Entry 10 - The Story of Her Death
Title: "The Story of Her Death"
Entry Number: 10
Author:
Fandom: original (Before Dawn)
Rating: NC-17 (slight dub-con)
Genre: historical vampire horror, “romance”
Spoiler Warnings: none
Word Count: 1925
A/N: This is my failed Halloween entry. Still posting it to at least tackle the 10 smaller entries. It's unfinished, raw and stops in mid-narrative. Sorry. Before Dawn can be read as a web-comic (I plan to return from my on-off hiatus by December) at Before Dawn. The Halloween entry is not coming to pass, due to my lovely MA studies swamping me today. (I'm already behind and am gonna be at bed at 2am the earliest anyway...)
She was vengeance, she was power, she was their Mother in Blood and the night. They shirked away from her like scared children and she revelled in it.
And she hated to be defied.
She had begun her life innocently enough during the latter half of the 18th century in France. Then had come Robespierre, the reign of Terror and Bonaparte. People of noble birth, aristocracy, had died left, right and centre. The whole country had been as if drenched in blood as revolution swelled through the kingdom, whispers of nation, people and freedom yelled through the streets. And her mind had broken. Born Constance Morgan de Wispelaere she'd been of noble birth but had managed to escape the guillotine. Had escaped that method of death.
As the country was birthed anew through pain and blood, she, too had been snatched unawares, snatched into the Endless Night of the Undead. Etiénne had been charming, a handsome stranger unconcerned by the violence bubbling around them. He'd come and grabbed at her, striking down her attackers. She would have surely ended her life under the blade, had it not been for Etiénne. She was already a bit unhinged by all the violence that she'd seen, the deaths of dozens of people, and of her father. Her gentle sweet mother had only been spared the terrors of revolution by consumption, which had taken her away the year before. Her siblings had either died in infancy or were out of the country at present. She and her father had been trapped. She'd only barely escaped, but when hands had grabbed at her in a dark street, she'd known that had been it. Her luck had run out.
But Etiénne had come. He'd killed the men accosting her. She hadn't cared. She'd been mesmerized by his very presence. He'd taken her in his strong arms and spirited her away before she'd even had 'merci beaucoup' past her shaky lips.
She'd heard the church bells ring midnight, as her saviour had lowered her to a bed in his sumptuous apartment. He'd stared at her with hunger in his eyes, but what kind of hunger, she hadn't realized then. She'd been willing to give her body to him. Her virginity was a small price to pay for being alive, she'd thought. Or maybe he was a gentleman and would just let her sleep. All her worries seemed to melt away as the man looked at her. He was handsome. Light green eyes stared at her hypnotically from a pale face as cold fingertips caressed her cheek. He was tall and had pale pale hair. He had been dressed like a noble, but as he'd not said a word, not even introduced himself, she'd had no idea of his real identity.
“Who are you?” she'd asked, while her body had lain limp on the bed. She'd been surprised at not being afraid of him. But little scared her in this new world of terror. And the man hadn't seemed that he'd kill her. Violate her? Possibly. But not kill her.
“Etiénne Dubois, at your service.” The handsome man had bowed deep, his pale green eyes glinting in the candle-light.
“Thank you for saving me, monsieur...” She'd breathed out weakly, falling under his thrall. She'd felt like Etiénne could do anything to her and she wouldn't have cared. He could have plunged a knife into her heart and she would have died with a happy smile on her lips. “Do as you wish...”
“Will you be with me forever?” Etiénne had asked her, his voice pure seduction, with just a tinge of darkness.
She'd breathed deep, her corseted chest heaving, her head swimming as she'd swooned. “Do as you will, I care not, not any more...” And she'd given in, given in freely.
