound absurd to any sane person, even Jane. She'd counted on Mr. Darcy's grave injuries to back up her claim, but they had vanished. How? It was just not humanly possible.

She returned to her room and recovered the book, Monsters of the World, from where she had hidden it. She sat down and began skimming through with a purpose. She needed to find answers, and they had to be in that book. It was her only hope.

There must be a monster that could take the shape of a man. A monster that could grow terrible, gnashing teeth at a moment's notice. Something, anything, that might explain how Mr. Darcy might have healed from seemingly fatal injuries in the course of one single afternoon. Elizabeth has seen the fangs tearing away at the gentleman's throat. If he was truly uninjured now, it was the work of something beyond comprehension.

She soon came upon an entry that stopped her in her tracks:

VAMPIRE

Devilish nocturnal creatures that prey upon men to feed on their blood. All vampires were once men themselves, turned into fiends through a contagious blood curse. They remain just as cunning, intelligent, and charismatic as they had been previously. They can appear to be human or near-human. Individual abilities vary, but generally include heightened senses, increased speed and agility, accelerated healing, shape-changing, mesmerism, and more. All vampires are able to produce a set of sharp fangs at will. They often live in large 'covens' consisting of a head vampire (progenitor) and those who have been afflicted with their blood curse. They seem to have a very long lifespan—possibly immortal. They are weakened by sunlight, silver, and lack of feeding. They can be killed by prolonged exposure to bright sunlight, starvation, decapitation, or a wooden stake through the heart. It is said that the death of a head vampire (progenitor) can break the blood curse of their coven. Considered incredibly dangerous, interaction is not advised.

The description resonated with everything Elizabeth had experienced that morning. She read it three times over, committing every word to memory. It explained everything. That the creature could leap so effortlessly from the treetops. The teeth. The apparent blood-lust. But more—that Mr. Darcy's injuries had healed. Did he now suffer from the curse of his assailant?

Elizabeth could explore her thoughts on the matter no further, for Jane had returned.

"Oh, Lizzy," said her sister, "Mr. Bingley is so distressed. He is terribly guilty for inviting Mr. Darcy to Hertfordshire. He feels responsible for his accident."

"It was not Mr. Bingley's fault," Elizabeth replied as she tucked the book away casually.

"I agree, but poor Mr. Bingley still blames himself," Jane sighed, "He says that Mr. Darcy is his dearest friend and the best man he has ever known. He worries about what will become of Miss Darcy if her brother does not recover. He has sent an express to Mr. Darcy's cousin, a Colonel Fitzwilliam, in the hopes that he shall bring Miss Darcy to her brother's side. There is so little else that can be done..."

Jane detailed the rest of her afternoon, and before long a tray for Elizabeth arrived as promised. She had no appetite, but her elder sister insisted that she should try to eat regardless. Lizzy pecked at and rearranged the tray's contents until Jane was satisfied.

Late that night, the two sisters were curled up in bed. Jane seemed to drift peacefully into slumber as soon as her head rested against her pillow, but sleep did not come quite so easily for Elizabeth. She tossed and turned, agitated; every distant creak of the house settling and every gust of wind outside the window, were these the ambient sounds of her home, or something more sinister? After what felt to be an eternity, she closed her eyes and sleep finally overtook her.