Alfred ripped his shoes out of the ice with a decisive cracking sound. He had been shocked to see the girl laid across the air conditioning machine as if it were an altar. She was pale, as if she had been bled, but there was no frozen river of red on her throat, chest, or in the snow. The majority of her skin was exposed because she was only wearing denim short shorts and a tank top. Her hair was a brilliant auburn, coppery and gorgeous. It curled and waved wildly with natural grace, its fullness making up for the lack of curves on her frame. Her long legs hung limply over one edge, her head tipped back over the other. Her body was arched back, mockingly erotic, but when Alfred touched the girl's hand, it was ambient temperature. She was cold, relatively stiff, and most certainly dead. The fingers of his free hand brushed her throat and suddenly her eyes were open and his wrist was enclosed in a grip of steel. His heart jumped, skittered, skipped a beat, and then pounded in his chest as he stared into her obsidian eyes.
"Don't touch me," she said quietly. Her voice was flat, with a hint of an edge to it.
"Miss, you're as cold as ice," Alfred said, recovering from his fright. He was still trying to understand how she was alive. "You should come in and warm up. I'm sure I can find some clothing for you." The girl pushed his hands away, releasing him. He glanced at his wrist, resisting the desire to rub it. Purple marks were quickly appearing in the shape of her slender fingers.
"I'm fine," she answered, and then looked up sharply as it began to snow. Alfred followed her gaze, looking at the gray blanket of clouds that blocked out the sky and sun and the white crystals falling from it.
"Miss, may I suggest a cup of coffee and a change of clothes?" the old man said tentatively, and then her gaze was riveted on his again.
"No, I don't want anything," she said, but there was something curiously far away in her expression.
"It doesn't help to dwell on the past," Alfred ventured nonchalantly, and her focus sharpened instantly. Then the cold in her face thawed and she looked amused, possibly even affectionate.
"You're very perceptive," she said, "Or an excellent guesser. Perhaps both. I could like you." Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"My master finds some use in my perception and luck in guessing," he said, cordially offering a hand. She took it with all the grace of a queen, and he kissed her knuckles before pulling her to his side and tucking her arm in his. His heart was curiously still pounding and something whispered warningly in the back of his mind though the action had seemed so natural.
"Hindsight is 20/20," she replied demurely, "And so is not memory the clearest reflection one has? Colored as it is by one's perception and changing experiences?"
"Sometimes, we prefer illusions," he answered, but he was beginning to feel uneasy. The thought echoed in his mind, 'This young woman should be dead.'
"True," she answered, her bare feet making less noise than his shoes as they walked toward a side entrance into Wayne Manor, "But illusions are not real, and therefore hinder one from properly dealing with the real world." Alfred shivered as the cold from the air and her body began to seep into his heavy overcoat, and using his freehand, he pulled it tighter around himself.
"Preference and necessity are different," he replied, and opened the door. She preceded him, breezing into the kitchen while he shut the door. She peered into the pantry, and then sniffed at the scent rising from a pot of soup.
"Necessity takes precedence over preference," she murmured, just loud enough to be audible.
"Are you hungry?" Alfred asked, pulling off his gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his coat before hanging that on a peg by the door. She turned and smiled at him and his heart skittered again. The difference made by the happiness suddenly in her face was nothing short of extraordinary. Her expression had gone from emotionless and cold to brilliant and bright. Yet, though her dark eyes sparkled, it was only superficial. Light disappeared into the depth of those eyes like an abyss. Still, she was beautiful despite her exceptionally slender body and its lack of 'womanly charms.'
"No, but thank you kindly for the offer," she said, smiling. Her teeth were very white behind her pale, soft pink lips. They were not full or thin, almost unremarkable except for the similarity in shade to her skin tone. She unsettled Alfred more, though subconsciously, because she had been ambient temperature and now she was standing in the heat of the kitchen and seemed to feel no pain.
"Perhaps you'd like a bath then?" he asked, coming toward her again and motioning her to follow. She was close behind him as he led the way to a bathroom.
"A bath sounds excellent," she answered, "I don't think I could thank you enough for that." Her voice was grateful, but had cooled excessively. There was an undercurrent of smugness in her tones, but Alfred could not possibly fathom why it was there. He opened the door to a spare bedroom.
