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FOREWARD
June 1834, two weeks before Nathalie's awakening, zealots broke into the crypt where the ancients were resting. Creaking noises filled the silent tomb. Voices were low, almost like whispers on the wind. "If you really think this coffin belongs to Nathalie, break it open. What about the other two?"
"Leave the other two." Another voice spoke sternly.
"We don't know what these creatures are capable of after being asleep for a hundred years.
"I don't know why you dragged me into this besides the money. There are no such things as vampires. People made them up to scare children. You know how superstitious some people are." Commented the grave robber as he meticulously broke open the ossuary, what they found was not Nathalie, but her brother, Rene. Rene's eyes opened hungry for blood,
"Zounderkite!" the zealot exclaimed. He knew that this wasn't his time to be awakened. His eyes glanced at the other two coffins, not giving away which one was his sister.
"If you're looking for my sister, I won't tell you." Rene commented, reading their thoughts.
Weak and pissed off, Rene grabbed the closest zealot, drinking his blood, killing him in front of his fellow zealot. Unfortunately for Réne, the surviving horrified zealot gave a signal. If he wasn't so weak, Rene could have defended himself, but without a weapon, he felt helpless. All he could think about was draining them of their blood.
The zealots were vampire hunters who were in the imperial militia, specialty trained and highly superstitious. Most of them were primarily in it for the money. Greedy fools. Before the vampire could kill the man, three more zealots rushed in, and together they were just able to overpower him with silver around his neck and bind his wrists. He swore and threatened in old Norse as they captured him…
You have no idea what you have done, gargan(snake)! My sister will be your downfall. Bacraut (Asshole)! Hrafnasueltir (Coward)! Norse for blood hungrily and happily awaits enemies. With my blade in hand, it surely will be against your incompetent necks. Crimson blood slowly drips from the blood-clad steel blade as each of you bear witness to the other's fall. As for your King, he is an eldhúsfífl (hearth-fire idiot) and a hraumi (braggart/nagging whore). Odin smiles upon me, our kin will know what was done here tonight. Better say your prayers for your God has forsaken you and the devil now walks among you. Revenge is bittersweet.
As he said this, Rene struck fear into their hearts and chuckled darkly. His words were grave, cold, and lustful for blood and revenge.
Rain falls light and effortlessly in London's Kensal Green Cemetery. The sounds emit a calm eeriness against the soft moss and leaves of the oak trees, combining with the flat echo they seemingly anoint the surface of the gravestones with. It was as if the corpses beneath had taken extra time off their eternal rest to promote the baseline for the horse-drawn carriages and the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the night. Darkness crept upon this desolate landscape, promised to be a forgotten mortal climax. A wasteland of life, rotten and discarded. If one listened carefully enough, one could hear a long-forgotten excitement of awakening. Soft whispers of blasphemous resurrection befell a slumbering figure. The air among the habitually discreet silence of the graves fills with distant music.
A gentle breeze combines itself with the rain, which continues to carry a dark melodic tune towards the crypt with undertones of damp and trepidation fervor. Slender fingers, old and calculating, steadily move the coffin lid aside, releasing ancient air. While simultaneously inhaling, like an old whale ascending from the depths that yearns for the breath after holding it in for so long, exhaling as if a match was dropped on a rag soaked in gasoline. Creating that whoomp sound associated with volatile materials that connected with a catalyst. Slowly the porcelain figure emerges from the ossuary, with the etiquette of an ancient aristocrat awaiting breakfast from servants. Eyes adjusting to the darkness after one hundred years of slumber. Assessing the room, the resurrected moves over to the other ossuaries within the tomb. Noticeably one of the coffins had been breached, yet the other lay entombed. She swore under her breath in Nordic. Upon seeing this, the desire for revenge would have to wait, too weak to scream and hunt down those who breached the safety of the crypt. Brave, unexpecting mortals would soon pay the price.
"We'll be together soon. I swear on my arm ring." She lingered her hand over Edvard's coffin before anger and hunger cultivated ones need to feed..aggressively. Stepping outside of the slumberous dream world and into the living realm, the corpse emerged from the mausoleum, carrying a violin as she looked for her meal. The world was not as reminiscent.
