Disclaimer: All of L J Smith's characters/ideas belong to her but MY
characters belong all to me!
Note: Thank you for all your reviews-they are very important to me and help me write. And as you probably guessed Fern is a lost witch as well as an old soul. Please R&R!
Stirring Memories
Violet stared sheepishly at the burgundy rug on Fern's wooden floor. Her dark hair had fallen to cover her snow like skin like a curtain. Fern on the other hand sat silently on the bed staring at Violet in disbelief. Had she heard her correctly? She couldn't have . . . there were no such things as witches or . . . vampires.
Fern gulped. "What did you say?" She said in no more than a whisper.
Violet didn't look up. "He's a vampire-a real one. They exist."
Fern laughed nervously. She could feel hysteria creeping up on her quickly. Violet couldn't be serious.
"You're joking right?" Fern asked, but she was doubtful-Violet was always serious.
"No." Violet shook her head and finally met Fern's eyes. Her deep violet eyes were sympathetic and worried-she wasn't joking.
"But-but they don't exist. They're stories," Fern replied quickly, unable to stop the flow of words. Hysteria had taken hold of her. "Like- like Dracula . . . that's a story written by that Stoker guy. Vampires are fiction-no one drinks peoples' blood. Well except psychos who do . . . but they're not vampires. Vampires don't exist. It's not possible." She could feel the room spinning around her. She stared at the walls as they moved- they were red. She had liked the colour, but they were blood red. They seemed to drip blood onto the floor before her eyes.
"Oh God," she whispered as she felt herself fall back onto the quilt.
Then there was only darkness.
***
Fern opened her eyes. The red walls were gone. So was Violet. In fact, Fern wasn't in her room. She was standing on some sort of platform with a large crowd before her. What the hell is going on, she thought taking in her surroundings. She stared out over the crowd-she didn't know anyone and they were all dressed in old-fashioned puritan clothes.
Fern was getting more and more anxious. Where was she? There was a woman beside her-she had and expression of grief and regret on her beautiful face. Fern wanted to comfort her. Why was this woman sad? And why was the crowd jeering at her?
They're jeering at me too, Fern thought suddenly, they're jeering at me and the woman. She looked frantically about her, looking for something familiar but to no avail. She was in a completely alien place-she knew nothing.
She automatically turned her head as she heard a mental voice in her mind. Those eyes. It was him. He was speaking to her mind again. But she wasn't listening to his voice-something was being placed around her neck. She looked up in horror.
It was a rope.
There was a noose around her neck. She was going to be hanged. She began to scream at the people around her, trying to reason and plead with them. Why were they doing this? The woman beside her was going to die too . . . but she was silent. No one was listening to Fern's desperate cries-not even Morgan. Everyone was ignoring her.
She looked to Morgan desperately.
"Morgan! Morgan, please! Help me!" She screamed trying to reach out to him, but her hands were bound.
She could still hear his voice in her head but she wasn't listening, she was only concentrating on getting away. He was making no movement as if to help her. He just stood beneath the trees looking sad.
She was still screaming-unlike a scream she'd ever heard before. How was this happening? She didn't want to die.
"MORGAN! Help me for God's sake!" She shrieked, tears falling rapidly down her cheeks.
All grief suddenly left his eyes and he looked directly into hers. He looked shocked and began to run towards the gallows.
But Fern had already begun to fall back into the darkness.
***
Fern opened her eyes. The crowd was gone. The feeling of rope around her neck was gone. She was inside somewhere. Warmth flooded her-she was in a bed. She had never felt so relieved-she was back in her room, in her bed.
She tried to focus her vision. She wasn't in her room-she was in a different room. In a room she didn't know.
She looked around. It was a very large room with expensive looking furniture and drapes. It reminded Fern of period dramas like Pride and Prejudice-it was the same style.
At least she didn't seem in danger-no one here seemed to want to kill her. She turned over in the four poster bed, feeling the silk sheets against her bare arms.
He was here. He was sitting by the bed and before she knew it he was clutching her hand. He was crying too.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't get here earlier," he whispered kissing her hand over and over.
What was he talking about?
