From the private journal of Catherine De Volanges

We are all being used and so, it is only in that pile of remorseless excrement that our own ability to use others grows out of, stronger, thanks to the very fertilizer that fed it. And if your elders are of the Tremere, you best cultivate your interests out of their own, allowing the roots of your ( Read more... )

The moment I stepped off the private jet, I felt alive again. A surge of life, like electricity, buzzed through my spine and as the limo rolled down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. And at the thousands of lights lining the rue as it led to the Arc de Triomphe, I felt tears spring to my eyes from a happiness that I had left here when I was instructed ( Read more... )

You cannot walk away from love. But you can run away from yourself once you have destroyed every last vestige of love that you had. Aidan would say that you can replace it with hate, a stronger emotion, more potent and useful, like a poison that turns your soul black. I would have liked to say that no one had control over me then, but that would ( Read more... )

Carcassonne, France, 1920

Tonight I was the lost bitch among the litter, rummaging around in the garbage of their souls.

It seemed impossible, although perhaps entirely too obvious that the night in Nantes, so long ago, sealed my fate. And although what Aidan showed me was terrifying, the stain on my soul would only bother me more than a century ( Read more... )

Versaille, Paris, Pre-Revolution, February 1789

"Oh! That infuriating...tart!" Spat out Madame du Barry as she stormed in with her entourage on her tailcoats or train, rather. "She is wearing another new Rose Bertin gown. I must change. Help me! Undo my corset." She barked out to her gaunt servant girl, who had not eaten anything in four days except ( Read more... )