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The air was still as I emerged into it.Yet it was soothing against my ever-cold white flesh that had been the same for centuries. My vivid green eyes were exposed to the barely detectable draft of the dark room I had slept in. So quaint. Gray, cracked walls. Thick, warm air. Decrepit smell. How fitting for a creature such as myself. I smiled at this thought.
I rose, rather gracefully, from my sleeping quarters and to the decaying door, which, when opened, allowed the wind whipping on the other side to slap me mercilessly. It snatched up my dark brown hair and threw around each individual tendril, reaching from my back to the room behind me and around again to stroke my pale cheeks, then stretching toward the damp walls once more. Mimicking it was my silky black dress - how I had loved black silk - as it brushed my legs in its lashing. How stereotypically midieval I felt. I walked to the large cherry blossom tree in the front yard and paused before it, gazing up at the half open blooms with an odd smile playing on my crimson lips. The color struck me for some reason. Or perhaps it was merely my eyes. I don't know. But it was delicately gorgeous. I blinked and my eyes were downcast when the lids slid back atop them. I knelt beneath the tree, my shoulder pressing against the cold bark, as well as my knees against the frozen ground. It was amazing how acutely I felt the cold. Ah, but that will soon be corrected, I assured myself. Reaching into the bosom of my dress, I revealed a small pocketknife - something I had found long before, too long ago for me to recall exactly where. Either way, I exposed the soiled blade and ran it swiftly and harshly across my collarbones and opposite arm, wincing at the pain. But it had to be that deep. Hardly any blood would have been shed otherwise. Sure enough, the wounds closed up quickly, leaving more of the dried crimson substance than I had expected, though still plenty. I gazed at the trails it had made on my flesh, the maze-like pattern... such miniscule things never ceased to astonish me in those days. I rose a finger to touch one of the trails that still gleamed with moisture when I heard footsteps down the path. Quickly, I curled up against the base of the tree, placing my hands in my face and thrusting sobs into my throat, blood tears into my palms. This sounds difficult. It wasn't for me at the time. I could not see the figure that approached, but it's quite simple to attain facts from a footstep. The heaviness with which the sound fell told me that it was a male that approached. It was not harsh, though. A lean, gentle creature. Young. Tall. Perhaps dark, wavy hair. A delicious appearance, I somehow knew. I had a taste for beauty, and an intuitive detection of it. But I had a destination. "Miss? Are you alright?" I heard above me. His voice was angelic and young, one that you might expect to find intermingled in the choir at Sunday mass. I rose my gaze, my brows tilted in sorrow, and caught a glimpse of his face. Perfect! Just as I had expected. I had looked down again quickly with an outbursted sob, but the echo of his countenance rang in my mind's eye as clear as if it were a grand portrait before me. The sun had slightly bronzed his skin, giving it a smooth, delicate texture. Raven black tresses dripped to frame it as concerned chocolate eyes gazed at me with quizzical worry. And the feel of his gaze was intoxicating. I nearly swooned as I felt it still upon me. "Miss?" he repeated. And the voice... that choir boy voice... He laid a hand on my shoulder, ever so gingerly. A sound emerged from his throat, as if he were about to speak, but partially through the enforcement of it he decided otherwise. I longed for him to speak again. Speak, angel... Right. Destination. "He... he beat me," I sobbed, further curling into myself, the bark of the tree digging into my shoulder like a jagged, frozen blade. It stung harshly. But I threw the pain from my mind. I had to have this boy. He knelt beside me. "Who? Who beat you?" Oh, that voice... Rather than answering, I gently snaked my arms about his neck and transferred my weight against him. Reluctantly he encircled his arms about me, and even submitted enough to stroke a few unruly tresses of my hair. I cried into his shoulder first, murmering between sobs some tale of an abusive lover within the nearby house. He whispered back comforting phrases. Nothing uncommon. "You'll be okay. It's alright. You'll be fine. I promise." I forced myself to approach the base of his neck slowly. With a few mournful whimpers I had nuzzled my way to the soft, bronze flesh and... yes... the hot liquor trickled onto my lips as I pierced the skin. I sent thought waves through him. I'm sorry. You are so beautiful. I love you. You're mine. Then the blood cascaded down my throat in gorgeous quantities, spreading a warmth through my limbs that I could feel touch every particle that compiled me. The frozen ground grew colder by comparison, seeming to crisp to ice beneath my legs and bite into my knees. And he, he grew colder as well, I'm afraid. Upon pulling away I saw his bronze flesh had paled to a grotesque, frosty hue. But those voluptuous black locks spilled over his eyes beautifully. I smiled. I wanted to keep him. But I knew I could not. I rose, carrying him to the tree and leaning him against it. I kissed the top of his head and allowed my now ruddy-colored fingers to linger in the spot as I rose and my arm could stretch no longer. It was not difficult to pull myself away and stride down the path, listening to my boots resound on the old pavement. I walked as mortals often. I enjoyed the sound of my footfalls. And traveling down the squares of the sidewalk, amid the shadows cast from the fingerlike branches of the birches and oaks and their dead debris below; the pale yellow glow from she sparse street lamps that, in their neglect, were yellowed with age; the duty-heavy woman who passed by, her fancily dressed daughter gazing up at me with a dotted mouth and large blue eyes while clutching her mother's hand; I smiled. |