Le Amor De Vampire: Part I
The Acquaintance
to: Jenna
A delicate amber mist hung low in the Transylvanian daylight, as a Carpathian prince ate with much delight, his supper. Dinning before a forest of impaled bodies, the fruits of his blood thirsty labor. The last light of day shown clearly on his bright blue eyes, and as he fiddled with a corner of his moustache, he cast a shadow.
. . . (centuries later) . . .
The shadow of a tyrant's reign has diminished, but not entirely. At the head of a grand marble table, sat a suave gentleman of brown hair and the beautifully cruel eyes of a despot's heir. With a board of close acquaintances, he conducted his secretive business that was below the standards of European legality. His beloved organization's involvement in gambling, extortion, and the paid assassination of men in high places, lay cleverly masked behind his beloved church of the Eastern Orthodox order.
Somewhere in Paris is drawn up, a contract to end a man's life. A blond woman would accept the terms of such a murderous bargain, before taking to the internet in search of answers. Searching with azure eyes, she traces the genealogy of inspiration, the inspiration to a man named Bram Stoker. And with much luck she has found what she is looking for, the heir to the most inspiring and brutal of histories characters, which led to the creation of a literary legend. She has found the heir to a blood drenched throne, descendent of the one called Vlad Dracula.
Through the market walked the fair haired governess of death, where merchants sold their many marvels of the world. A bag of groceries had eagerly eluded her feminine grasp yet before the brown paper would meet the sidewalk; there arose a hand of help, resurrecting the bag of food before its premature death. And the only thing that would have escaped the brown paper prison would be a crimson apple, which rolled to the expensively soled foot of a man whose appearance had defined elegance. He smiled charmingly, to capture the gaze of a stunned Mireille. And for a second their eyes locked, held within a trance that was not quite love and almost obsession. The sapphire stare of a dark prince had met the delicate azure of a Corsican angel. Spellbound by his sheer beauty, she had turned to stone. The prince slowly bent to pick up the crimson fruit and gave back to Eve what was rightfully hers. She took the apple without blinking, and the heir to a tyrant, with the suave and mannered nature of his vampiric existence, smiled once more and bid a shocked Mireille farewell.
The Acquaintance
to: Jenna
A delicate amber mist hung low in the Transylvanian daylight, as a Carpathian prince ate with much delight, his supper. Dinning before a forest of impaled bodies, the fruits of his blood thirsty labor. The last light of day shown clearly on his bright blue eyes, and as he fiddled with a corner of his moustache, he cast a shadow.
. . . (centuries later) . . .
The shadow of a tyrant's reign has diminished, but not entirely. At the head of a grand marble table, sat a suave gentleman of brown hair and the beautifully cruel eyes of a despot's heir. With a board of close acquaintances, he conducted his secretive business that was below the standards of European legality. His beloved organization's involvement in gambling, extortion, and the paid assassination of men in high places, lay cleverly masked behind his beloved church of the Eastern Orthodox order.
Somewhere in Paris is drawn up, a contract to end a man's life. A blond woman would accept the terms of such a murderous bargain, before taking to the internet in search of answers. Searching with azure eyes, she traces the genealogy of inspiration, the inspiration to a man named Bram Stoker. And with much luck she has found what she is looking for, the heir to the most inspiring and brutal of histories characters, which led to the creation of a literary legend. She has found the heir to a blood drenched throne, descendent of the one called Vlad Dracula.
Through the market walked the fair haired governess of death, where merchants sold their many marvels of the world. A bag of groceries had eagerly eluded her feminine grasp yet before the brown paper would meet the sidewalk; there arose a hand of help, resurrecting the bag of food before its premature death. And the only thing that would have escaped the brown paper prison would be a crimson apple, which rolled to the expensively soled foot of a man whose appearance had defined elegance. He smiled charmingly, to capture the gaze of a stunned Mireille. And for a second their eyes locked, held within a trance that was not quite love and almost obsession. The sapphire stare of a dark prince had met the delicate azure of a Corsican angel. Spellbound by his sheer beauty, she had turned to stone. The prince slowly bent to pick up the crimson fruit and gave back to Eve what was rightfully hers. She took the apple without blinking, and the heir to a tyrant, with the suave and mannered nature of his vampiric existence, smiled once more and bid a shocked Mireille farewell.