As the sword pierced my flesh, carving it's hole in me like a red hot
flame, I smiled and silently thanked my merciful executioner. When a
rather hot flash coursed through my veins, I tossed my head back feeling my
immortal body clinging to the last shards of it's life. My head hit the
cold stone. and my thoughts traveled back over the years.
~*~
A young man, in his finest garments, walked towards a stately church
building. It was me. Me as I was when I was still human, full of life and
breath and much easier to be broken as well. I watched, a quiet onlooker,
as this creature settled himself down in the pews and bowed his head as
though in pray. I knew better. I knew that by this time, this boy was
pretending. his faith shattered in a hundred shards that danced about the
world in scorn of the one they had come from. I knew what beautiful
creature would be walking through the door any minute.
Yes, even with my though, there she was. Head draped in the dull gray
cowl of her sisterhood, her eyes downcast and deep in prayer even as she
floated across the cold gray stone of the church floor. The young man's
eyes raised, just a little, just enough to steal a passing glance as the
picture of his desire walked past. He sighed and bowed his head once
more, blue eyes quietly saddened, as she approached the altar and stepped
up to the organ. Her tune pierced him to the soul deeper then any sword,
more powerfully then any word, and he was moved to tears. Even as I
watched, I felt the tears return to my eyes and wiped them roughly away
with my gloved hand. Who was I for such tears now? After all I had done. I
had proved I was not worthy to have such a creature.
Silently, and eyes dry, I watched as the service continued. My former
self glancing up every so often to sneak a peek at his beloved. I watched
as the masses filed out of the gray stone building, crossing themselves and
splashing the holy water in tiny droplets to their foreheads. I watched as
the man picked himself up to follow, crossed himself out of habit and out
of fear. His heart looked back for the woman, yet his head dared not turn
back as he stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. His breath caught in
his throat and he shied his eyes from the glare as he made his way across
the church grounds and into the forest across the way.
Finally out of sight, he threw himself down against the trunk of a
tree and rested, eyes moist but no tears flowing. I looked over my
shoulder and noticed, as I had noticed back then, that he and I could still
see the church. I settled myself in the grass across from him and watched
him, observing exactly what I had done back then. back when I was so young,
so full of emotions. How easy it would have been to rip the tender boy in
two and watch his blood seep out of him just as his emotions did now.
Movement behind me caught my attention and a whipped around. There
she was, exiting the church, red roses clasped tightly between her two
hands. My vampire mind wondered if she was squeezing tightly enough to
draw her own blood, but I forced myself to shake that thought and turned to
look at the young man. Yes, he had finally noticed her, his eyes wide and
his breathing shallow and painfully tight in his chest. Slowly, pushing
his back against the tree for support, he stood, his eyes unblinking as the
creature walked gently down the steps of the church and into the quiet
graveyard behind. A moment's hesitation and then he was off, running
through the short distance of woods that separated him from the nun.
The graveyard wall was the only thing that stopped him and he pressed
his body close to it and embraced it as though it were some long lost
friend. He watched and I watched over his shoulder as the woman settled
herself down beside the grave and placed the rose into the tiny holder by
the tombstone. I felt the young man's body shudder with his tears. My
mind raced with a desire to reach out and embrace the man and also to scoff
and slap him in the face for his thoughts. I knew neither were possible.
The nun bowed her head in silence, praying to the God whom she had given up
her life for, crossed herself and then slowly got up off the ground. She
didn't bother to brush off the dirt and grass that clung to her skirts,
instead she left them alone and wandered back to the church door. I
watched the young man follow.