He'd crawled over her body, straddling her hips and looked down at her. His hands had held her arms down, preventing struggle. The candle-light had cast shadows around them, making his face shine iridescent. She couldn't remember having gasped as Etiénne had leaned over her and opened his lips wide, revealing sharp fangs. She'd drowned in the blood-curdling agony of his piercing kiss, arousal and pain having battled within her, along with deadly fear. He'd sunk his fangs into her neck and drank deep on the crimson nectar of her life. She'd lain there, helpless, as he'd given her life a new, nefarious direction. He'd christened her into the Night, initiated her into the Blood and all it entailed.
As her eyes had stared at the moon visible through the open window behind his back, she'd been reborn.
Once the bloody kiss has been over, he'd ripped at her clothes. She'd lain there, weak from the blood-loss, unable to move a muscle. He'd bared her most private parts, but she'd felt no shame. He'd seen into her mind, tasted her blood, what was shame between them now? He'd fumbled with his own clothes, spread her legs apart and touched her. She'd gasped, woozy with the bloodloss. Yet she craved another kind of touch now, a piercing pain and his presence over her thoughts, the sound of her blood pumping away and into his veins. She who'd not cared what happened to her, now craved for death. He'd entered her body, making her shudder and gasp at the sharp, blunt intucion inside her virgin body. She'd bled and he'd snarled, sinking his fangs briefly into the supple flesh of her bosom, pushed up by the corset. Then he'd nicked his neck, making her drink, keeping her weary head on his neck.
It had been the sweetest nectar she'd ever tasted.
Etiénne had made rough-sweet love to her as she'd drank his blood, hearing nothing, feeling nothing but his body within her own and the crimson sweet blood flowing down her throat. And as her body filled with his body and the mixed blood, she'd exploded. Falling limp over the bed, she'd fallen out of sight and sound, her body on the brink of passion and pain, life and death. One last drop and she'd been dead to the world.
She'd woken up later, into a strange world of heightened sensation and darkness. And she'd been changed. There'd been... someone new within her consciousness. A wicked laugh deep inside her mind, almost a presence at the edge of her eyes. A twisted darkness which had bloomed over-day. He'd been curled beside her, waiting for her to wake.
“Welcome into the night, ma chérie...” he'd said to her.
He'd reached out for him, watching in fascination as her hand was as pale as his. They'd lain on a lush bed of crimson silks, the drapes of the canopy open, letting in candle-light. “What am I?” she'd asked, looking at him, drinking in the beauty that was his pale body. She'd been entranced again, albeit not as strongly as before.
“You are one of the night now, what the humans call le vampir, oupire, strigoi, moroi... I forget them all.” He'd laughed, his laughter dark and alluring.
“Vampire...” she'd said softly, letting herself think, assess her situation. She wasn't completely overwhelmed by her true self back then. The innocent, kind girl in her was exited, intrigued by the knowledge of being scary. Something out of a fairy tale. She had seen so much death back then, so much heart ache, that this, her new life, was something she was accepting quickly. “But why?” She'd asked softly, questioning her maker.
Etiénne had leaned over, kissing her hungrily. When he drew back, his pale green eyes had been staring deep into her dilated pupils. “Because I wanted you, chérie.” He'd reached over the caress her cheek, cup her face, the face of a barely grown woman. “Because I saw the desperation in you, the need to escape. Escape the mortal coil, escape the day, forget and be reborn. You are exceptional.”
She had thought, even then, that Etiénne was a bit too flowery with his language.
“I am not exceptional,” she had said, shying away. She had realized, when he'd spoken, on that night now centuries past, what she had done. She had been a good girl, a well-brought up lady, and she had let him. Had let him... But even then, she hadn't felt deep gut-wrenching shame. She had seen enough of the world, known enough, to know that ideas of propriety were but a thin veneer. She knew men were quick to over-power women who wouldn't give in easy. She had. She had and couldn't, wouldn't feel quilty about it. She remembered having felt... rejuvenated.
Etiénne had kissed her again, chuckling. “Yes, but you are, you are my sweetness...” He'd let his hand roam over her, pause at the upper edge of her gown and rest it there, the tips of his fingers teasing the pale skin emerging from under embroidered lace.