With the passing eras, the world changed, vampires became myth. The world didn't fade for our kind, but we disappeared. Death becomes inevitable… life became different… better. No longer living in the shadows, fear no longer being our captor. It was time for us to take our place amongst the living. I felt a change in the air on this peculiar night. Something told me to be aware of something unexpected.
Taking a deep breath of the new world, the figure followed the call. Yearning to find the source that instituted this awakening, this resurrection. Walking, almost afloat with interest, through the city streets toward the opportunity to feed. Once a small town now evolved into a vast city, a slaughterhouse for creatures of the night. With thirst satiated, the figure begins to find the source and reason for this awakening. Emerging through the gates, old eyes looked up and saw a former, familiar home...Anew... Lights and candles dimly illuminating the windows with partially closed curtains giving view to the inside festivities. Moving closer to the door, the music becoming louder, the source of resurrection now feet away.
Placing the violin by a coat rack drenched from the rain and without hesitancy, the figure traipsed in, stunning everyone in the room. Silence usurped the base of the gathering. Light murmurs and whispers echoed throughout, shocked as to whom and why this person came unannounced. As the stranger's eyes gazed about each person, before they landed on the one who played such a masterpiece, the music slowly came to a stop. The figure spoke. "Good to see you all gathered. Unexpectedly, I know. Salvatore." Her eyes met his as if she read his thoughts without verbal exchanges. Her voice was blood-filled. The uninvited guest moved closer to the young vampire, brushing her fingers lightly over his shoulders. The guest had silver hair-like feathers of a fallen angel, which fell to the small of her back. Piercing blue eyes like the center of a cyclone yet empty as the moon and a seductive blood-filled voice of honey protected by a swarm of killer bees. Flawless porcelain skin accentuated her features, she was a sight to behold. "Don't stop on my accord." Her attire was still new from the moment she went into her stupor. Blood stained the sides of her lips, her fangs permanently extended glistened as she spoke. It was as if she made an unspoken promise by leaving the trace to be noticed...
After all these years, I thought the prophecy was a myth, nonsense, something she made up all those years ago. That my mother, the Queen of Vampires, would not show herself again. It's been a hundred years since I saw her last. She was different, pale, weak. Her slumber did not do her wonders, but yet her beauty could be seen.
I was not expecting this at all. Lochlainn and I had protected her and the other ancients per request. But seeing Nathalie in this light, made my skin crawl. Something was different about her, my music had awoken her. The music I played was dark and appeasing to our kind. I never thought it eventually drew the attention of her awakening. Surprised? Yes. Mortals were present that night, when she spoke, announcing herself, all code of secrecy was lost in that simple sentence. "I am the Vampire Nathalie." Her words rolled off her tongue, like silk. Never once had I seen her confidence in who she was. For centuries she kept a sense of self-loathing, but now all that would change. I was a witness to a new dawn.
It made me wonder if there were other cards at play for Nathalie's awakening. For now, her presence at this very moment was all that was needed. Watching Nathalie settle in as she observed the festivities taking place. Having her back felt like old times again. Yet, she wasn't her usual self, she was weak, that was noticeable for us vampires. As for the humans, their reaction was mixed, amusing. It would take time for her to adjust.
I turned my gaze to Lochlainn, who was flirting with Lady Jocelyn trying to get his attention, but it was no use. The night had a mind of its own.
Slowly the room became lively again. Out of the corner of Nathalie's eye, she noticed Lochlainn talking to a human. Not daring to intervene, she sat back watching, listening to their conversation. Taking in her surroundings, planning when to awaken her lover and find out why her brother was awakened before his time. As for the human attendees, she looked around for her next victim, her blood vision, taking control of her senses. Who knows how long this party was going to last, she needed blood and to speak to her progenies once they weren't occupied with entertaining. Thinking of her time in Italy, she remembered the days of Venetian Masquerade parties. Attendees dressed in elaborate costumes and masks. Hiding one's identity, both figuratively and literally. Those memories were still fresh. But an event like that would have to wait until she, Edvard, and Réne were reunited.
