The veiled heart

Neither of them are in the castle right now. He's taken her somewhere in an outburst of love; this last week has been absolute bliss for them. I wonder how long we have until the happy bubble bursts again. I look out the window of their bedroom and see their child in the garden, playing with Jane. Such a waste. The kid's mom, I mean. I remember him a few years ago, the tantrums we had to tolerate everytime she rejected him.

"I want her!" he would shout in the hall, and everyone would back off at the sight of his rage. I thought it was a whim, like so many others he had always had –women, talented vampires, blood. I had never seen this new interest of his, and I could not understand what she had that drove him crazier that I'd ever seen him. I thought that however she was, she was not worth it.

Then, one day, he arrived with a look of pure joy and satisfaction in his eyes. He had had his way, as always. And judging by the arrogant, almost cruel air of authority and power I could tell it was not something the girl had precisely agreed on. I had all but forgotten her when, about two months later, he brought her to the castle. Oh boy. The moment I saw her I knew she was totally worth anything. She was a tiny thing, she could not -and still cannot- even reach his shoulder. But despite her size and her obvious youth the way she carried herself, her bearing, it was completely ladylike, she inspired respect. And she had a beauty that time has only made better. It was easy to understand his desperation everytime he heard her refusal. What I could not quite get was why he had waited so long; anyone else would have fulfiled his desires much sooner.

That day he walked with her to the centre of the hall and introduced her as his fiancée and mother of his child. The news were most unexpected, shocking, surprising, but in that moment what attrected me the most was that as he spoke she looked down, but in her eyes there was no fear, defeat, or sadness, only the purest hatred I have ever seen in my life, and I have lived quite a while, believe me. Strangely enough, that expression, that furious pout her mouth became when she stared at us, all that was more inviting that the most seductive of attitudes. I felt an inexplicable attraction for her, his child bride. And that is where it all began.

I open a drawer of her dressing table and find the scarves, almost veils, that he makes her wear everytime he beats her, or has an attack of jealousy and does not want her beauty to be shared. I take a purple-and-blue scarf and inhale its aroma. It is a combination of expensive perfume and the scent that's purely her –jasmine, whitelily, strawberry, cherry. It is strong, but at the same time soft, it has a sensual ring to it. It awakens the man in me and stirrs the sensations she has inspired me since that first day. I later found out that I was not the only one who desired her; many of the guard revealed during a chat a few days later that they wanted her more than anything, and I know some of us, if not all, still want her, would still do anything to get her. The question here is whether their feelings are pure desire, or if they have grown into something else... like it happened to me.

The scarf is smooth silk, an accesory I have often seen covering her hair and neck. The softness of the fabric makes me think of the skin it has touched. I mean, I haven't had a chance to touch her beyond the hands and face, but that is enough, and allows me to imagine the rest. I remember thinking about that a lot the first days, while I heard her screams. He did not think of reinforcing the walls until she arrived and he wanted privacy with her. It took a while to make the rooms and the study completely soundproof, and in the meantime we got to hear very interesting fights. Everytime she opened those pretty, pink, full lips of hers somthing strong came out of them. Right when I thought there was nothing left for me to learn, she arrived and showed me I didn't know anything at all.

Those early days were difficult for everyone. I'd been sure I would never see Jane emotional again, but the very evening that girl came to live with us I saw her crumble. Though Jane had known of our master's passions, she never imagined it would actually turn into a marriage, moreover, a family. She was desolate, nothing I told her would make her calm down. She cried with the painfully dry sobs of our kind, and hour after hour she shouted into the air, breaking things and pulling her hair. Then she set off running to the city, where she tortured and killed at least ten people just to ease a little of her pain. Both girls cried and screamed that day, one because she wasn't loved, the other because she was.

I fold the scarf carefully and tuck it inside my cloak. She has so many she won't notice one is missing. I leave the room and go back to the pretending. Our lives are elaborate deceptions, you know? But at least our lies help us to deal with everything. Jane can pretend she's not bleeding inside, the girl can pretend she doesn't hate this life and every single one of us, and I can pretend I don't love her, the most forbidden of all women, that my feelings aren't eating me and that I have no hidden desires. As I walk I try to push the thought out of my mind.

I'm in love with Alice.