The Fitzgerald Family Crypt, 1796
When Katherine's eyes opened again as she awoke from what felt like the heaviest of slumbers, the first thing she became aware of was the fact that her throat was burning with thirst. The second thing to come to her notice was the complete absence of light, the darkness that greeted her every bit as black as when she had been unconscious.
Frowning a little, she began to feel around, trying to determine where exactly she was. Her fingertips met wood on all sides of her and realization started to dawn that she was trapped in a box of some kind. Panic set in, then, fear of suffocation dominating her thoughts, before she realized that, strangely enough, she wasn't having trouble breathing. She felt around again, trying to see if any air holes had been drilled into the box, only to find nothing but solid wood, not even a crack of any kind.
She raised her hands to the lid, pushing on it a little. It appeared to be screwed down, but perhaps if she pushed hard enough, she'd at least be able to crack it enough so that she could call for help. Much to her surprise, it lifted all too easily and moonlight filtered in, illuminating her surroundings at last. She sat up slowly, feeling a little stiff, leading her to wonder just how long she had been in there, and was immediately startled to find herself in a mausoleum. Even more unsettling was the fact that when she glanced back down, it was to discover that it wasn't a box that she had been put in, but rather a coffin.
Her eyes darted around nervously as she climbed out, this realization making her feel more than a little uneasy. It was as she was doing this that she noticed that someone had changed her gown. Her memories of the other night, how long had it been, were a little hazy, but she knew that the forest green velvet number she had on now was not what she had worn to the theatre. Her eyes then fell on the coffin that was next to the one that she had been trapped in and felt her throat constrict when she saw her husband's name engraved on it.
It was the family crypt that she was in, she realized numbly, her hazel-eyed gaze then flickering back over to the other coffin upon which, unsurprisingly now, had her own name engraved upon it. She must have been so bad off after the altercation with those men that they had assumed her to be dead and accidentally buried her alive. As she thought back upon that night, she absently lifted a hand to her head, startled once again to find no evidence of the wound she had received, not even thread to indicate that it had been stitched up, coming into contact with nothing other than the emerald studded pins keeping her hair up.
The catching of sudden movement in the shadows out of the corner of her eye startled her, jolting her from her thoughts. She spun around sharply, fear instilling itself in her breast once again, although, oddly enough, she couldn't feel her heart racing. "Who's there?" She finally managed to call out, her voice steadier, a good deal calmer than she actually felt. This was all starting to get to be a little much.
The fear didn't abate when the person who stepped out of the shadows was the older man from the other night; the one she could vaguely recall leaning over her before everything had gone black; the one whose name she thought she had heard to be 'Darien.' "You've woken at last, I see," he said calmly by way of greeting, fixing her with one of his eerie smiles. "I had a feeling that today would be the day, that's why I came."
Katherine's brow furrowed a little in response to this. "What do you mean you had a 'feeling'?" She demanded warily, her tone a little sharp. "And if you knew I was still alive, why did you let them bury me? Is it because doing otherwise would've landed you in prison?"
He chuckled in response to this, the sound sending a chill down her spine, his smile turning into one of amusement. "No, I didn't fail to tell them that in order to save my own skin," he retorted calmly. "I didn't tell them because, medically speaking, you're not alive. In fact, any physician worthy of his license would say you're very much dead."
For a long moment she was only able to stare at him, completely at a loss for words. Finally, though, she shook her head slowly and said, "What are you talking about? I'm standing here, I'm speaking to you-clearly the only thing I am 'very much' of is alive."
"Then, tell me," he responded smoothly, cocking his head a little to one side, his piercing eyes not leaving her face, "why didn't you wake up in the coffin gasping for air? Why didn't you actually die of suffocation?"
She opened her mouth to respond but ended up only closing it again. Those were questions that she had been asking herself, were they not? She had no answers to them. It made absolutely no sense. The lack of air should've killed her; she shouldn't have been standing there having a conversation at all.
When she didn't answer, he only pressed on, taking a few steps towards her. "And, if you're as alive as you claim to be, why is it that you have no heartbeat?"
"What are you-that's absurd!" She stammered, unconsciously taking a step back away from him for each one he took forward. "Of course I have a heartbeat-" As she had spoken, she had lifted a hand to her breast, certain that she would find her heart beating against it, only to find nothing; not even the throb of a single pulse. She went absolutely still, her entire body frozen, and she could only utter a single, quiet, "No."
"I know it's quite a lot to take in," he added, his voice remaining perfectly calm, as he reached into his pocket. "But I have something for you that might ease the shock a bit-or at the very least the thirst I know you must be experiencing." His hand came back out of his pocket, then, clutching a thin vial of red liquid, which he held up for her to see. Upon first glance, it would almost look like red wine, but upon scrutiny, it would become quite clear that it was actually blood. "Take it," he urged simply, uncorking the tube and offering it to her.
