Chapter I: The Driven Innocents
As the sleek, black carriage passed swiftly through the streets of the eighteenth century France, a young man sat stiffly upon a bench outside a local theatre. His eyes stared blankly ahead as the beautiful wavy, shoulder length, blond hair fell about his youthful face. The young gentleman's mocking, but sweet mouth was pursed together, grimly, concealing his luminous smile. He had a strong build, no doubt, he was a healthy, fit man, and his blue-gray eyes reflected the small wounds upon his hands. The young, vibrant man was dressed in a finely tailored, dark purple, velvet coat with a fine Italian lace shirt which was paired with smooth, black pants and a black derby in his hands. An exquisitely made cane was also in hand, making his appearance look even more aristocratic, for, of course, it had no real use except the advertisement of wealth.
His name, Luviate. His home, Paris. Of course, by his description, Luviate was of the upper class. Luviate loved to dine at the finest Parisian restaurants, view famous operas, and owned a large mansion which was passed down through the ages. Made of gold and precious gems, he always enjoyed "expressing" his money to everyone and anyone he chose. By then, he had made countless friends such as merchants, great lords, and even the people who lived in the streets. Luviate was a strong, young man of twenty when I was only nineteen. I moved to Paris a few months after my father died because he instructed me to, right before he died.
We were mortal enemies but, Luviate had never showed it; he was always kind and even showed a bit of lust towards me. I had always been of the lowest class, and he, of the highest but, he always offered me anything I desired. It was not until later that summer that he and I began a long, wonderful, friendship. But, I jump ahead of myself. We will get there when the time comes.
Luviate's family had never supported anything he did or any decision he made, all except his mother, that is. First, he had tried to specialize in becoming a blacksmith but his brothers dragged him out of apprenticeship. Luviate also wanted desperately to become an actor. I must say, his talent was, and is, extraordinary. Luviate is the person that made me what I am and he is one as well, of course. Luviate has come to be the one person I love to hate and hate to love.
Anyway, he would become the person whom I would spend me most frightening and exhilarating years of my life with. If you are wondering now why he wanted to act, you yourself will have to ask him that.
Back to my story, where were we? Oh, right. The autumn and winter in Paris elapsed as though each day wanted the pride of being a year. In the autumn, I would tend to the fields and finish up some work that had to be completed before frigid winter hit. It was a long few months, autumn, and nothing quite exciting happened, or nothing to record, at least.
Winter hit like a wave code 8, very hard and rough. Frost covered the windows and fields like lace sewn by snow fairies themselves. Ice and sleet covered the bumpy rock and dirt road, if that is the term you would use to describe them.
Snow overtook and completely defeated the purpose of roads and warmth and most of all, joy. Desolation took hold of me and I was left with nothing but the forge, my small collection of books, and my small house. With winter being so victorious, I could only wait until spring brought it's light and sun to thaw the harsh snow and cold hearts of Paris. In the winter, I went out to buy a loaf of bread and the villagers were making a fuss over a pack of ten wolves Luviate had killed just an hour ago. He was coming to town any moment, they said. And let me tell you, when Luviate arrives, everyone knows.
There he stood, marvelous as he was, in his expensive, form fitting, red velvet cloak, black suede boots, fine Italian white lace, and black, knee length pants. His white stockings, skin tight, unveiled his muscular legs. Emeralds and rubies and diamonds and black onyx rings glimmered and gleamed in the cruel winter sunlight. With his best friend, Nicolas De Lenfeaunt, standing next to him, his arm around his neck, kissing him delicately on the cheek, the pair made their way towards another group of aristocrats, arms open to them. They shook hands and exchanged kisses on each others cheeks and then as he was slowly making his way towards the center of the town square with Nicolas, he saw me and stopped, putting his hand out in front of Nicki's chest to stop him, as well. He walked towards me and then paused, about three or four feet in front of me before continuing to cautiously and non-gallantly advance. He stopped about a foot away from me and asked me if I wished to join him at dinner that evening and he said he would be honoured if I did. Well, I refused, naturally but, he replied that he would not take no for an answer and that he would send a carriage for me at seven-thirty, just fifteen minutes before the sunset behind the hills and Paris's infamous Moulin Rouge opened and its' night creatures surfaced, when Paris was once again one of the most romantic and one of the darkest cities in the world. A place for beauty, truth, freedom, and love blossomed and murder, depression, filth, and darkness too hold, corrupting, destructing all in its' path.
To further neglect him, I chose not to wear the gown he had recently bought me on one of our encounters but, to wear one of which I had purchased a year ago. It was floor length with no trail, black silk, and quite simple. With "spaghetti" straps supporting it, my more feminine, high-heeled boots on my feet, and black opera gloves, which were my mothers, and no other accessories, hair down and unkempt, I entered the carriage and made my way to Luviate's caste, reluctantly. I arrived within the fifteen minutes of light Paris had left.
The castle itself was made of beautiful stone and jutted out cruelly upon a hill over the livewire village, but yet, sleepy, as well. He was waiting by the door of the castle, as I had expected. One of his servants opened the carriage and led me towards the door. There he was, in a gleaming, cobalt blue, velvet blazer with black lace embroidery, crisp, off white lace shirt, black, knee length pants, white stockings, and black boots. Luviate's shinning mane of golden hair was pulled into a ponytail with a black and a white ribbon. He looked even more polished, aristocratic, and handsome than he had that morning. He led me through the mansion until we entered the dining area. His parents, Monsieur Jacques De Lanquere and Madam Isabel De Lanquere, and his two brothers, older brothers, Lamar and Pierre we seated. We took our places at the long wooden table, him pulling out my chair and lightly, gently pushing it back in once I was seated, I had expected this cliché, of course. Dinner consisted of interesting discussions from Luviate's wolf killing to him bragging about how I took care of my father and our "house", and the forge, and so on and so forth. It was quite awkward, or at least I thought, barely eating and listening to everyone speak and bearing the resounding voice, of which was my own, not understanding exactly what I was saying.
It seemed as though the night itself went on forever, which, in a strange way, was a good thing. Luviate seemed all the more gentle and rebellious. It was quite wonderful to see his expression when he ordered for more wine, the exaggeration in the way he told his tales, and the liveliness in which he pressed me to go on, telling my stories of the hunt. He was seemed what intrigued by my so called "courage" and "strength" in which I led my everyday life, he said. As the night wore on, in the midst of the frigid cold, the warmth and heat of his stories and the illumination of everyone's hearts seemed to make that frigidness wear away, as if it were melting in the happiness of the night. The family had forgotten their inner feud and Luviate was more friendly and vibrant than he usually was. Nicolas joined us just as the main courses were being served but left before dessert was made. Of course, Luviate was overjoyed to see him and he ordered more wine immediately.
The night soon came to a close as the clocks struck midnight and I was just about to head home, when Luviate stopped the carriage and asked me to join him for some light drinks and small talk in his house. I agreed, even though I was exhausted, and he led the way to his bedchambers. There we sat down and spoke until about four thirty in the morning. We talked of everything from politics to, believe it or not, love. Luviate had said that he had never loved anyone so much in his life besides one person currently but, he would not tell me who. Later I would find out who, he had said. But again, I jump ahead of myself.
So, I returned home to my small bed, also know as my floor and that morning, from five 'til seven a.m., I slept and I dreamt of Luviate. I woke up wondering why I had dreamt of him the way I did. I dreamed we were sitting in his bedchambers, talking, and then he slowly walked towards me as I sat upon the bed. Then, he climbed on top of me and then I woke up. I was wondering, 'Why was my dream so sensual?' But, I set out to work in the forge.