"I could make it go away, but I don't want you like that. It'll be over soon-I'll stay with you until you are sleeping." Tears were still falling down his face.
Fern wanted to speak but she couldn't. She felt too weak. Instead she just coughed and felt the heat taking over her body.
I've got a seriously bad fever, she realised trying to stop herself from coughing.
What was wrong with her? Why did she feel like crap? Morgan didn't seem to be answering any questions with whatever he was saying.
"I wish I could have been her longer-I would never have let you get so ill," he sighed, stroking her cheek.
She could feel warmth emanating from his fingertips-it sent shivers down her spine. Sparks seemed to swell between their skin and Fern felt terribly comforted. She didn't care if she was sick-she would get better.
But she was still confused about what was going on. Where was she? Why was Morgan so sad?
But another burst of coughing interrupted her thoughts. She felt so hot, but at the same time she felt as if she was sitting in a tub of ice.
Someone else walked into the room-an old man with a grave expression on his face.
Morgan stood up quickly and hurried towards the man. "Is there nothing you can to for her doctor?"
Doctor?
The old man shook his head. "The fever has taken hold of her. If I bleed her it will finish her-it's best to let her go."
Let me go? Fern thought anxiously, what did that mean? She dreaded to think, but she knew the answer.
The old man looked sadly at Fern, shook his head and left the room.
Fern grabbed Morgan's hand and gathered enough strength to speak.
"Morgan . . ." she whispered, "please don't let me die-not again. I don't-"
She lay back and coughed. She felt something warm on her lip and chin. She placed a weak hand to her mouth and looked it. It was blood-she was dying.
She took one more look at Morgan, taking in his beautiful features again. He was breath taking. That was the only word to describe it, he was the most gorgeous person she had ever seen. But now his eyes were filled with shock and concern. He was gripping her shoulders and holding hid face close to hers.
"Fern! Fern, can you hear me? You have to wake up from this dream-you don't want to see any more! WAKE UP!"
***
"Fern! Fern, please wake up!" Someone was crying and gripping her shoulders.
Fern kept her eyes closed. Was she dead? Was she still alive in the bed with Morgan beside her? But as her head cleared she could tell that the voice wasn't Morgan's-it was Violet's.
She opened her eyes. She was in her own room with the blood red walls and she was lying on her own woolen quilt-not silk.
She sat up slowly and tried to remember what had happened. She could remember her dreams clearly, but before that was a blur.
"Oh thank God you're all right. You wouldn't wake up for so long!" Violet whispered. Fern could see that she'd been crying.
Just like Morgan. Why was everyone crying over her? She was fine.
"I'm fine Violet. What happened?" She asked as memories flooded back to her.
"You just passed out and I couldn't wake you up," Violet replied shaking her head in despair. "You were out cold and-and that was twenty minutes ago. Your parents are out and I didn't want to call an ambulance so-so I tried to wake you."
Violet began to cry again and Fern took her hand.
"Shhh, I'm okay now," she said soothingly, but all of their conversation had returned to her. "I passed out when you told me Morgan was a vampire, didn't I?"
She said it completely calmly and without a hint of fear or hysteria. It didn't shock her any more-she knew what he was. She had known it when she was on the gallows and in her deathbed, but it didn't scare her. Morgan cared about her too much to hurt her-she had seen his face when she was dying.
Violet was speechless at Fern's calm composure.
"It's okay-I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened on the fact that vampires exist or the fact that Morgan's one," Fern said. She had been through too much to be scared of it. She had died twice in the space of half an hour for God's sake.
"You-you're not?" Violet asked amazed.
Fern shook her head.
"But Morgan will hurt you Fern. He's let you die before! I know you won't understand what I'm talking about but-"
"I understand. And he couldn't do anything to save me those last times."
"What?"
"In my past lives-I understand it all. I dreamt about them just now-I saw my deaths," Fern whispered. She had realised what her dreams had been. Past lives. Now that she knew that vampires and witches existed past lives didn't seem that crazy.
"I see . . ." Violet whispered, "and what did you see?"
Fern took a deep breath and thought back to when she was on the gallows. "I was hanged first time round. I don't know why, but everyone wanted me dead. Morgan couldn't have done anything-it was him against a hundred."