June 1834, two weeks before Nathalie's awakening, zealots broke into the crypt where the ancients were resting. Creaking noises filled the silent tomb. Voices were low, almost like whispers on the wind. "If you really think this coffin belongs to Nathalie, break it open. What about the other two?"
"Leave the other two." Another voice spoke sternly.
"We don't know what these creatures are capable of after being asleep for a hundred years.
"I don't know why you dragged me into this besides the money. There are no such things as vampires. People made them up to scare children. You know how superstitious some people are." Commented the grave robber as he meticulously broke open the ossuary, what they found was not Nathalie, but her brother, Rene. Rene's eyes opened hungry for blood,
"Zounderkite!" the zealot exclaimed. He knew that this wasn't his time to be awakened. His eyes glanced at the other two coffins, not giving away which one was his sister.
"If you're looking for my sister, I won't tell you." Rene commented, reading their thoughts.
Weak and pissed off, Rene grabbed the closest zealot, drinking his blood, killing him in front of his fellow zealot. Unfortunately for Réne, the surviving horrified zealot gave a signal. If he wasn't so weak, Rene could have defended himself, but without a weapon, he felt helpless. All he could think about was draining them of their blood.
The zealots were vampire hunters who were in the imperial militia, specialty trained and highly superstitious. Most of them were primarily in it for the money. Greedy fools. Before the vampire could kill the man, three more zealots rushed in, and together they were just able to overpower him with silver around his neck and bind his wrists. He swore and threatened in old Norse as they captured him…
You have no idea what you have done, gargan(snake)! My sister will be your downfall. Bacraut (Asshole)! Hrafnasueltir (Coward)! Norse for blood hungrily and happily awaits enemies. With my blade in hand, it surely will be against your incompetent necks. Crimson blood slowly drips from the blood-clad steel blade as each of you bear witness to the other's fall. As for your King, he is an eldhúsfífl (hearth-fire idiot) and a hraumi (braggart/nagging whore). Odin smiles upon me, our kin will know what was done here tonight. Better say your prayers for your God has forsaken you and the devil now walks among you. Revenge is bittersweet.
As he said this, Rene struck fear into their hearts and chuckled darkly. His words were grave, cold, and lustful for blood and revenge.
Rain falls light and effortlessly in London's Kensal Green Cemetery. The sounds emit a calm eeriness against the soft moss and leaves of the oak trees, combining with the flat echo they seemingly anoint the surface of the gravestones with. It was as if the corpses beneath had taken extra time off their eternal rest to promote the baseline for the horse-drawn carriages and the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the night. Darkness crept upon this desolate landscape, promised to be a forgotten mortal climax. A wasteland of life, rotten and discarded. If one listened carefully enough, one could hear a long-forgotten excitement of awakening. Soft whispers of blasphemous resurrection befell a slumbering figure. The air among the habitually discreet silence of the graves fills with distant music.
A gentle breeze combines itself with the rain, which continues to carry a dark melodic tune towards the crypt with undertones of damp and trepidation fervor. Slender fingers, old and calculating, steadily move the coffin lid aside, releasing ancient air. While simultaneously inhaling, like an old whale ascending from the depths that yearns for the breath after holding it in for so long, exhaling as if a match was dropped on a rag soaked in gasoline. Creating that whoomp sound associated with volatile materials that connected with a catalyst. Slowly the porcelain figure emerges from the ossuary, with the etiquette of an ancient aristocrat awaiting breakfast from servants. Eyes adjusting to the darkness after one hundred years of slumber. Assessing the room, the resurrected moves over to the other ossuaries within the tomb. Noticeably one of the coffins had been breached, yet the other lay entombed. She swore under her breath in Nordic. Upon seeing this, the desire for revenge would have to wait, too weak to scream and hunt down those who breached the safety of the crypt. Brave, unexpecting mortals would soon pay the price.
"We'll be together soon. I swear on my arm ring." She lingered her hand over Edvard's coffin before anger and hunger cultivated ones need to feed..aggressively. Stepping outside of the slumberous dream world and into the living realm, the corpse emerged from the mausoleum, carrying a violin as she looked for her meal. The world was not as reminiscent.
