I am sorry it has taken me forever and ever to start typing on this story again. Omatase itashimasita. Forgive me for making you readers wait for so long.-Selqueyth
Chapter 12: Irony
It seemed as if dawn would never come as each minute passed by from her spot upon the cold earth. But when it did come, for the first time in her life, it was painful. As each bright warm golden ray touched her deathly pale skin, it stung. The flesh did not cinder or become ashen. It merely stung. The flow of what little life fluid that remained in her system was slow, but at least it still flowed.
In her mind's eye, haunting images floated and flitted about. Unparalled despair and grief racked through her being. The visions and feelings were not her own though. Sweet cherub faces with dark brown eyes. An elderly woman sitting near comfortably warm fire sewing. Childhood tunes being sung sweetly. Then she beheld countless faces of victims, their last moments. Some of the faces were hardened with the hardships of being farmhands and maids. Some were tender with vigorous youth and inexperience. The vampire… He had left his mark not only literally upon her, but now spiritually. She cursed him under her breath.
She rolled over and moaned. Her body was lethargic and ached with every movement. Her garments were grimy and torn and did little to protect her against the coolness of the morning. Long strands of silken white hair fell from their ties and flopped into her vision as she turned her face toward the golden sky. Her pupils shrank as she beheld a rugged and messy Van Helsing looking down at her. He looked concerned and shocked at the same time.
"Lylaith!" He knelt beside her and gently checked her body for injuries. His eyes widened as hebeheld the puncture wounds upon her neck. "You are not…"
"Undead…yet?" she whispered. "By nightfall, I might be." Her laughter was like the soft tinkling of bells, too alive for him to believe her beyond help.
"How did this happen?"
She smiled, faintly, as he lifted her off the ground. Her eyes fluttered weakly. "You tell me. I managed quite… well for awhile there."
"Just sleep for now."
She shivered in the warm dawn of day. "You know what must be done with me before nightfall."
"I know." He absorded the warmth of daylight differently than her, his body melting in its promising light. "It is not night yet."
That night did not bode comfortably for Lafel. Her sweet liquor still coursed warmly through his veins. The memory of her life's esscense flowing into him had intoxicated him. He was truly puzzled though. She was not his yet. The curse of being one of the damned should have enveloped her body by now. Her will and mind should be under his control. He could not sense nor feel her.
Behind him he made out the soft footsteps of Bianca, one of his own childer. "My lord, the Master says you are to ride to Budapest this very night."
He turned to meet her, his eyes wide with surprise. "He knows about all of this so soon?"
Her green eyes were dull, almost lifeless. She had little compassion left for to continue her own existence, but could do nothing to end it under his power. "Word travels quickly, my lord. The carriages and boats for the passage were booked during the day while you slept."
Shadows danced darkly in the street below. "Very well, I will report to the Master immediately."