Suddenly, the scenery changed around me. I was now inside the church again. The young man, head bowed in prayer, was kneeling in front of the altar. I saw his gaze flip up every now and again as though in search of something. After a moment, he gave up his futile attempt at prayer, crossed himself, and sat down in the first row of the pews. Just then, she entered, this time head upright and eyes almost smiling. Almost. Her face was as passive as ever. I felt the young man go rigid as he spotted her. I felt my own brain ticking in my head. the same as it had then. I watched the man relax, his eyes showing clearly his plotting. I watched the scene before me in painful detail. I watched him force himself up and cross to her. I watched as she shied away and shook her head. I couldn't hear any sounds now though, just saw it. The soundlessness of the space echoed his and her emotions ten hundred times back at me. He nodded his head, a silent sigh issuing from his mouth. She reached out, gently touching his cheek with her hand. His eyes grew alive, dancing in the gentle light of the sheltered sunbeams. It seemed that one second, one brief moment, was stretched across eternity as I watch myself lean forward and steal the nun's lips in my own, confiscating them with my youthful passion. I wanted to slap the youth for doing that knowing what I knew it would lead to. And then came the answer to the question I had asked a hundred times. Who had seen us kiss? I watched in delight and horror as my own sister entered the church to go to confession. I saw her shock as she saw my past self kissing the sister and the sister not struggling against it. I watched her turn her back and flee from the church, tears already glistening at the sight she'd just seen. I felt anger rise up in me, turning my cold dead skin brilliantly hot. My own sister had been my down fall? I wanted to fly out of the church and kill her, bite her neck and drain her of every drop of blood that coursed through her small, petite, virgin body. I would have enjoyed feeling her death throws as she twitched under me, her life flowing into my unholy mouth. I would have enjoyed killing her, killing my own flesh and blood. The kiss was not returned by the nun. She pushed my boy self back only a second after my sister had turned to flee. Her hand came up and roughly smacked the young man across the face, her eyes dancing with shock and hurt, her face still emotionless. I placed my own gloved hand up to my cheek, remembering the sharp sting. Remembering that it was her rejection more then the slap that stung. I watched, horrified, as my past self ran from the church, refusing to cry, anger welling up deep inside him. This time, I remained in the church and watched the sister. For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to follow him, but not out of anything more then sorrow for slapping him, instead she turned her back to the door of the church and bowed her head in reverent prayer.
Church the next few weeks was filled with muttered whispers. Gossip about witches and their hiding places. I felt myself cringe as the many eyes turned to look at my beloved. My past self remained unmoving, head bowed, in the second pew. I wanted to go down there and smack him, tell him to stand up and do something before. She played the organ again, but this time the melody was jerky and she nearly lost it all together as she felt the eyes baring into her backside. The young man was the first to leave the church that day. He walked into the village, kicking the pebbles that were unfortunate to fall too near his boots. For a moment, he was lost in his own world, not hearing the loud ruckus that was growing around him. Peasants, multitudes of them, with pitchforks and torches, were shouting their approval as a speaker stood on a platform in the middle crying for the downfall of all witches that dare to hide themselves in the house of God. The villagers cried for a burning, saying they wanted this refuse out of their sight. I shuddered and watched the young man slowly open his ears to the outside world. I watched my own young, human eyes grow wide with horror as he heard the speaker talk of the nun who had dared to kiss a man and how she was a devilish temptress and a witch and didn't deserve to live. The man paled and stood as though frozen in place. "Run!" I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me, "Get there faster you fool!" Still the man stood frozen for a few seconds more. The crowd started to turn, to look at the direction of the church, and only then could he move. He darted out of the village as fast as his legs could carry him and ran through the dense forest road that lead to the church, the screams of the mob not far behind. His breath became faint, he stumbled in the heat, and yet he still pressed forward. I followed, my body immune to his weaknesses. I watched as the mob gained ground and the man falter. He reached the church doors and pushed on them both, throwing them wide. His glanced went up and he saw her, praying again to her God. "Run!" I heard him yell, "Get out of here!" and then he was trapped by the mob, them pushing his frame into the door and holding him back as the rest rushed forward, grabbing a hold upon the nun. "You disguise yourself into this convent!" they screamed, pulling her back, her face still looking at the altar, "You witch! You'll burn!"
I felt my heart break even as it had that day.