Katherine's first instinct was to recoil, which she did halfway, but her feet refused to follow her upper body, and she was unable to tear her eyes away from the vial. For reasons she couldn't identify, the second he had produced it, the burning sensation in her throat had increased, making it feel as if it was on fire. She had never experienced such a strong thirst before, and it both bewildered and frightened her, as did the fact that the smell now wafting from the uncorked vial was only making it worse.
Almost of their own accord, her legs moved forward just enough to allow for one of her white hands to fly out and snatch the vial from him. She had lost complete control of her body, it seemed, and was unable to stop herself from then proceeding to drink the blood with as much relish as a dehydrated man would consume water. The more she drank, the more the burning decreased and the more satiated she felt, horrifying her beyond compare. When she had drained the last of it, her tongue made an unconscious sweep over her lips to make sure not a single spare drop was wasted, causing her to nearly shudder in disgust of her own actions. It was only then that she raised her terror filled eyes to meet his again, the vial slipping from her fingers and crashing to the floor. "What have you done to me?" Was all she could ask, her voice nothing more than a tremulous whisper.
He regarded her in silence for a long moment before reaching out to lightly trace the contours of her jaw with one finger, crooking it underneath her chin. "What I've done is make you immortal," he answered simply. "But, there's a price for everything, and in this particular case, the price is the development of an unusual appetite."
She jerked back away from his touch, the fear in her eyes replaced by righteous anger. "I didn't ask for immortality!" She shot back, stepping away from him again. "If you had to do anything to me, you should've just killed me like your companion killed my husband!"
"I came very close to doing just that," he admitted.
"Then why didn't you?" She demanded.
Some kind of emotion flickered across his otherwise impassive façade. "I couldn't bring myself to be the murderer of such beauty," he murmured, clearly quite serious. "The thought of leaving you to rot in a coffin beside your worthless husband was unbearable."
This hadn't been the answer she was expecting, and she was left staring at him again for a long moment, her eyes wide, before she was able to snap out of it. "So, instead, you decided to condemn me to a life as a member of the race of the undead?"
"I had to possess you," was his even response.
"Well, you'll never have me!" She snapped, her eyes flashing, as she spun around on one heel and headed for the door of the tomb.
"Where do you think you're going?" He inquired of her, sounding faintly amused, as he turned to watch her, not moving from his spot.
"To find my son," she answered, shooting him another glare over her shoulder as she continued to walk, having every intention of leaving and having nothing to do with him.
"It's been a week since they buried you," he informed her coolly. "So he'd be in the custody of your closest living relatives by now for certain. But I wouldn't go after him, if I were you. Well, not unless you want to risk killing him if you can't control your hunger."
That caused her to freeze, one foot on the threshold, his words hitting her hard, as they were no doubt meant to, as she registered them. No matter how much she still loved him, and she did, dearly, she was a danger to her son now. It wouldn't take much for her newfound thirst for blood to get the better of her, the bit in the vial had proved that. This was how her involvement in his life would have to end. Even if she was able to formulate some kind of explanation for the fact that she wasn't a rotting corpse, she wouldn't be able to take him back. This realization was far more upsetting than the mere discovery of her new fate had been.
Slowly, she turned back around to face him, the expression on her face one of pained resignation. "I suppose you're right," she finally said, her voice grim. "But that doesn't mean I have to stay with you. I can still go off on my own."
"You could," he conceded with an indifferent shrug, as if he had been prepared for this entire conversation before it had even started, "if you wanted to get yourself killed."
"I thought that the point of being immortal is that you can't die," she shot back acidly, her wits coming back to her now that the shock of it all was waning.
"You can't die from disease or old age or at the hands of men," he corrected. "But that doesn't mean that if you expose yourself-which you will, given the fact that you are young and unable to manage your urges-and therefore our entire race, others of our kind can't gang up and destroy you themselves."
Once again, she found herself checked by his argument-and hating him all the more for it. "What is it that you suggest I do, then?" She inquired. "Continue to leave my fate in your hands? Leave myself at your mercy?"
"Seeing as I'm the only one you can trust not to harm you regardless, it would be your wisest option," he responded evenly.
She was silent for a long moment again, clearly battling inwardly with herself over what she should do. She didn't trust him, she had no reason to, after all, but at the same time she admittedly didn't know how to survive on her own in this new life. "All right," she said finally, forcing her tone to be just as indifferent as his had been. "I'll stay with you." She then fixed him with a hard look, though, adding, "But I'll never be yours. Not really."
The amused smile from earlier came back, but he only gave a slight nod of his head, saying, "If you insist." He removed the cloak he had been wearing and draped it around Katherine's shoulders. "Come, we have a long journey ahead of us." He then moved ahead of her and out of the tomb.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing back over her shoulder at the scene behind her. Making her way back over to them for a moment, she kissed her fingertips, lightly resting them upon her husband's final resting place. Her gaze then fell on what should've been hers, but what in reality was nothing more than an empty coffin. Wordlessly, she picked up the lid, her hands stilling for only a second before putting it back in place. No one would ever know she wasn't in there; no one who mattered, anyway. Pulling the hood of the cloak on over her head, she turned to go, following her new benefactor, for lack of a better word, out into the night.