She had watched his hand, idly noting the droplets of blood, now brown stains, on the silk of her dress. He had been clad in only a shirt and breeches, lounging next to her on the bed where she'd lost both her virginity and her life.
“What now?” she had asked as he'd taken hold of her hand and kissed her fingers gently. That kiss had been so intimate, so thrilling. She'd found her quickly falling for the man. She'd wondered if there could be love among monsters of the night?...
He'd caressed her, eliciting a shudder and a needy moan, and looked at her. “Now, ma chérie, we hunt.”
“Hunt?” She'd asked softly, not quite wanting to realize what her lover could have meant. She'd been such an innocent back then, on her first night.
He'd rolled on top of her, she'd let him. “Yes, we'll hunt and you'll feed.” He'd leaned towards her and kissed her hungrily again, devouring her. “You have to feel it, the Hunger. You crave blood, don't you, my darling?”
And then she'd known. It had crashed over her, drowning everything. The Need. The Hunger. And she had heard. Had heard the hearts of humans beat around her, almost tasting the bitter iron tang of blood, that sweet nectar of life itself, on her tongue.
“Yes,” she had said and they had left.
* * *
Her first kill had been some peasant. It had been over quickly, but her hunger had been great and she'd been young. A newborn vampire. After a second kill they'd enjoyed each other then and there. He'd pushed her down on the field and ravaged her, kissing her bloodied lips with his own. In her post-kill languor she had given in to him enthusiastically. And he'd make her lose herself. The moon had been bright behind his shoulder, this time too. But she'd known then, even back then, than what Etiénne's body did to her, it didn't compare with the feeling of blood running down her throat, the feel of a heart fluttering under her palm as she held her victim close, feeling them die.
And there had been... her. A shadow of herself, at the edge of her consciousness, lurking. Preying upon her as she'd lost herself in the kill. Her innocence was slipping away. She was annoyed that she could still remember that now. For what did it matter? What had happened, had happened, and she was what she was today, because she'd finally given in.
In the end.
Entry Number: 10
Author:
Fandom: original (Before Dawn)
Rating: NC-17 (slight dub-con)
Genre: historical vampire horror, “romance”
Spoiler Warnings: none
Word Count: 1925
A/N: This is my failed Halloween entry. Still posting it to at least tackle the 10 smaller entries. It's unfinished, raw and stops in mid-narrative. Sorry. Before Dawn can be read as a web-comic (I plan to return from my on-off hiatus by December) at Before Dawn. The Halloween entry is not coming to pass, due to my lovely MA studies swamping me today. (I'm already behind and am gonna be at bed at 2am the earliest anyway...)
She was vengeance, she was power, she was their Mother in Blood and the night. They shirked away from her like scared children and she revelled in it.
And she hated to be defied.
She had begun her life innocently enough during the latter half of the 18th century in France. Then had come Robespierre, the reign of Terror and Bonaparte. People of noble birth, aristocracy, had died left, right and centre. The whole country had been as if drenched in blood as revolution swelled through the kingdom, whispers of nation, people and freedom yelled through the streets. And her mind had broken. Born Constance Morgan de Wispelaere she'd been of noble birth but had managed to escape the guillotine. Had escaped that method of death.
As the country was birthed anew through pain and blood, she, too had been snatched unawares, snatched into the Endless Night of the Undead. Etiénne had been charming, a handsome stranger unconcerned by the violence bubbling around them. He'd come and grabbed at her, striking down her attackers. She would have surely ended her life under the blade, had it not been for Etiénne. She was already a bit unhinged by all the violence that she'd seen, the deaths of dozens of people, and of her father. Her gentle sweet mother had only been spared the terrors of revolution by consumption, which had taken her away the year before. Her siblings had either died in infancy or were out of the country at present. She and her father had been trapped. She'd only barely escaped, but when hands had grabbed at her in a dark street, she'd known that had been it. Her luck had run out.