Violet said nothing.
Fern continued. "And the second time I was sick-really sick. Morgan couldn't cure me. Well he could have made me into a vampire but neither of us wanted that."
Violet laughed in disbelief.
"Are you that stupid Fern?" She cried shaking her head.
Fern was shocked.
"I know Morgan. And he was personally told me that he is going to kill you this time. He can't rest while your soul lives so he's going to put an end to you. He's going to make sure that you are completely gone and can't come back-other things have done his dirty work in the past."
Fern tried not to cry as these words were thrown at her. "When-when did he say this?"
"I met him in Paris over the summer. I asked him what he was doing and he said looking for a girl. A girl called Fern with hair the colour of chestnut and eyes the colour of emeralds."
Fern was speechless. People had always commented on how her eyes reminded them of the precious jewel.
Violet was still talking. "Of course I said nothing about you-I knew what he was. I used to know a vampire so I could easily recognise one and I knew he was no good. He explained that he needed to kill you so his mind could be at rest, that he always had you in his mind while you lived. He'll kill you. And now he knows you're here."
For some strange reason Fern believed her. It made sense. In an odd way it made sense. She had to figure out a way to stop him. Then she remembered something else Violet had told her.
"You said I was a witch," she grabbed Violet's hand tightly and looked at her pleadingly.
"Yes. You're a lost witch. You're adopted so you had no idea of your heritage, but you're definitely a witch," Violet smiled reassuringly and gripped Fern's hand back.
Fern had only found out that she was adopted three years ago-when she was twelve. It had been a shock to say the least.
"I know all about your heritage, but I've only been positive recently," Violet continued, "but with your powers you can easily send Morgan away."
Fern ignored this last bit. "Tell me about my heritage."
"Well first of all there's this thing called the Night World. It's a secret society of vampires, witches and shapeshifters . . ."
They talked deep into the night.
***
What had she been doing there? Morgan thought angrily as he paced the small motel room. That . . . girl . . . why was she there?
He sat down on the lumpy bed and placed his head in his hands. How was he supposed to get to Fern with that girl around? Violet would probably tell Fern everything about him . . . but not everything about herself.
Perfect Violet Hawthorn, the girl who had had every male in Paris attending to her every whim over the summer. The girl whose beauty was renown over the world-well the Night World.
He could picture her clearly-long raven hair, startling violet eyes, skin so pale that it seemed translucent, stunning figure and a smile to make a guy weak at the knees.
But what was her beauty compared to Fern's? Fern who had a look of wisdom about her-a look of pure nature that she could have been mistaken for Gaia herself. Violet's was superficial and outwardly whereas Fern's was so much deeper and wonderful that it made Morgan beam simply thinking of her.
She had been in his mind every waking moment for the past three hundred and fifty years, and her spirit even longer. Even before she had been born as Fern Harman her soul had haunted him, telling him of their connection even though she was not in physical form. But he had known straight away when she had been born-it had just taken him sixteen years to find her. But she had been killed as soon as he had found her.
He tried to push the awakening memories away and focus on the Fern of now. The Fern who he had to get to by any means necessary.
Why hadn't Violet told him that she knew Fern? Why had she kept it from him? He wanted to simply kill that raven haired girl.
No, his mind told him. You've found Fern now-forget about that other girl. Fern is the only one that matters now.
A picture of her came into his mind. Her wisps of chestnut hair, her eyes the colour of emeralds in the sun, her lightly tanned skin and her cheeks that grew ever so slightly pink when she was embarrassed.
Sure, she wasn't the material for the most popular girl in school, but in Morgan's eyes she was the very essence of perfection. She had a look about her of sheer knowledge from all her previous lives, although she probably knew nothing of them.
But she did know something of them. It had been her voice calling to him from her dreams hadn't it? It had been her voice that had dragged him back into the memories surely? Of course it was. She had witnessed two of her deaths. Not all, but certainly two. He had tried to get to her in her first dream, to comfort her, to hold her, to prevent the stool from falling from beneath her . . . but he had been too late in hearing her voice-she would have seen him simply standing there at her hanging. Why hadn't he done something all those years ago? Why hadn't he rushed up there like a knight in shining armor to rescue his damsel in distress?
