After a wash in a nearby river, Misery's black hair was down, falling to the mid of her back to dry into its natural curls. Her half-cloak, also cleaned of mud and bracken from the journey, was draped on a nearby branch to dry. A balmy morning bled bright early noon while she waited. Colorful songbirds flitting between trees. From Ban Gleann through Velen and on, the landscape was a shocking contrast to this glowing countryside as though she'd stepped into a different world where the after effects of war not far off were ignored, maybe even denied.
As she prepared, the road that led her here now bustled, murmured, and knocked with traffic. At last, it was time. Donning her cloak, Misery tidied the laces and belts absently while she studied the road. Horses, mules, and ox. Well-bred stallions and polished mares crowded the path towards the city. A humble wagon strolled by, importing hay and vegetables from a furlong away. Misery sidled behind them, blending in with the flowing traffic seamlessly. When they reached the city, appearing as a collective group; tired, hungry, and harmless, the driver provided his papers and the knights warranted them access to the city with a cheery greeting and nothing more. With her hood drawn, she kept her eyes downcast, watching the churned mud drift beneath her boots Only until the road hardened into sparkling cobblestone did she push the hood back and lift her head.
The city was as teeming with life. And utterly beautiful. Ripe with happy, tittering drunks whose laughter drifted within the revelry, glittering fountains, and infinite wine. Wealthy, pristine, and manicured. Music and sweet fragrances permeated the air as unavoidable as the blistering sun that cast the entire city in a shimmering gleam. This place seemed unnaturally...perfect. Brushing her cloak back from her shoulders, Misery wiped the sweat from her brow and eyed a bakery with its opened French doors, warm spices and tantalizing aromas flowing on the breeze to tease passing patrons. A painter catcalled her, waving an eager hand and gesturing towards a stool, where she would sit while he painted her.
She shook her head, already dead set on the bakery.
Drawing closer, she studied the display of bread, desserts, and pies. One particular tart topped with fruit caught her attention. Her hollow stomach groaned for more than a few blackberries and custard, but it would suffice.
"Good morning, Miss." The baker ambled into her view; a charming man with a taut apron straining around an impressive girth. No doubt the result of nibbling on too many pastries. A younger man covered in flour emerged from the back carrying a tray of more delicacies. Their eyes met, a warm brown against her piercing black, gave her a sheepish smile before setting down the desserts and lingering. Eavesdropping.
"Good morning," she replied, gesturing to the tarts. "Three of these, please."
The baker wrapped the two of desserts in cloth and passed the third directly to her. "You look ready to sink your teeth into one," he chuckled. How right he was. She hadn't eaten in days and crammed the entire tart in her mouth. The baker gawked. Misery paused. For a moment, she feared that she'd flashed him her fangs, but they hadn't fled for their lives yet. It was her lack of manners. Never the type to savor her food in a series of small bites, she wasn't raised by a polished nobleman; she was raised by a hunter in the far-flung reaches of the Mahakam foothills between cursing Dwarves and haughty humans, but they didn't know that.
Fishing several shillings from her pocket, she dropped them into his pudgy palm. He looked down, counting with a frown.
"This is too much," he murmured, fingering four extra shillings. "Did you mean─?"
She nodded, unable to speak around a mouthful of sweet creme bulging her cheeks. The tart was delicious, but she wanted more than just a morsel; she wanted information about this place, something other than a tart to fill her belly.
Chewing quickly and licking the crumbs and fruit juices from her lips, she asked."What can you tell me about this city?"
As she expected, an ancient Elven city shored up the present day Beauclair. The city kept with the theme, but many of what remained of the Elder architect before was nothing but ruins now. South had led her right into Toussaint, where tradition was sacred. By the pale stones, intricate spires, and ornate carvings designed into arches and window paneling, Misery could see this city was once even more breathtaking than it currently proclaimed. But even the cleanest, most ostentatious locations withheld dark, horrible secrets and she was here to sniff them out or at the very least, drive it out into the light for all to see.
She checked the notice boards, finding nothing of use besides several warnings from their head duchy. There was only one word she looked for and it wasn't there. She moved on, waiting until dusk before heading to the outskirts. If she wanted to find the criminal and indecent, it was where the shadows were thickest. Misery was almost to the edge of Beauclair when she realized she was being followed. Slipping into a shadowy recess beneath a trellis overgrown with flora, she watched a tall figure drift past moments later. At the end of the street, they paused, confused, and glanced about.
She sniffed, smelling beyond the poppies and jasmines draped around her head and detected...eggs and flour⎯the baker's boy. Sighing, she stepped out, propping her hands along her hips as he turned, startled by the sound of her loud footsteps.
"Hello," he breathed, slightly winded from the pursuit. "I'm no good at this. Following you was a bad idea. Forgive me. I-I was hoping to get your name." From here, the sound of his whooshing blood made her dizzy, but she kept her distance and her guard. Already Royal's voice slipped into her thoughts. Misery tilted her head while she studied him. Was Beauclair that small? That even one face amongst many stood out? Or was this one of many soon-to-be instances where she needed to handle her business with keen precaution?