The pyre. my beloved strapped to her cross and my young self held fast by two guards. I knew how hard I had struggled that day, how much I had bruised my own arms against their grasp, but how, even with all my tormenting, they held fast and kept me there. The young man's eyes grew wide as the flame was brought below his beloved's feet and lit the kindling there. The guards released his arms and he fell to the ground, bowing his head in pain and then looking up to watch his precious. She lifted her chin to the sky and he watched in horror as her eyes pleaded for death. She held this gaze until the smoke of the fire caused her to pass out. Then, like a miracle we both watched, past and future, as the storm clouds rolled swiftly overhead and drenched the world in rain. The villagers stood in shook, their mouths agape as the fires that licked at the skin of the nun were doused. As soon as the flame was out, I watched my younger self dart past the guards and up onto platform that held the cross. He unbound her wrist and threw her over his shoulders and with all the strength that was left in him, he fled the village.
Later, his beloved resting on the soft down bed in an inn, the young man sat by trying to heal the burn wounds that wound around her legs. Fortunately, she had not been in the fire long enough to be seriously hurt, but she still coughed up the ash and remained in an almost constant state of sleep. For four days, he sat at her side, tending to her wounds and her needs. She refused most of it and he hung his head in shame knowing that he had been the cause of all this. That night, after nearly five days of never leaving her, the young man left her side and wandered into the town. This village wasn't much different from his own, a bit larger but not horribly so. He found himself rather comfortable out on the streets, until he felt a shadow following him. Every so often, the man thought he heard footsteps behind him in the otherwise quiet dead of the night, and his head would snap around but nothing would be there. He started to get the chills and his pace quickened. And then, it hit him and he was off the ground, a deadly powerful gripe around his throat, pulling his feet nearly a foot into the air. He grasped the hand, trying to pull it away and stared down at his attacker. It was a man, his long black hair curled and graying, his gaze piercing and eerily yellow. He brought the young man down closer to him, making eye contact. And then his voice came out in a whisper, "My poor dear, so foolishly in love. I can give you a way to make your love eternal if you want." And with that, the man dropped him. The young man hit the ground on his rear, gasping for the oxygen that had been deprived from his lungs. He looked up at the other man. "I see you still doubt me, my precious," the man said, kneeling down, "I am the Earl of Dracula and I can give you a rare gift that will allow you to be with the one you love for all time." His gloved hand gently caressed the scared young man's cheek and then, in one swoop, the young man was in the other's arms, his blood and life being drained from him. I watched on, a bit curious at the sight of my own mortal death and rebirth as a vampire. My rebirth into my own hell and damnation. My past self twitched on the ground for a few moments and then sat up, his once blue eyes a now devilishly yellow color and his skin three times as pale. I watched my younger self look at the world with his new eyes and I could sense his joy and excitement. He looked at the other man, the Earl that had made him this thing. and nodded his head. Dracula almost smiled, it was more a smirk. "All I ask. is that you help me find my virgin bride." I watched myself nod and stand up. Dracula acknowledged the agreement and then vanished. My new, freshly born vampire self was left alone in the streets. It didn't take him long to get used to the idea of being a vampire either. The first human he found, a tender and delicate youth no older then himself, quickly became his victim. Yet, the fledgling vampire seemed revolted by the taste. He left the youth and wandered the streets again. When he found a bordello, he entered and treated himself to the most succulent looking oyster among them. And this time, the taste agreed with him. Revitalized with the blood of his two kills, the young man returned to the inn and to the side of the nun. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he awoke her and offered to give her a special gift that would make her well. The nun, having no idea what his gift was, accepted it. With that, the man scooped her up into his arms and bite into her delicate skin. Her taste sent him over the edge and he moaned against her skin. She was too weak to struggle as he tore into his own wrist and offered it to her. Death was swift for her and her rebirth even faster. The young man smiled, but the second he saw the woman's face he backed away. She looked at him, her face more passive then ever, but deep hatred glowing in her eyes. "Why?" she questioned, her emotionless face carrying in her voice as well, "Thou hast stolen me from God!" The youth wanted to weep. His plan to bring them closer together had backfired and all because he had believe some Earl about eternity. He secretly vowed to get the Earl back someday.