You were out numbered a hundred to one-it wasn't your fault, he told himself but he still had his doubts.
The second time he had arrived far too late-she had practically gone by the time he heard her pleas. She had been so young, too young to die. But disease was deadly in those days-there was nothing to be done.
But surely a child of twelve should not have been allowed to die. Surely her parents could have performed some sort of spell to restore her health, even if they did not know of the witchcraft in their veins. Surely they could have-
Surely you could have changed her, a voice laughed bitterly in his head.
No, answered another, I did not want her like that. I knew she would come back eventually-there was no need to make her into a vampire.
But she died and you were left alone for nearly a hundred years thinking only of her and longing for her return, the cruel voice laughed maliciously.
"Shut up!" He cried out loud, knocking a side table over with a mere slap of his hand. He watched as the lamp ricocheted off the ground, only halting when it reached the opposite wall.
He stared in horror at one of the items that had fallen to the floor. He picked it up carefully and held it to his chest. It could have been damaged, he rebuked himself, you careless fool!
He stared lovingly down at the small portrait in his hand. He had taken it from her house in England in the nineteenth century. It had been painted not long before she had died and even though she was merely a child he still found her gloriously beautiful. It had been the only thing to remind him of her in his time alone.
But now he had the real thing, alive and well, in the same town as where he was. He couldn't bare being from her when they were so close.
But she's with Violet you know that, he told himself, you can't just go barging into her house. You have to catch her when she's alone . . .
Right, he thought and placed the portrait carefully of the table that he'd turned upright.
He'd search for her in the morning; there was nothing more to do that night.
He fell asleep with her image clearly in his mind. She had a bright aura around her-like that of an angel.
***
Well that's chapter three-hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to update as soon as possible but I'm also writing a Tolkien fanfic at the moment so bare with me! (Anyone who likes LOTR/Silmarillion check out my fics- there'll be more to come!)
Anyway PLEASE review . . . I won't update until I've gotten more! Hahaha! No, seriously PLEASE review. Thank you! Nienna x x x
Note: Thank you for all your reviews-they are very important to me and help me write. And as you probably guessed Fern is a lost witch as well as an old soul. Please R&R!
Stirring Memories
Violet stared sheepishly at the burgundy rug on Fern's wooden floor. Her dark hair had fallen to cover her snow like skin like a curtain. Fern on the other hand sat silently on the bed staring at Violet in disbelief. Had she heard her correctly? She couldn't have . . . there were no such things as witches or . . . vampires.
Fern gulped. "What did you say?" She said in no more than a whisper.
Violet didn't look up. "He's a vampire-a real one. They exist."
Fern laughed nervously. She could feel hysteria creeping up on her quickly. Violet couldn't be serious.
"You're joking right?" Fern asked, but she was doubtful-Violet was always serious.
"No." Violet shook her head and finally met Fern's eyes. Her deep violet eyes were sympathetic and worried-she wasn't joking.
"But-but they don't exist. They're stories," Fern replied quickly, unable to stop the flow of words. Hysteria had taken hold of her. "Like- like Dracula . . . that's a story written by that Stoker guy. Vampires are fiction-no one drinks peoples' blood. Well except psychos who do . . . but they're not vampires. Vampires don't exist. It's not possible." She could feel the room spinning around her. She stared at the walls as they moved- they were red. She had liked the colour, but they were blood red. They seemed to drip blood onto the floor before her eyes.
"Oh God," she whispered as she felt herself fall back onto the quilt.
Then there was only darkness.
***
Fern opened her eyes. The red walls were gone. So was Violet. In fact, Fern wasn't in her room. She was standing on some sort of platform with a large crowd before her. What the hell is going on, she thought taking in her surroundings. She stared out over the crowd-she didn't know anyone and they were all dressed in old-fashioned puritan clothes.
Fern was getting more and more anxious. Where was she? There was a woman beside her-she had and expression of grief and regret on her beautiful face. Fern wanted to comfort her. Why was this woman sad? And why was the crowd jeering at her?