He cleared his throat and fidgeted for a place to put his hands. Finally, he dropped them to his sides with an aggravated huff, "Guess I'll start," he stepped forward, closing the distance to offer his hand. "My name's Kaleb."
She sized him up before taking it. "Misery." He smelled human. Though he attempted to offer a firm and strong handshake, if she squeezed hard enough, she could have shattered his fingers.
"Misery? Pretty."
Liar.
She shrugged, "It's a little dark to be attempting to court girls, isn't it?" Misery lifted a brow. "What would you father think?"
Kaleb gave a breathy chuckle. "If I were courting you, yes. But I was afraid you were just passing through⎯"
"I am ."
"⎯and I didn't want to miss the opportunity to speak with you."
"You've spoken to me," she bowed slightly. "Take care now."
"Wait!" he caught her by the wrist before she turned away but released her immediately after the scathing glare he received. "I'm sorry," he stepped back. "You said you wanted to know more about the city and you look like someone who might be able to help me."
Misery narrowed her stare. "Why would you think that?"
"Well, the vambraces and greaves for starters. All the weapons you carry. You look like⎯," he sighed, frustrated with himself. "I don't know. A hired killer? Are you not a mercenary?"
Misery never thought about that before, never tried putting a name to her antics other than culling and⎯more importantly⎯ surviving. It was certainly something to consider.
"No," she replied. "And if I were...who are you trying to kill?"
Kaleb cast a quick look around him before gesturing towards the shadows beneath the trellis she had hidden earlier. She followed him without question, comfortable with the knowledge she could overpower him if things went awry. Once under the safety of the concealing shroud, Kaleb spoke soft and low. "Over a year and a half ago, someone orchestrated an attack on the city. Vampires en masse took to the streets, burning buildings, capturing and killing anything with a pulse. Beauclair was utterly devastated, outwitted, and many lives were lost that night." He had Misery's undivided attention now. "Her Illustrious Grace's own sister was slain. No one was spared of the creatures, it seemed."
"Vampires are not real," she murmured absently; a quiet lie. "They're fabled beings conjured to explain humans and their cruelty. Gave it a name. Men and monsters; they're one in the same."
Kaleb shook his head, "I once thought much like you until I saw the streets running red. Vampires are real. This, I assure you."
Misery looked around at the quiet streets. The soft glow of lamplights illuminating windows of quiet homes; a fountain gurgled softly a few paces away. The poppies and jasmines draped around their heads painted a serene setting, even amidst the nightfall. Aside from the flora, the only other sweetness in the air was Kaleb's fear. Nothing cracked or broken, not even debris. It didn't appear to her Beauclair had suffered such an attack. But why would he make this up? Why would he risk his life to follow Misery, armed to the very teeth, just to pull a silly adolescent prank?
"It seems the town recovered nicely," she murmured. "But get to the point: what do you want?"
"I still believe vampires remain in the city despite the orders to leave," he said solemnly. "During that night, I barricaded myself within the shop. During the night, I saw a woman rush by. She was surrounded, mind you, outnumbered and unarmed.However, none of the beasts attacked her. They watched her go, treated her as if she were one of their own. I know some can look just like us. They blend in, eat and drink like us. But they are nothing like us." Kaleb held her stare. A warm brown that reminded her of melting chocolate. He was looking at her as an equal, as a human. Something pulled gently at her heart; acceptance? Yearn? Only Royal looked at her like that.
Misery crossed her arms again, pinning him with a look as if to say go on...
"Her name is Orianna and she owns an orphanage," Kaleb paused, lowering his voice gravely, "I also believe she feeds on the children."
Misery blinked.
A vampire feeding on children.
As his words sank into her, her blood roiling like a spitting cauldron, her canines stabbed her gums to get free. Not so long ago, she had been an orphan, as well. Lost, abandoned, left to die by the elements if it were that easy if fate had been that generous. She put herself in their shoes: a confused, unloved creature used as nothing but means to feed and satiate. It was unfathomable, reprehensible. For a moment, Misery forgot she was standing in the darkness with a young boy, in a foreign city with an empty stomach. From one unfortunate circumstance to another. As far as her parents went, she hadn't a clue their whereabouts. Alive? Dead? Not a day past she didn't wonder, didn't seethe and didn't hate them for not loving her. And here were other children, likely placed in similar or even worse conditions, bitten and cast aside when no longer needed. Perhaps they'd been stolen and forced to forget they even had parents.
Misery felt a stinging in her palms and relaxed her clenched fist. Blood trickled down her fingertips onto the cobblestone. Kaleb didn't notice.
"I'll look into it," she stepped away, his thundering heart now a hammer against her skull that became harder to ignore. Or was that her own?
Tonight, she told herself. Tonight, I will feed.
I will show Orianna what it feels like.