Their time together as vampires was long. nearly 300 years all alone. They had returned to their old village 100 years later to find the church abandoned and the village had become a booming city called London. The nun demanded that they live in the church so she could still pray to God and keep her duty as a nun. Reluctantly, the youth agreed and their coffins were stored in the cellar. The youth had heard nothing nor seen any signs of the great Earl that had made him what he was. Over time, the nun grew used to killing, but she never reveled in it. In fact, she had not shown a single expression on her face since the day of the pyre. This disheartened her companion. When she asked to start a theatre where they would feed in front of the rich audiences to please them, he was appalled, but submitted to her desire. She said that only he would do the actual killing, she would perform a baptism of blood on every victim, bringing them into the Church of the one true God.
And then, a year after their theatre was started, the Earl showed up again. He spoke to him and did not request a thing, but requested the assistance of the nun, knowing that her religious nature would hold her more tightly to her bond. The search for the virgin bride had begun.
It was not long until it was discovered that the virgin bride had been in London the whole time. Her name was Cecil. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant and engaged to the local real estate manager, Klaha. Dracula and the nun devised a plan to get Klaha into London and Dracula into London. All the while, the youth was kept in the dark. It came to pass that his normal food was boring him. The whores and wives and daughters of the poor had lost most of their flavor and he knew what would satisfy his whim. nobility. That night, he arrived in the room of the merchant's daughter and leaned forward, ever inching closer to her neck. Something pulled him back, some other force and he couldn't quite tell if it was his own conscious or another soul telling him to back off. He shook the feeling and leaned forward to take her when a rose flashed past his head, licking at his bangs and embedding into the wall. He looked up and hid the surprise in his face when he saw the nun standing there. Thinking that she was stopping him only out of spite, he leaned forward again, attempting to get at the tender and juicy looking neck. Another rose whirled past and he stood, nearly glaring at the woman. "Why?" he demanded. "She is the Earl of Dracula's virgin bride." He looked down at the girl laying in the bed. "How can this be the Earl of Dracula's virgin bride?" "He is going to give her immortality." The man sighed and pulled one of the roses out of the wall and offered it to the nun. "Will you turn your back on God and love me?" There was just silence. He walked by and threw the flower back into the vase. "What is the point of waiting to die and go to him when you can enjoy this?" He sat in the chair by a desk and crossed his legs. The woman turned to him, her eyes glaring but no emotion created a line on her face. "Believe in God, and protect yourself from evil." The man sneered, stood and walked past her slowly, deliberately and then disappearing into the darkness. The woman, face still emotionless, remained the night beside the virgin bride's side.
That night I had feed ravenously, dancing with one of the pretty wives I had decided to devour that night. I was full of melancholy and hatred for the Earl.
I watched the next few days as though they were on fast forward, nothing important happening in my life or the life of my beloved. And yet, when time began to slow I watched as the day of my death appeared. I was in Cecil's bedroom again and there was death all around me and none of it my doing. Dracula had just disappeared with Cecil and I was here to gain my revenge on him. Klaha, Cecil's rather dashing fiancée stood across the room from me, dagger exposed. I flung it from his hands with a glance of my eye and walked over to him shaking my head. "I will not hurt you." I circled him, his shudders sending chills into my own body, speaking softly to him, "Do you know the old church? You can find your love there in the cellar. Can you make it?" He nodded and asked, "Why are you doing this?" I smirked, "I want to defend my turf." He seemed to understand and grabbed his gun and a rosary off the table. I cringed at the sight of the rosary and asked him, "Do you believe in God?" He nodded. I scoffed internally. "The more devote you are, the more life is bitter." A flash of the woman placing roses by the altar in the cellar passed through my brain and then was gone. The foolish human thanked me and was about to leave. I quickly walked over to his other side, so quickly in fact it looked like I had disappeared and reappeared elsewhere. "Be sure to kill," I said calmly. He nodded and was gone.