They're jeering at me too, Fern thought suddenly, they're jeering at me and the woman. She looked frantically about her, looking for something familiar but to no avail. She was in a completely alien place-she knew nothing.
She automatically turned her head as she heard a mental voice in her mind. Those eyes. It was him. He was speaking to her mind again. But she wasn't listening to his voice-something was being placed around her neck. She looked up in horror.
It was a rope.
There was a noose around her neck. She was going to be hanged. She began to scream at the people around her, trying to reason and plead with them. Why were they doing this? The woman beside her was going to die too . . . but she was silent. No one was listening to Fern's desperate cries-not even Morgan. Everyone was ignoring her.
She looked to Morgan desperately.
"Morgan! Morgan, please! Help me!" She screamed trying to reach out to him, but her hands were bound.
She could still hear his voice in her head but she wasn't listening, she was only concentrating on getting away. He was making no movement as if to help her. He just stood beneath the trees looking sad.
She was still screaming-unlike a scream she'd ever heard before. How was this happening? She didn't want to die.
"MORGAN! Help me for God's sake!" She shrieked, tears falling rapidly down her cheeks.
All grief suddenly left his eyes and he looked directly into hers. He looked shocked and began to run towards the gallows.
But Fern had already begun to fall back into the darkness.
***
Fern opened her eyes. The crowd was gone. The feeling of rope around her neck was gone. She was inside somewhere. Warmth flooded her-she was in a bed. She had never felt so relieved-she was back in her room, in her bed.
She tried to focus her vision. She wasn't in her room-she was in a different room. In a room she didn't know.
She looked around. It was a very large room with expensive looking furniture and drapes. It reminded Fern of period dramas like Pride and Prejudice-it was the same style.
At least she didn't seem in danger-no one here seemed to want to kill her. She turned over in the four poster bed, feeling the silk sheets against her bare arms.
He was here. He was sitting by the bed and before she knew it he was clutching her hand. He was crying too.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't get here earlier," he whispered kissing her hand over and over.
What was he talking about?
"I could make it go away, but I don't want you like that. It'll be over soon-I'll stay with you until you are sleeping." Tears were still falling down his face.
Fern wanted to speak but she couldn't. She felt too weak. Instead she just coughed and felt the heat taking over her body.
I've got a seriously bad fever, she realised trying to stop herself from coughing.
What was wrong with her? Why did she feel like crap? Morgan didn't seem to be answering any questions with whatever he was saying.
"I wish I could have been her longer-I would never have let you get so ill," he sighed, stroking her cheek.
She could feel warmth emanating from his fingertips-it sent shivers down her spine. Sparks seemed to swell between their skin and Fern felt terribly comforted. She didn't care if she was sick-she would get better.
But she was still confused about what was going on. Where was she? Why was Morgan so sad?
But another burst of coughing interrupted her thoughts. She felt so hot, but at the same time she felt as if she was sitting in a tub of ice.
Someone else walked into the room-an old man with a grave expression on his face.
Morgan stood up quickly and hurried towards the man. "Is there nothing you can to for her doctor?"
Doctor?
The old man shook his head. "The fever has taken hold of her. If I bleed her it will finish her-it's best to let her go."
Let me go? Fern thought anxiously, what did that mean? She dreaded to think, but she knew the answer.
The old man looked sadly at Fern, shook his head and left the room.
Fern grabbed Morgan's hand and gathered enough strength to speak.
"Morgan . . ." she whispered, "please don't let me die-not again. I don't-"
She lay back and coughed. She felt something warm on her lip and chin. She placed a weak hand to her mouth and looked it. It was blood-she was dying.
She took one more look at Morgan, taking in his beautiful features again. He was breath taking. That was the only word to describe it, he was the most gorgeous person she had ever seen. But now his eyes were filled with shock and concern. He was gripping her shoulders and holding hid face close to hers.
"Fern! Fern, can you hear me? You have to wake up from this dream-you don't want to see any more! WAKE UP!"
***
"Fern! Fern, please wake up!" Someone was crying and gripping her shoulders.
Fern kept her eyes closed. Was she dead? Was she still alive in the bed with Morgan beside her? But as her head cleared she could tell that the voice wasn't Morgan's-it was Violet's.
