A/N: I'm getting a bad habit of making A/N's! Anyways, I wanted to tell you that the lullaby was written by me, so that's why it sucks so much! Also, longest chapter to this date - by far!
I never answered your question, if I ever thought about being a human. Once, I was on a trek in the Andes and a hummingbird flew up to me - and it just hovered there, staring at me. Its tiny heart was pattering like a machine gun - and I thought, what a thing, you know, to have to work that hard every day, just to stay alive; to be constantly on the verge of the death: And how satisfying every day must be that it survived.
The Vampire Diaries, Niklaus
Chapter 11
February 13th 1498
"I hear that the Pope and his family are coming tomorrow?" Machivelli and Jane were sitting around the dinner table, finishing their meal.
"Yes, so Lucrezia told me." Jane still received letters from her. Lucrezia's pregnancy was now showing, and as far as the letters told, Cesare had sent her to a convent as far away from prying eyes and evil tongues as possible.
"Will she be gracing me with her company? After all, she has been away from the social scene for quite a while."
"She tells me that she is visiting a convent outside of Rome in an attempt to regain some strength after the complicated divorce, so I doubt it." Jane picked around in the food before taking another sip of her wine.
"Of course." Machiavelli looked up, smirking all of a sudden. "And you – will you be going to the Saint Valentine Mass?"
"I believe I will. I am to accompany the Pope and the Cardinal Borgia, as they wish to listen to Savonarola preach."
Machiavelli laughed. "On a day of love, they come to plan war? I begin to like that family."
"Somehow I doubt that Savonarola will be preaching about Saint Valentine," Jane mused.
"If he does, he will be telling the tale of how the saint will resurrect and kill us all in the flames of Hell for letting the Borgia Pope rule," Machiavelli laughed and shook his head. Jane laughed too.
"I am sure he will." Jane moved to rise. "I think I will retire for tonight, if I may."
Machiavelli followed her example. "Let me walk you." Jane thanked him with a smiled before picking up the skirts of her dress and walking out of the door. Once in the hallway, she stopped for a few seconds to wait for Machiavelli to reach her side and then continued to walk ahead.
"Do you have a love, Giovanna?"
Jane stopped in her tracks out of shock, but quickly disguised as she realized that she had reached the door to her chambers. For a second, she pondered as to whether or not she should tell him the truth, but decided against. Having a lover was a weakness, a danger to the person that you loved. "I do not."
"If find that unbelievable. I may even call it blasphemy, now that God has given you such beauty." Machiavelli's eyes looked over her.
Jane tilted her head. "I am sure that God sees it more fit that I remain virtuous until my marriage."
"But surely, I cannot be the only one to remark your beauty." He inched closer to her, only enough to make the situation a little more confident.
"You are not." Jane attempted to move backwards without seeming impolite, but found that she wasn't able to. "Wine has a strange effect on men."
Machiavelli laughed hoarsely. "I assure you, it is not the wine." Jane remained silent, watching him closely. The way that he spoke, she had to admit, was charming, if not a bit too suggestive. His eyes still held that gleam and his voice that cleverness that would make women swoon, and with she guessed that he wasn't exactly untrained. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "Would you mind terribly if I visited your chambers one night."
His eyes were now darkened to the point of nearly being black and Jane suspected that it wasn't sensitive or sensible feelings that lay ground for his actions. "I have a lover," she finally admitted.
Apart for a slight inclination with his head, the man before her showed no sign of surprise. "Anything else would be impossible."
"But it does make a relationship between us impossible." Jane looked down, unable to look into his eyes. She was suddenly happy for her relationship with Julio, knowing that it made her less awkward in this conversation.
"How so? Are you married? Have you made oaths of exclusivity?" Jane felt herself being pulled toward his so clever reasoning, making him appear cold for a moment. How could he think so clearly in this state? She finally shook her head. "What is then the problem?" he inquired.