I followed him, careful not to let my presence be felt so that Dracula and my love would not sense me. When he arrived at the church and ran into the cellar, Dracula and Cecil were passionately embracing each other, their kissing meaningful and binding. Klaha walked down the steps, drawing the attention of both Dracula and my beloved. My beloved stepped forward as though to offer herself for the fight, but Dracula stopped her, his body shaky from the loss of blood that happens in the creation of a new vampire. Klaha drew his gun and pointed it at the Earl, but the Earl was too fast for him and quickly upon him. I knew my chance had come and I drove in-between the Earl and Klaha, baring my fangs as though to bite into the Earl's inhuman flesh. He was strong then I, though, and I felt myself roughly shoved against the wall. I charged back, clawing at his noble face, my passion to kill him rising with ever moment. Suddenly, there was someone in-between us and I felt the sickening feeling of blood rushing down my hand. I looked up and gasped in pain and shock as I saw my beloved impaled on my own claws. Her body slumped to the ground and I knew life ceased to be there. I backed away, tears fresh in my eyes and stumbled, my back falling against the alter and something cold and metal. I looked. It was a dagger and by the looks of how fancy it was, it had belonged to the Earl. I drew it in front of me and looked at the gleam of it in the moonlight. My love was gone and there was no need to suffer anymore in this existence I had created for us. I shoved the dagger deep into my gut, stumbling to my knees. I was weak from the fight , weak from my beloved's death, and even weaker because I had not fed that night. The dagger did it's work and I felt the blood dribble down from my mouth, staining my skin and shirt. Then I noticed Klaha, a shocked expression twisting his human face, and I smiled at him, barely able to keep my eyes open. I then saw that he had a sword on his hip. My eyes went to his, "Please? Release me from all this!" they begged. I simply voiced, "I ask you." He nodded and drew his sword. His stance was awkward, but he managed to dig the sword in a little. It wasn't enough. Then the sword pierced my flesh, carving it's hole in me like a red hot flame, I smiled and silently thanked my merciful executioner. When a rather hot flash coursed through my veins, I tossed my head back feeling my immortal body clinging to the last shards of it's life. My head hit the cold stone.
Suddenly, the scenery changed around me. I was now inside the church again. The young man, head bowed in prayer, was kneeling in front of the altar. I saw his gaze flip up every now and again as though in search of something. After a moment, he gave up his futile attempt at prayer, crossed himself, and sat down in the first row of the pews. Just then, she entered, this time head upright and eyes almost smiling. Almost. Her face was as passive as ever. I felt the young man go rigid as he spotted her. I felt my own brain ticking in my head. the same as it had then. I watched the man relax, his eyes showing clearly his plotting. I watched the scene before me in painful detail. I watched him force himself up and cross to her. I watched as she shied away and shook her head. I couldn't hear any sounds now though, just saw it. The soundlessness of the space echoed his and her emotions ten hundred times back at me. He nodded his head, a silent sigh issuing from his mouth. She reached out, gently touching his cheek with her hand. His eyes grew alive, dancing in the gentle light of the sheltered sunbeams. It seemed that one second, one brief moment, was stretched across eternity as I watch myself lean forward and steal the nun's lips in my own, confiscating them with my youthful passion. I wanted to slap the youth for doing that knowing what I knew it would lead to. And then came the answer to the question I had asked a hundred times. Who had seen us kiss? I watched in delight and horror as my own sister entered the church to go to confession. I saw her shock as she saw my past self kissing the sister and the sister not struggling against it. I watched her turn her back and flee from the church, tears already glistening at the sight she'd just seen. I felt anger rise up in me, turning my cold dead skin brilliantly hot. My own sister had been my down fall? I wanted to fly out of the church and kill her, bite her neck and drain her of every drop of blood that coursed through her small, petite, virgin body. I would have enjoyed feeling her death throws as she twitched under me, her life flowing into my unholy mouth. I would have enjoyed killing her, killing my own flesh and blood. The kiss was not returned by the nun. She pushed my boy self back only a second after my sister had turned to flee. Her hand came up and roughly smacked the young man across the face, her eyes dancing with shock and hurt, her face still emotionless. I placed my own gloved hand up to my cheek, remembering the sharp sting. Remembering that it was her rejection more then the slap that stung. I watched, horrified, as my past self ran from the church, refusing to cry, anger welling up deep inside him. This time, I remained in the church and watched the sister. For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to follow him, but not out of anything more then sorrow for slapping him, instead she turned her back to the door of the church and bowed her head in reverent prayer.