But Etiénne had come. He'd killed the men accosting her. She hadn't cared. She'd been mesmerized by his very presence. He'd taken her in his strong arms and spirited her away before she'd even had 'merci beaucoup' past her shaky lips.
She'd heard the church bells ring midnight, as her saviour had lowered her to a bed in his sumptuous apartment. He'd stared at her with hunger in his eyes, but what kind of hunger, she hadn't realized then. She'd been willing to give her body to him. Her virginity was a small price to pay for being alive, she'd thought. Or maybe he was a gentleman and would just let her sleep. All her worries seemed to melt away as the man looked at her. He was handsome. Light green eyes stared at her hypnotically from a pale face as cold fingertips caressed her cheek. He was tall and had pale pale hair. He had been dressed like a noble, but as he'd not said a word, not even introduced himself, she'd had no idea of his real identity.
“Who are you?” she'd asked, while her body had lain limp on the bed. She'd been surprised at not being afraid of him. But little scared her in this new world of terror. And the man hadn't seemed that he'd kill her. Violate her? Possibly. But not kill her.
“Etiénne Dubois, at your service.” The handsome man had bowed deep, his pale green eyes glinting in the candle-light.
“Thank you for saving me, monsieur...” She'd breathed out weakly, falling under his thrall. She'd felt like Etiénne could do anything to her and she wouldn't have cared. He could have plunged a knife into her heart and she would have died with a happy smile on her lips. “Do as you wish...”
“Will you be with me forever?” Etiénne had asked her, his voice pure seduction, with just a tinge of darkness.
She'd breathed deep, her corseted chest heaving, her head swimming as she'd swooned. “Do as you will, I care not, not any more...” And she'd given in, given in freely.
He'd crawled over her body, straddling her hips and looked down at her. His hands had held her arms down, preventing struggle. The candle-light had cast shadows around them, making his face shine iridescent. She couldn't remember having gasped as Etiénne had leaned over her and opened his lips wide, revealing sharp fangs. She'd drowned in the blood-curdling agony of his piercing kiss, arousal and pain having battled within her, along with deadly fear. He'd sunk his fangs into her neck and drank deep on the crimson nectar of her life. She'd lain there, helpless, as he'd given her life a new, nefarious direction. He'd christened her into the Night, initiated her into the Blood and all it entailed.
As her eyes had stared at the moon visible through the open window behind his back, she'd been reborn.
Once the bloody kiss has been over, he'd ripped at her clothes. She'd lain there, weak from the blood-loss, unable to move a muscle. He'd bared her most private parts, but she'd felt no shame. He'd seen into her mind, tasted her blood, what was shame between them now? He'd fumbled with his own clothes, spread her legs apart and touched her. She'd gasped, woozy with the bloodloss. Yet she craved another kind of touch now, a piercing pain and his presence over her thoughts, the sound of her blood pumping away and into his veins. She who'd not cared what happened to her, now craved for death. He'd entered her body, making her shudder and gasp at the sharp, blunt intucion inside her virgin body. She'd bled and he'd snarled, sinking his fangs briefly into the supple flesh of her bosom, pushed up by the corset. Then he'd nicked his neck, making her drink, keeping her weary head on his neck.
It had been the sweetest nectar she'd ever tasted.
Etiénne had made rough-sweet love to her as she'd drank his blood, hearing nothing, feeling nothing but his body within her own and the crimson sweet blood flowing down her throat. And as her body filled with his body and the mixed blood, she'd exploded. Falling limp over the bed, she'd fallen out of sight and sound, her body on the brink of passion and pain, life and death. One last drop and she'd been dead to the world.
She'd woken up later, into a strange world of heightened sensation and darkness. And she'd been changed. There'd been... someone new within her consciousness. A wicked laugh deep inside her mind, almost a presence at the edge of her eyes. A twisted darkness which had bloomed over-day. He'd been curled beside her, waiting for her to wake.
“Welcome into the night, ma chérie...” he'd said to her.