Jane looked into his eyes, wanting somehow to forget about Julio. This was so alien to her, his eyes cold and yet hot with emotion; there was no love and no care, but plenty passion. So different from Julio. She froze when he moved towards her, whether it was from shock or anticipation, she didn't know. When his lips met hers, she knew that her eyes were the same as his; cold and discarding, yet warm and inviting.
It wasn't that she didn't love Julio, she told herself when she didn't object to his lips, because she did. She really did. But this was different; this had nothing to do with love. This was just attraction that sprung from respect and normal attraction. It wasn't love, not even close.
When his hand moved to cup the side of her face, her right hand moved to hold it. Not to hold it in place and not to remove it; just to touch him in a way that didn't mean anything but still showed that he wasn't in control.
"What is your answer?" The fingers of his hand, the one that had before cupped her face, now curled and stroked her cheekbone. She felt a rush of emotion run down her body and she gripped his wrist.
"I do not know." She took hold of the wrist and pulled his hand down.
"Can I make another attempt at persuading you?" When his hand moved away from her, his face moved closer, and she could feel his breath on her nose, her lips. She shook her head, but she wasn't even close to being as determined as she wished she would be.
Machiavelli obediently moved away from her. His hands clasped behind his back as he imitated the posture of someone who was merely her friend. Somehow, this underlined the fact that there were not romantic feelings between them, only lust. And that was the reassuring that she needed.
She moved forward swiftly, her hand clasping behind his neck as her mouth found his. It took him only seconds to respond and then they were fire. She couldn't trace his hands as they moved across her body; all she knew that it was nothing like Julio. He wasn't being tender, not keeping back – instead he tried to get as much out of the moment as he could.
It wasn't cheating, she told herself as her hands moved to his hair. Even if she was a vampire, her speed was still slowed by the burning pit that was her stomach. It wasn't cheating if there was no love.
Jane realized that it was good that they'd been so close to her room as it made it much easier to trace down the door and enter her chambers quickly. Their clothes were quickly discarded, sent flying to some corner, and Jane was taken aback by the quickness of it all. Even at the most wild points with Julio, even with vampire speed, it had never been like this. Suddenly, her stomach clenched and she felt a wish to be in Julio's arms instead, but then she discarded it with a grin against Machiavelli's lips, just as she felt his hands move across her breasts.
Before she knew it, she was undressed. And when she finally realized this fact, Machivelli had undressed as well. And before she could even gather her thoughts to what this meant, they were lying on the bed, her legs curled around his waist by some automatic response in her body, his kisses lingering anywhere but her mouth as he began the exhilarating rhythm that she knew so well, and yet was so new to her.
"Wow," they breathed synchronically as the moved to lie beside each other. Realizing the irony, they both started laughing. "What are you?" Machiavelli asked, still panting a bit. Jane was gripped by fear for what she'd done to make him believe that she wasn't human for a moment, until realizing the irony of the question.
She raised a playful eyebrow. "You'll never know."
He chuckled and Jane turned her eyes to the ceiling, breathing heavily to disguise her vampirism. Her mind wandered back in time, to all of the conversations that she had had with this man through the last few months. His mind was truly brilliant; his way of thinking so complex – especially compared to the fact that he was human. He'd make a good vampire. Not just because of his intellect, but also because of his cynical way to see the world. He wouldn't see vampirism as a curse but as a gift. Aro would like him, she thought. But her brother would probably like him all the better.
"Who taught you?" she suddenly asked.
"What, this? I believe that is a strange question to ask." He turned his head to smirk at her.
"No." Jane laughed as she turned so that she lay on her side, facing him. "No, I mean politics. Who taught you academics?"
"Oh." He smiled at her. "I had a private teacher appointed by my parents."
Jane smiled too. "He must have been good."
"No doubts." Yet his voice was cold. "But way to conventional for me. I disliked him very much. Actually, that may have been a part of what made me what I am today." He looked at her seriously. "I wanted to change something, no matter what, just as long as it was for the better."