Church the next few weeks was filled with muttered whispers. Gossip about witches and their hiding places. I felt myself cringe as the many eyes turned to look at my beloved. My past self remained unmoving, head bowed, in the second pew. I wanted to go down there and smack him, tell him to stand up and do something before. She played the organ again, but this time the melody was jerky and she nearly lost it all together as she felt the eyes baring into her backside. The young man was the first to leave the church that day. He walked into the village, kicking the pebbles that were unfortunate to fall too near his boots. For a moment, he was lost in his own world, not hearing the loud ruckus that was growing around him. Peasants, multitudes of them, with pitchforks and torches, were shouting their approval as a speaker stood on a platform in the middle crying for the downfall of all witches that dare to hide themselves in the house of God. The villagers cried for a burning, saying they wanted this refuse out of their sight. I shuddered and watched the young man slowly open his ears to the outside world. I watched my own young, human eyes grow wide with horror as he heard the speaker talk of the nun who had dared to kiss a man and how she was a devilish temptress and a witch and didn't deserve to live. The man paled and stood as though frozen in place. "Run!" I screamed as loud as my lungs would let me, "Get there faster you fool!" Still the man stood frozen for a few seconds more. The crowd started to turn, to look at the direction of the church, and only then could he move. He darted out of the village as fast as his legs could carry him and ran through the dense forest road that lead to the church, the screams of the mob not far behind. His breath became faint, he stumbled in the heat, and yet he still pressed forward. I followed, my body immune to his weaknesses. I watched as the mob gained ground and the man falter. He reached the church doors and pushed on them both, throwing them wide. His glanced went up and he saw her, praying again to her God. "Run!" I heard him yell, "Get out of here!" and then he was trapped by the mob, them pushing his frame into the door and holding him back as the rest rushed forward, grabbing a hold upon the nun. "You disguise yourself into this convent!" they screamed, pulling her back, her face still looking at the altar, "You witch! You'll burn!"
I felt my heart break even as it had that day.
The pyre. my beloved strapped to her cross and my young self held fast by two guards. I knew how hard I had struggled that day, how much I had bruised my own arms against their grasp, but how, even with all my tormenting, they held fast and kept me there. The young man's eyes grew wide as the flame was brought below his beloved's feet and lit the kindling there. The guards released his arms and he fell to the ground, bowing his head in pain and then looking up to watch his precious. She lifted her chin to the sky and he watched in horror as her eyes pleaded for death. She held this gaze until the smoke of the fire caused her to pass out. Then, like a miracle we both watched, past and future, as the storm clouds rolled swiftly overhead and drenched the world in rain. The villagers stood in shook, their mouths agape as the fires that licked at the skin of the nun were doused. As soon as the flame was out, I watched my younger self dart past the guards and up onto platform that held the cross. He unbound her wrist and threw her over his shoulders and with all the strength that was left in him, he fled the village.