He'd reached out for him, watching in fascination as her hand was as pale as his. They'd lain on a lush bed of crimson silks, the drapes of the canopy open, letting in candle-light. “What am I?” she'd asked, looking at him, drinking in the beauty that was his pale body. She'd been entranced again, albeit not as strongly as before.
“You are one of the night now, what the humans call le vampir, oupire, strigoi, moroi... I forget them all.” He'd laughed, his laughter dark and alluring.
“Vampire...” she'd said softly, letting herself think, assess her situation. She wasn't completely overwhelmed by her true self back then. The innocent, kind girl in her was exited, intrigued by the knowledge of being scary. Something out of a fairy tale. She had seen so much death back then, so much heart ache, that this, her new life, was something she was accepting quickly. “But why?” She'd asked softly, questioning her maker.
Etiénne had leaned over, kissing her hungrily. When he drew back, his pale green eyes had been staring deep into her dilated pupils. “Because I wanted you, chérie.” He'd reached over the caress her cheek, cup her face, the face of a barely grown woman. “Because I saw the desperation in you, the need to escape. Escape the mortal coil, escape the day, forget and be reborn. You are exceptional.”
She had thought, even then, that Etiénne was a bit too flowery with his language.
“I am not exceptional,” she had said, shying away. She had realized, when he'd spoken, on that night now centuries past, what she had done. She had been a good girl, a well-brought up lady, and she had let him. Had let him... But even then, she hadn't felt deep gut-wrenching shame. She had seen enough of the world, known enough, to know that ideas of propriety were but a thin veneer. She knew men were quick to over-power women who wouldn't give in easy. She had. She had and couldn't, wouldn't feel quilty about it. She remembered having felt... rejuvenated.
Etiénne had kissed her again, chuckling. “Yes, but you are, you are my sweetness...” He'd let his hand roam over her, pause at the upper edge of her gown and rest it there, the tips of his fingers teasing the pale skin emerging from under embroidered lace.
She had watched his hand, idly noting the droplets of blood, now brown stains, on the silk of her dress. He had been clad in only a shirt and breeches, lounging next to her on the bed where she'd lost both her virginity and her life.
“What now?” she had asked as he'd taken hold of her hand and kissed her fingers gently. That kiss had been so intimate, so thrilling. She'd found her quickly falling for the man. She'd wondered if there could be love among monsters of the night?...
He'd caressed her, eliciting a shudder and a needy moan, and looked at her. “Now, ma chérie, we hunt.”
“Hunt?” She'd asked softly, not quite wanting to realize what her lover could have meant. She'd been such an innocent back then, on her first night.
He'd rolled on top of her, she'd let him. “Yes, we'll hunt and you'll feed.” He'd leaned towards her and kissed her hungrily again, devouring her. “You have to feel it, the Hunger. You crave blood, don't you, my darling?”
And then she'd known. It had crashed over her, drowning everything. The Need. The Hunger. And she had heard. Had heard the hearts of humans beat around her, almost tasting the bitter iron tang of blood, that sweet nectar of life itself, on her tongue.
“Yes,” she had said and they had left.
* * *
Her first kill had been some peasant. It had been over quickly, but her hunger had been great and she'd been young. A newborn vampire. After a second kill they'd enjoyed each other then and there. He'd pushed her down on the field and ravaged her, kissing her bloodied lips with his own. In her post-kill languor she had given in to him enthusiastically. And he'd make her lose herself. The moon had been bright behind his shoulder, this time too. But she'd known then, even back then, than what Etiénne's body did to her, it didn't compare with the feeling of blood running down her throat, the feel of a heart fluttering under her palm as she held her victim close, feeling them die.
And there had been... her. A shadow of herself, at the edge of her consciousness, lurking. Preying upon her as she'd lost herself in the kill. Her innocence was slipping away. She was annoyed that she could still remember that now. For what did it matter? What had happened, had happened, and she was what she was today, because she'd finally given in.
In the end.