With the passing eras, the world changed, vampires became myth. The world didn't fade for our kind, but we disappeared. Death becomes inevitable… life became different… better. No longer living in the shadows, fear no longer being our captor. It was time for us to take our place amongst the living. I felt a change in the air on this peculiar night. Something told me to be aware of something unexpected.
Taking a deep breath of the new world, the figure followed the call. Yearning to find the source that instituted this awakening, this resurrection. Walking, almost afloat with interest, through the city streets toward the opportunity to feed. Once a small town now evolved into a vast city, a slaughterhouse for creatures of the night. With thirst satiated, the figure begins to find the source and reason for this awakening. Emerging through the gates, old eyes looked up and saw a former, familiar home...Anew... Lights and candles dimly illuminating the windows with partially closed curtains giving view to the inside festivities. Moving closer to the door, the music becoming louder, the source of resurrection now feet away.
Placing the violin by a coat rack drenched from the rain and without hesitancy, the figure traipsed in, stunning everyone in the room. Silence usurped the base of the gathering. Light murmurs and whispers echoed throughout, shocked as to whom and why this person came unannounced. As the stranger's eyes gazed about each person, before they landed on the one who played such a masterpiece, the music slowly came to a stop. The figure spoke. "Good to see you all gathered. Unexpectedly, I know. Salvatore." Her eyes met his as if she read his thoughts without verbal exchanges. Her voice was blood-filled. The uninvited guest moved closer to the young vampire, brushing her fingers lightly over his shoulders. The guest had silver hair-like feathers of a fallen angel, which fell to the small of her back. Piercing blue eyes like the center of a cyclone yet empty as the moon and a seductive blood-filled voice of honey protected by a swarm of killer bees. Flawless porcelain skin accentuated her features, she was a sight to behold. "Don't stop on my accord." Her attire was still new from the moment she went into her stupor. Blood stained the sides of her lips, her fangs permanently extended glistened as she spoke. It was as if she made an unspoken promise by leaving the trace to be noticed...
After all these years, I thought the prophecy was a myth, nonsense, something she made up all those years ago. That my mother, the Queen of Vampires, would not show herself again. It's been a hundred years since I saw her last. She was different, pale, weak. Her slumber did not do her wonders, but yet her beauty could be seen.
I was not expecting this at all. Lochlainn and I had protected her and the other ancients per request. But seeing Nathalie in this light, made my skin crawl. Something was different about her, my music had awoken her. The music I played was dark and appeasing to our kind. I never thought it eventually drew the attention of her awakening. Surprised? Yes. Mortals were present that night, when she spoke, announcing herself, all code of secrecy was lost in that simple sentence. "I am the Vampire Nathalie." Her words rolled off her tongue, like silk. Never once had I seen her confidence in who she was. For centuries she kept a sense of self-loathing, but now all that would change. I was a witness to a new dawn.
It made me wonder if there were other cards at play for Nathalie's awakening. For now, her presence at this very moment was all that was needed. Watching Nathalie settle in as she observed the festivities taking place. Having her back felt like old times again. Yet, she wasn't her usual self, she was weak, that was noticeable for us vampires. As for the humans, their reaction was mixed, amusing. It would take time for her to adjust.
I turned my gaze to Lochlainn, who was flirting with Lady Jocelyn trying to get his attention, but it was no use. The night had a mind of its own.
Slowly the room became lively again. Out of the corner of Nathalie's eye, she noticed Lochlainn talking to a human. Not daring to intervene, she sat back watching, listening to their conversation. Taking in her surroundings, planning when to awaken her lover and find out why her brother was awakened before his time. As for the human attendees, she looked around for her next victim, her blood vision, taking control of her senses. Who knows how long this party was going to last, she needed blood and to speak to her progenies once they weren't occupied with entertaining. Thinking of her time in Italy, she remembered the days of Venetian Masquerade parties. Attendees dressed in elaborate costumes and masks. Hiding one's identity, both figuratively and literally. Those memories were still fresh. But an event like that would have to wait until she, Edvard, and Réne were reunited.