She opened her eyes. She was in her own room with the blood red walls and she was lying on her own woolen quilt-not silk.
She sat up slowly and tried to remember what had happened. She could remember her dreams clearly, but before that was a blur.
"Oh thank God you're all right. You wouldn't wake up for so long!" Violet whispered. Fern could see that she'd been crying.
Just like Morgan. Why was everyone crying over her? She was fine.
"I'm fine Violet. What happened?" She asked as memories flooded back to her.
"You just passed out and I couldn't wake you up," Violet replied shaking her head in despair. "You were out cold and-and that was twenty minutes ago. Your parents are out and I didn't want to call an ambulance so-so I tried to wake you."
Violet began to cry again and Fern took her hand.
"Shhh, I'm okay now," she said soothingly, but all of their conversation had returned to her. "I passed out when you told me Morgan was a vampire, didn't I?"
She said it completely calmly and without a hint of fear or hysteria. It didn't shock her any more-she knew what he was. She had known it when she was on the gallows and in her deathbed, but it didn't scare her. Morgan cared about her too much to hurt her-she had seen his face when she was dying.
Violet was speechless at Fern's calm composure.
"It's okay-I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened on the fact that vampires exist or the fact that Morgan's one," Fern said. She had been through too much to be scared of it. She had died twice in the space of half an hour for God's sake.
"You-you're not?" Violet asked amazed.
Fern shook her head.
"But Morgan will hurt you Fern. He's let you die before! I know you won't understand what I'm talking about but-"
"I understand. And he couldn't do anything to save me those last times."
"What?"
"In my past lives-I understand it all. I dreamt about them just now-I saw my deaths," Fern whispered. She had realised what her dreams had been. Past lives. Now that she knew that vampires and witches existed past lives didn't seem that crazy.
"I see . . ." Violet whispered, "and what did you see?"
Fern took a deep breath and thought back to when she was on the gallows. "I was hanged first time round. I don't know why, but everyone wanted me dead. Morgan couldn't have done anything-it was him against a hundred."
Violet said nothing.
Fern continued. "And the second time I was sick-really sick. Morgan couldn't cure me. Well he could have made me into a vampire but neither of us wanted that."
Violet laughed in disbelief.
"Are you that stupid Fern?" She cried shaking her head.
Fern was shocked.
"I know Morgan. And he was personally told me that he is going to kill you this time. He can't rest while your soul lives so he's going to put an end to you. He's going to make sure that you are completely gone and can't come back-other things have done his dirty work in the past."
Fern tried not to cry as these words were thrown at her. "When-when did he say this?"
"I met him in Paris over the summer. I asked him what he was doing and he said looking for a girl. A girl called Fern with hair the colour of chestnut and eyes the colour of emeralds."
Fern was speechless. People had always commented on how her eyes reminded them of the precious jewel.
Violet was still talking. "Of course I said nothing about you-I knew what he was. I used to know a vampire so I could easily recognise one and I knew he was no good. He explained that he needed to kill you so his mind could be at rest, that he always had you in his mind while you lived. He'll kill you. And now he knows you're here."
For some strange reason Fern believed her. It made sense. In an odd way it made sense. She had to figure out a way to stop him. Then she remembered something else Violet had told her.
"You said I was a witch," she grabbed Violet's hand tightly and looked at her pleadingly.
"Yes. You're a lost witch. You're adopted so you had no idea of your heritage, but you're definitely a witch," Violet smiled reassuringly and gripped Fern's hand back.
Fern had only found out that she was adopted three years ago-when she was twelve. It had been a shock to say the least.
"I know all about your heritage, but I've only been positive recently," Violet continued, "but with your powers you can easily send Morgan away."
Fern ignored this last bit. "Tell me about my heritage."
"Well first of all there's this thing called the Night World. It's a secret society of vampires, witches and shapeshifters . . ."
They talked deep into the night.
***
What had she been doing there? Morgan thought angrily as he paced the small motel room. That . . . girl . . . why was she there?
He sat down on the lumpy bed and placed his head in his hands. How was he supposed to get to Fern with that girl around? Violet would probably tell Fern everything about him . . . but not everything about herself.