Jane thought about it for a second. "So because he did not want change, you automatically wanted change?"
Machiavelli nodded. "Exactly."
"What made you want this specific change, then?" Jane watched his features as he thought about his answer. He shrugged.
"Coincidence, I suppose."
"But to what ends?" Jane moved a bit away from him and drew the sheets around her.
"Do there need to be any?" Machiavelli now turned so that he was facing her too.
"So you do not have a goal? You do not have this one thing that you dream of and work for?"
Machiavelli smirked. "Not as such."
Jane pouted as she watched him intently. "But is that not what you politicians are here for? To find and create Utopia?"
He laughed and nodded. "I suppose so – but what if change is Utopia. I am not sure if I believe that a human can ever be happy without working and developing themselves, without always being in movement. If a Utopia was found, they would be denied this opportunity; there would be no goal, no dream and nothing to work for." He hesitated, looked into her eyes, then said, "It would be boring."
Jane laughed a little, shaking her head at him. He just raised a challenging eyebrow and said, "What is your Utopia, then?"
Jane fell silent and looked at him. "I think I may agree with you, actually." She spent a few seconds figuring out how to formulate her response. "I think that I have never had a Utopia; how could I? If all bad was removed, how would I recognize good? If night became day, would day even exist? If there was no evil for humans to fight, no mission for them to stand together about, would we be able to stand together, or would we separate?"
Machiavelli stared at her for a long moment, and she began wondering if she'd said something wrong. Then he just breathed in and smiled. "You are so very clever, Giovanna. I believe I may have found my superior."
Jane giggled and shook her head. "I doubt that very much."
"I agree," he said smugly, a smirk on his face as his eyes tiredly fell close. Jane smiled as she watched him fade into sleep, trying to remember the feeling of sleeping herself. But it was impossible. She had a strong memory, but it was hard to remember the things that were forgotten almost before they happened.
Jane's eyes still closed, though, her thoughts distracted by the times that happened before she lost sleep. It had been some time since she had done that, thought of her roots and humanity. She remembered that she had once done it all the time, whenever she was bored and wished she could just fade off to sleep. She remembered the lullaby that her mother used to sing to her even now, centuries later. She even heard her mother's voice humming. As the sun rises high upon the sky, little child you run down, down by the river you go, and in laughter and cheer, drown all your worries and fear.
That was when it hit her; while she may remember her lullaby and the sound of her mother's voice, her mother's face was vanished. Blue eyes, she thought to herself, her mind now working hard to recollect the scraps of her memories to the picture that was her mother. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.
She remembered that dress she always wore, not in detail, but in enough detail. She remembered the color of her eyes, but her memory was nothing but words. The color of her hair, she knew, was the same as Jane's own. But her face, the face that had looked upon Jane so many times her entire life, was gone. That face that had always held such kindness.
Jane sprung out of the bed, collecting scraps of clothes and preparing to leave. She had to see her brother, she had to see Alec. And quick. Now, if possible.
But, as she was putting on the first piece of clothing, she remembered: her brother was in Florence, in house arrest. She couldn't see him.
The pieces of clothing fell from her limp arms that were now hanging down her sides. Her legs collapsed beneath her and bloody tears began running. If she couldn't remember her own mother, what was she? She pulled her legs out from under her, up beneath her chin. She tugged them closely to her body, trying to make the agony that she was in stop. She knew that Machiavelli could wake up any moment to see her face covered in blood, but in the moment she didn't have the capacity to rise from the floor. She started humming to herself.
And as the sun falls down again, little child you run back, back to the place from where you're from, and in warmth from fire and love, fall asleep safe and sound.
She wasn't a little child anymore.
With trembling legs she rose and walked over to her mirror to find her face streamed by tears of blood. Using a white handkerchief that lay on the table, she dried away those tears. Once the pale skin of her face was once more clean, she went to the window and threw the red cloth out.