Later, his beloved resting on the soft down bed in an inn, the young man sat by trying to heal the burn wounds that wound around her legs. Fortunately, she had not been in the fire long enough to be seriously hurt, but she still coughed up the ash and remained in an almost constant state of sleep. For four days, he sat at her side, tending to her wounds and her needs. She refused most of it and he hung his head in shame knowing that he had been the cause of all this. That night, after nearly five days of never leaving her, the young man left her side and wandered into the town. This village wasn't much different from his own, a bit larger but not horribly so. He found himself rather comfortable out on the streets, until he felt a shadow following him. Every so often, the man thought he heard footsteps behind him in the otherwise quiet dead of the night, and his head would snap around but nothing would be there. He started to get the chills and his pace quickened. And then, it hit him and he was off the ground, a deadly powerful gripe around his throat, pulling his feet nearly a foot into the air. He grasped the hand, trying to pull it away and stared down at his attacker. It was a man, his long black hair curled and graying, his gaze piercing and eerily yellow. He brought the young man down closer to him, making eye contact. And then his voice came out in a whisper, "My poor dear, so foolishly in love. I can give you a way to make your love eternal if you want." And with that, the man dropped him. The young man hit the ground on his rear, gasping for the oxygen that had been deprived from his lungs. He looked up at the other man. "I see you still doubt me, my precious," the man said, kneeling down, "I am the Earl of Dracula and I can give you a rare gift that will allow you to be with the one you love for all time." His gloved hand gently caressed the scared young man's cheek and then, in one swoop, the young man was in the other's arms, his blood and life being drained from him. I watched on, a bit curious at the sight of my own mortal death and rebirth as a vampire. My rebirth into my own hell and damnation. My past self twitched on the ground for a few moments and then sat up, his once blue eyes a now devilishly yellow color and his skin three times as pale. I watched my younger self look at the world with his new eyes and I could sense his joy and excitement. He looked at the other man, the Earl that had made him this thing. and nodded his head. Dracula almost smiled, it was more a smirk. "All I ask. is that you help me find my virgin bride." I watched myself nod and stand up. Dracula acknowledged the agreement and then vanished. My new, freshly born vampire self was left alone in the streets. It didn't take him long to get used to the idea of being a vampire either. The first human he found, a tender and delicate youth no older then himself, quickly became his victim. Yet, the fledgling vampire seemed revolted by the taste. He left the youth and wandered the streets again. When he found a bordello, he entered and treated himself to the most succulent looking oyster among them. And this time, the taste agreed with him. Revitalized with the blood of his two kills, the young man returned to the inn and to the side of the nun. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he awoke her and offered to give her a special gift that would make her well. The nun, having no idea what his gift was, accepted it. With that, the man scooped her up into his arms and bite into her delicate skin. Her taste sent him over the edge and he moaned against her skin. She was too weak to struggle as he tore into his own wrist and offered it to her. Death was swift for her and her rebirth even faster. The young man smiled, but the second he saw the woman's face he backed away. She looked at him, her face more passive then ever, but deep hatred glowing in her eyes. "Why?" she questioned, her emotionless face carrying in her voice as well, "Thou hast stolen me from God!" The youth wanted to weep. His plan to bring them closer together had backfired and all because he had believe some Earl about eternity. He secretly vowed to get the Earl back someday.
Their time together as vampires was long. nearly 300 years all alone. They had returned to their old village 100 years later to find the church abandoned and the village had become a booming city called London. The nun demanded that they live in the church so she could still pray to God and keep her duty as a nun. Reluctantly, the youth agreed and their coffins were stored in the cellar. The youth had heard nothing nor seen any signs of the great Earl that had made him what he was. Over time, the nun grew used to killing, but she never reveled in it. In fact, she had not shown a single expression on her face since the day of the pyre. This disheartened her companion. When she asked to start a theatre where they would feed in front of the rich audiences to please them, he was appalled, but submitted to her desire. She said that only he would do the actual killing, she would perform a baptism of blood on every victim, bringing them into the Church of the one true God.
And then, a year after their theatre was started, the Earl showed up again. He spoke to him and did not request a thing, but requested the assistance of the nun, knowing that her religious nature would hold her more tightly to her bond. The search for the virgin bride had begun.
It was not long until it was discovered that the virgin bride had been in London the whole time. Her name was Cecil. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant and engaged to the local real estate manager, Klaha. Dracula and the nun devised a plan to get Klaha into London and Dracula into London. All the while, the youth was kept in the dark. It came to pass that his normal food was boring him. The whores and wives and daughters of the poor had lost most of their flavor and he knew what would satisfy his whim. nobility. That night, he arrived in the room of the merchant's daughter and leaned forward, ever inching closer to her neck. Something pulled him back, some other force and he couldn't quite tell if it was his own conscious or another soul telling him to back off. He shook the feeling and leaned forward to take her when a rose flashed past his head, licking at his bangs and embedding into the wall. He looked up and hid the surprise in his face when he saw the nun standing there. Thinking that she was stopping him only out of spite, he leaned forward again, attempting to get at the tender and juicy looking neck. Another rose whirled past and he stood, nearly glaring at the woman. "Why?" he demanded. "She is the Earl of Dracula's virgin bride." He looked down at the girl laying in the bed. "How can this be the Earl of Dracula's virgin bride?" "He is going to give her immortality." The man sighed and pulled one of the roses out of the wall and offered it to the nun. "Will you turn your back on God and love me?" There was just silence. He walked by and threw the flower back into the vase. "What is the point of waiting to die and go to him when you can enjoy this?" He sat in the chair by a desk and crossed his legs. The woman turned to him, her eyes glaring but no emotion created a line on her face. "Believe in God, and protect yourself from evil." The man sneered, stood and walked past her slowly, deliberately and then disappearing into the darkness. The woman, face still emotionless, remained the night beside the virgin bride's side.