Perfect Violet Hawthorn, the girl who had had every male in Paris attending to her every whim over the summer. The girl whose beauty was renown over the world-well the Night World.
He could picture her clearly-long raven hair, startling violet eyes, skin so pale that it seemed translucent, stunning figure and a smile to make a guy weak at the knees.
But what was her beauty compared to Fern's? Fern who had a look of wisdom about her-a look of pure nature that she could have been mistaken for Gaia herself. Violet's was superficial and outwardly whereas Fern's was so much deeper and wonderful that it made Morgan beam simply thinking of her.
She had been in his mind every waking moment for the past three hundred and fifty years, and her spirit even longer. Even before she had been born as Fern Harman her soul had haunted him, telling him of their connection even though she was not in physical form. But he had known straight away when she had been born-it had just taken him sixteen years to find her. But she had been killed as soon as he had found her.
He tried to push the awakening memories away and focus on the Fern of now. The Fern who he had to get to by any means necessary.
Why hadn't Violet told him that she knew Fern? Why had she kept it from him? He wanted to simply kill that raven haired girl.
No, his mind told him. You've found Fern now-forget about that other girl. Fern is the only one that matters now.
A picture of her came into his mind. Her wisps of chestnut hair, her eyes the colour of emeralds in the sun, her lightly tanned skin and her cheeks that grew ever so slightly pink when she was embarrassed.
Sure, she wasn't the material for the most popular girl in school, but in Morgan's eyes she was the very essence of perfection. She had a look about her of sheer knowledge from all her previous lives, although she probably knew nothing of them.
But she did know something of them. It had been her voice calling to him from her dreams hadn't it? It had been her voice that had dragged him back into the memories surely? Of course it was. She had witnessed two of her deaths. Not all, but certainly two. He had tried to get to her in her first dream, to comfort her, to hold her, to prevent the stool from falling from beneath her . . . but he had been too late in hearing her voice-she would have seen him simply standing there at her hanging. Why hadn't he done something all those years ago? Why hadn't he rushed up there like a knight in shining armor to rescue his damsel in distress?
You were out numbered a hundred to one-it wasn't your fault, he told himself but he still had his doubts.
The second time he had arrived far too late-she had practically gone by the time he heard her pleas. She had been so young, too young to die. But disease was deadly in those days-there was nothing to be done.
But surely a child of twelve should not have been allowed to die. Surely her parents could have performed some sort of spell to restore her health, even if they did not know of the witchcraft in their veins. Surely they could have-
Surely you could have changed her, a voice laughed bitterly in his head.
No, answered another, I did not want her like that. I knew she would come back eventually-there was no need to make her into a vampire.
But she died and you were left alone for nearly a hundred years thinking only of her and longing for her return, the cruel voice laughed maliciously.
"Shut up!" He cried out loud, knocking a side table over with a mere slap of his hand. He watched as the lamp ricocheted off the ground, only halting when it reached the opposite wall.
He stared in horror at one of the items that had fallen to the floor. He picked it up carefully and held it to his chest. It could have been damaged, he rebuked himself, you careless fool!
He stared lovingly down at the small portrait in his hand. He had taken it from her house in England in the nineteenth century. It had been painted not long before she had died and even though she was merely a child he still found her gloriously beautiful. It had been the only thing to remind him of her in his time alone.
But now he had the real thing, alive and well, in the same town as where he was. He couldn't bare being from her when they were so close.
But she's with Violet you know that, he told himself, you can't just go barging into her house. You have to catch her when she's alone . . .
Right, he thought and placed the portrait carefully of the table that he'd turned upright.
He'd search for her in the morning; there was nothing more to do that night.
He fell asleep with her image clearly in his mind. She had a bright aura around her-like that of an angel.
***
Well that's chapter three-hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to update as soon as possible but I'm also writing a Tolkien fanfic at the moment so bare with me! (Anyone who likes LOTR/Silmarillion check out my fics- there'll be more to come!)
Anyway PLEASE review . . . I won't update until I've gotten more! Hahaha! No, seriously PLEASE review. Thank you! Nienna x x x