Not once had Elisabette imagined having to drag an unconscious man through the streets of England. However, she picked up the dying young man, careful to avoid marking her satin dress with blood, and made quickly to the castle, dodging the guards stationed seemingly everywhere. When she made it to her room, she almost threw the body onto the bed, not particularly careful to protect the gold duvet from the violent gash on his neck. His dried blood stained her porcelain skin, tainting the perfect surface. She almost pitied the stranger whose scent almost made her dizzy. Elisabette, too, had not had a choice in her immortality. However, as she slid the white gloves off her delicate fingers and placed them on his hot skin, she felt cold. She felt unloved by a father, almost as if she was being persecuted again. Removing her hand from the young man's face, Elisabette almost saw what she had done as mercy. Though, the same justification had probably come from her attacker. Carlisle, as she learned his name was, would benefit her greatly in her endeavor to immense power.
Three days later, Elisabette sat bordely in her chambers, reading a book given to her by The King when she heard Carlisle's heart gradually slow until it had completely stopped beating. She ran to his side, the once large gash on his neck healed by her venom. His eyes opened quickly, crimson irises worriedly scanning the room as he jumped into a defensive position.
"Carlisle, it is okay," Elisabette's gentle voice soothed the newborn and he grasped at his throat as he lowered his defense.
"Who are you? What did you do to me, witch?!" Her calm demeanor hid the annoyance she felt inside. She had to remind herself that all of England was raising their children like this, and it was not the childrens' fault. Carlisle was yet another defenseless apprentice, brought up by a father who displayed his hatred under the guise of religion.
"My dear, I am Elisabette," she sauntered to his side, gently rubbing his forearm, "and I have made you better than you ever could have been as a mere human, stuck with that pastor father of yours."
"B-but I-I," Carlisle stuttered, finally taking in his surroundings.
"Your anger became you. We will have plenty of time to work on that. For now, though, we must leave the castle. In fact, we must leave England," Elisabette knelt down beside the large bed, seemingly looking underneath the oak posts for something. After feeling around for a bit, she pulled out a small wooden box, carved with intricate details. Carlisle figured a specialist must have made it, and it had to have been very expensive. Once she had gently tucked the small item under her arm, she smiled at the blonde man and ushered him out of the room.
Once they had left the castle, once again avoiding all of the guards, Elisabette and Carlisle ran off, leaving the life of English luxury behind. They ran for what seemed to be a short while, but had traveled a long distance when Elisabette realized that Carlisle must be starving! She slowed the two of them down when they reached the treeline of a small village, plagued by poverty and drunks.
"What is the matter?" Carlisle whispered.
"Wait here." With that Elisabette quickly made her way into the heart of the village, trying - and failing - to look as normal as possible. Her purple silk dress with gold embroideries made that impossible, she was a natural stand-out. She made her way into a bar, immediately overwhelmed at the smell of stale beer. Her red eyes scanned the room, landing upon a drunken man, whose knuckles were bloodied and legs too wobbly to stand on. She made her way to him, his human mind already enraptured with the pale beauty.
Elisabette didn't have to try very hard to seduce the man. He slurred out, "Y'know I used to be a soldier."
Oh, I'm sure, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. "I have always found a brave man so," she stroked his arm with her cold finger and he shivered, "attractive."
It took a mere two seconds before he followed her out of the bar, stumbling along the broken streets. They reached the treeline quickly, Carlisle's instincts taking over and draining the life out of the man. Once he realized what he had done, he stared at the blood and the man all at once, then dropped to his knees and began to pray.
"My dear Carlisle, the world is not as simple as you might think. This man was a drunk, you saw his drunkenness-"
Carlisle interrupted her, "So he deserved to die?!"
Elisabette stroked his blonde hair, soothing him, "Dear, look at his knuckles: bloodied. He beat his wife to nothing the night last, he was not a good man. Good men know to not follow strange women to the woods."
"How did you know his wife was beaten? Did he tell you? Or do you assume because of his bloodied knuckles?"
"Carlisle, some of our kind have gifts. Some are strong and some are powerful, mine, my dear, is powerful. With but one touch I can see everything that you have seen, everything you might see, and everything you have felt. You see, I have learned after many years that we decide what we feel when we feel it. Your anger from hours ago was decided then. Together, we can control it. Just as we can control your thirst," Elisabette explained. Carlisle slowly nodded, flinching slightly as Elisabette wiped the blood that dripped from his lips. "Now we must go, quickly."
Once they had reached the ocean, Carlisle starred in wonder.
"I've never even left London," the blonde mused.
"Oh darling, there's a whole world to see!"
The duo reached France quickly, fleeing to the countryside before people would notice they were English. Thick brush made it almost impossible to comfortably run, so the two walked at a brisk pace, settling for a comfortable silence. Elisabette led them to a small cottage surrounded by colorful flowers and lush trees.
"Welcome to my French home!" Elisabette announced as she opened the door, large amounts of dust visibly falling from the ceiling. She sighed, "Well, no mind, could use a bit of cleaning but we have all the time in the world." She laughed at her own joke while Carlisle looked through the small home.
"Where are the beds? I see nowhere to sleep."
Elisabette looked away from him, attempting to find the right words, "Carlisle, dear, we do not need sleep. Or food. Or any other necessity for humans," her lips found their way to his neck, where they lightly pressed on what had been his pulse point, "We are so much more."