That night I had feed ravenously, dancing with one of the pretty wives I had decided to devour that night. I was full of melancholy and hatred for the Earl.
I watched the next few days as though they were on fast forward, nothing important happening in my life or the life of my beloved. And yet, when time began to slow I watched as the day of my death appeared. I was in Cecil's bedroom again and there was death all around me and none of it my doing. Dracula had just disappeared with Cecil and I was here to gain my revenge on him. Klaha, Cecil's rather dashing fiancée stood across the room from me, dagger exposed. I flung it from his hands with a glance of my eye and walked over to him shaking my head. "I will not hurt you." I circled him, his shudders sending chills into my own body, speaking softly to him, "Do you know the old church? You can find your love there in the cellar. Can you make it?" He nodded and asked, "Why are you doing this?" I smirked, "I want to defend my turf." He seemed to understand and grabbed his gun and a rosary off the table. I cringed at the sight of the rosary and asked him, "Do you believe in God?" He nodded. I scoffed internally. "The more devote you are, the more life is bitter." A flash of the woman placing roses by the altar in the cellar passed through my brain and then was gone. The foolish human thanked me and was about to leave. I quickly walked over to his other side, so quickly in fact it looked like I had disappeared and reappeared elsewhere. "Be sure to kill," I said calmly. He nodded and was gone.
I followed him, careful not to let my presence be felt so that Dracula and my love would not sense me. When he arrived at the church and ran into the cellar, Dracula and Cecil were passionately embracing each other, their kissing meaningful and binding. Klaha walked down the steps, drawing the attention of both Dracula and my beloved. My beloved stepped forward as though to offer herself for the fight, but Dracula stopped her, his body shaky from the loss of blood that happens in the creation of a new vampire. Klaha drew his gun and pointed it at the Earl, but the Earl was too fast for him and quickly upon him. I knew my chance had come and I drove in-between the Earl and Klaha, baring my fangs as though to bite into the Earl's inhuman flesh. He was strong then I, though, and I felt myself roughly shoved against the wall. I charged back, clawing at his noble face, my passion to kill him rising with ever moment. Suddenly, there was someone in-between us and I felt the sickening feeling of blood rushing down my hand. I looked up and gasped in pain and shock as I saw my beloved impaled on my own claws. Her body slumped to the ground and I knew life ceased to be there. I backed away, tears fresh in my eyes and stumbled, my back falling against the alter and something cold and metal. I looked. It was a dagger and by the looks of how fancy it was, it had belonged to the Earl. I drew it in front of me and looked at the gleam of it in the moonlight. My love was gone and there was no need to suffer anymore in this existence I had created for us. I shoved the dagger deep into my gut, stumbling to my knees. I was weak from the fight , weak from my beloved's death, and even weaker because I had not fed that night. The dagger did it's work and I felt the blood dribble down from my mouth, staining my skin and shirt. Then I noticed Klaha, a shocked expression twisting his human face, and I smiled at him, barely able to keep my eyes open. I then saw that he had a sword on his hip. My eyes went to his, "Please? Release me from all this!" they begged. I simply voiced, "I ask you." He nodded and drew his sword. His stance was awkward, but he managed to dig the sword in a little. It wasn't enough. Then the sword pierced my flesh, carving it's hole in me like a red hot flame, I smiled and silently thanked my merciful executioner. When a rather hot flash coursed through my veins, I tossed my head back feeling my immortal body clinging to the last shards of it's life. My head hit the cold stone.