Her name was Pamela.
Such a funny thing, to learn the name of someone you had, with all technicalities aside, murdered. Even more ironic was that he had learned it from her gravestone. A simple, yet elegant slab of stone marked the spot where she had been put to rest three days ago now. And he remained the only mourner.
He had carried her lifeless body back from the woods, with the party still in full swing. No one had noticed she had gone. Not yet. He debated on where he should leave her, where she would be found. He knew it would be easier in the future if everyone believed her to be dead. Easier to start over when a family had already accepted the loss. He hesitated to enter her bedroom, to contaminate her human life with his presence. Her past didn't matter to him; she was his future. In the end, he had laid her body in the roses below her window, arranging her so it would look as if she had jumped to her death. Eric couldn't bring himself to leave her so askew that it would be believable, and silently wondered if he was already losing his touch. He doubted anyone would truly question how she had died. It only mattered that she had.
When he heard the sound of feet on the stairs inside, knowing that someone was coming for her, he gently kissed her cold lips.
"I will see you soon, min ros. I promise."
He was already hidden in the woods when the screaming started. Calling for help. Calling for god. But no one could help her now. His blue eyes merely watched as the men folk gathered by the bottom of the window, forming a circle around her body, obscuring it from his view. Jealousy reared its head when a man picked her up. The feeling was foreign to him, and he did not like it. Did not understand it. But the moment the human's hands touched her, all he could hear was a single word.
"Mine."
His eyes stayed trained on her window as he watched the movement within. Only the always brightening horizon could make him turn away. He buried himself there, in the woods, always within eyesight of her window. He had to resist the urge to poke his head out of the earth to check on her throughout the day. He knew they would be planning her funeral. She was clearly from a prominent family; it would be at least a day or two until she joined him in the dirt. All through the first night, he kept watch. He did not leave his post until the dawn.
When he rose on the second night, the sounds of women weeping greeted him. Soon. His blonde hair was dimmed with dirt, and the rest of him didn't look much cleaner. But he needed to see this, the end of her human life. The beginning of her immortal one. He crept close, too close to the tree line, taking in what he was sure was the last moments of her funeral. The priest continued to drone on as Eric's gaze swept through the small gathering. Nearly all the women were dabbing their eyes, save one. Though, it was unfair to group her with the elders; she could be no more than thirteen. She had the same blonde hair as the woman from the window, the same blue eyes. And just like her older double, the child turned towards the woods. This time, Eric didn't even both to question how someone so young could sense him. But the young girl locked eyes with him even as no one else noticed. They widened, just a bit. The girl's eyes took in the man, the dirt on his clothes and in his hair. Eric found himself suddenly standing tall, almost eager for her assessment. The child's blue eyes darted to the coffin, and then back to Eric. After just a moment, she gave a slight nod, and turned her back on the woods. And although she was no longer looking, Eric inclined his head to the small girl with blonde curls.
Now, it was the third night since her death. Eric had left the woods only long enough to clean himself, not wanting to face her as if he was a beggar. He was anything but, as she would soon learn. He now stood before her grave, having dug up the earth to make her rising easier. His hands were still tinged with dirt; as if to show that he and only he had brought her into this life, by his own hHe left her coffin closed, knowing it would be important to let her take the first step into the eternal night by herself. Someone had delivered the gravestone while he had gone, and now he studied it as he waited.
Pamela.
Simple. But with so muchpromise.
Pamela.
He wondered why he had never noticed how beautiful that name was.
Pamela.
Mine.
"My Pamela."
No sooner had he said those two words out loud then he felt it. He felt her. Waking up. Coming alive. It was a rush through his blood. An ecstasy that enveloped him completely. Now he understood what Godric had meant. Being a maker. It was more than a bite. It was more than sharing blood. It was everything. It was pure nature.
He waited, anxiously, with a rose in his hand that he had plucked himself from below her window. He could hear her moving in her coffin; the confusion, the fear. He could no longer tell if the excitement was coming from her, or from himself. Finally, he could stand it no more; he reached down to open the lid, just as she shoved it open from the inside.
He was the first thing she saw, and her eyes locked on his. He could nothing but stare down at her as she sat in the cold grave. They had buried her in that same damned dress he had found her in. Blood red. A blood rose. Eventually, he remembered himself; and leaning forward, he offered her his hand, his lips already curling into a grin. She took it without question, and he raised her to his side.
They stood, face to face, her chin jerked upward in order to meet his eyes. His elation was mixed with confusion; he could still clearly remember his first night with Godric. How he could barely draw his eyes away from everything around him. Everything had been different, sharper. He could hardly get his fill. But now she, this tiny woman, wasn't looking away from him. It was as if the wonders of the world no longer interested her. He took a careful step forward as she reached out her hand, touching his chest. As if checking to see if he was real. He felt her fingers glide across the silk of his shirt, hovering where his heart once beat. She blinked, and he could literally see the connection being made. When she opened her mouth, he was sure she would scream.
She laughed.
Translation:
minros - my rose