"You can have this room, miss…" he trailed off, looking at her.
"Aeron," she said, "But I won't need the room. Just a bath."
"I'm sure I can find something to fit you, but really, Miss Aeron, do you have anywhere else to stay?" Alfred pressed though he felt uneasy about doing so.
"I do," she said, "But I again thank you for the offer." She passed into the room and smiled at him again, staring into his eyes. It was uncomfortable to look into those night dark eyes, and Alfred heard himself speak as if from a distance.
"Very well," he said, "I will be in the kitchen if you need me." The door shut in his face, and he shook himself, trying to rid himself of the wariness that was growing. The door in front of him seemed suddenly foreboding, as if it were hiding some dark secret. He walked away to find clothes to leave outside the door before he returned to the kitchen.
Aeron shed her shorts and shirt while the bathwater was running. It was extra hot because she liked it that way. The heat would cling to her for hours and for at least two she would be blood-warm. It was a feeling she liked, but not one that she experienced all that often. She shut off the water and climbed in, settling into it with a sigh. She could have an hour of peace before she went hunting, and it would make her much more focused. Granted, she hunted with intensity, but she would be in the mood to play with her food tonight. Drinking away blood, life, and death would be that much more satisfying for it.
Tendrils of her hair drifted across the surface of the water, glimmering and gleaming in the light despite the fact that it was wet. Beneath her hair and the water lay her limbs, still deathly white but less cold as she adjusted to her current environment.
"Miss Aeron?" Alfred called through the bedroom door. There was a splash a heartbeat before she answered.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice so very flat and expressionless.
"I'm leaving you a set of clothes outside the door," he said, "I had to make judgments about your size, but they will, hopefully, fit."
"Thanks," she called, sounding suddenly amused. Alfred had a brief image of her smirking, but another splash broke it as soon as it had formed. The door still looked like it was hiding something, so Alfred left. He felt perturbed. Something about her was off, and the memory of her eyes was unsettling.
"When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you," his mind whispered. And her name rang some far off bell in the depths of his memory, but then he was in the kitchen and the soup required stirring and the pasta required starting. The garlic bread was still frozen and the strawberry shortcake needed to be put together out of loose ingredients. Master Bruce was having company over tonight, another one of his many 'girlfriends.'
Roughly an hour and a half had passed before Aeron had finally gotten out of the tub. The water's heat had faded away, leaving her warming it instead of the other way around. She let it drain and then stepped into the shower, turning it as hot as it would go. She used the shampoo and the body wash, and then rinsed all of the suds away. She towel dried her hair and body, and then tied her hair up with the same towel. She opened the door and snatched up the clothes and shut the door again, all in one blurring movement. She sorted out the clothes that Alfred had retrieved and laid them out on the impeccably made bed. She set aside the thermal shirt. It was made in the 'henley' style, a row of buttons running down the front. She looked at the pants and the jacket and merely shook her head. Both were too big for her, and unlike the thermal, would be uncomfortable. She took the shirt back into the bathroom and put on the henley before pulling the tank top down over it. She pulled on her shorts, and disdaining the too-large flip-flops, she walked out of the room still barefoot.
She padded down the hallways nearly soundlessly, weaving her way toward the front door of the mansion. There was a steady scent of fresh air coming from it, and when she reached it, she slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. She raced down the steps and ran ever faster as she hit the snowy field by the driveway. She ran toward the city like a streak of copper lightening that no one could see. She needed a pair of jeans and sneakers, and she needed to hunt.
"Miss Aeron?" Alfred called through the door, and then he called again. When there was still no answer, he stepped through the door, failing to notice that he no longer felt hesitant to touch or open it. He saw the pants, jacket, and shoes laid neatly across the bed, but the shirt and the clothes she had worn were gone. The bath and shower, however, were still wet from use, and some copper hairs had been collected around the drains. She was no figment of imagination, but she had vanished without much more trace. Alfred was dumbfounded, but had little time to dwell on it as he heard his master's voice calling him, albeit faintly. The old butler hurried toward the entrance hall, scratching his head.