Chapter 122: 122
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Soren wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything that happened that day. To forget about the girl, about her strange fearlessness, about how odd he felt being in the presence of someone who wasn't afraid. And though Soren went back to killing, to draining the nymphs and the sprites and the pixies who danced at revels in the Great Forest- swaying their hips and biting their lips at him, a part of him was missing. He still loved the sound of their screams, of the hot sounds of the beating heart and the feeling of sticky, sweet blood trickling down his throat. But every day he found himself more and more conflicted. He couldn't put aside how oddly good it felt to be unfeared, couldn't keep the words that little angel had told him from ringing in his head like an ever chiming bell.
He hated her for it.
Some days, he would spend hours in his room, grating his nails into the desk to banish the notion of returning to the borders from his mind. But secretly he wondered if perhaps some small, mindless part of him was becoming 'nice'.
You see, Soren wanted to forget. He tried to forget the way the little angel had looked at him with utter compassion, to forget the strange things he was feeling and the soft melodious sounds of a heart unplagued with fear. He wanted to forget it all. And he almost did, too. Until one night he came across a strange girl in the middle of the Great Forest.
And suddenly, Soren remembered everything.
***
I had never intended to do anything other than kill that night. I came into the forest with one thought in mind and one alone- the urge to hunt, to decimate, and to sink my fangs into the first lonesome creature I caught wandering in the inky blackness of the night. It was a simple task really, it had never gone wrong before.
But I never anticipated coming across her that night. I suppose that is where it all went wrong.
The first thing I hear is a heartbeat; the soft, ardent throb that pulses out into the darkness against all the other beating hearts, beckoning me with its call of temptation. This one is strong. Yes, this shall be my prey tonight.
The forest is dark, lit only by the moon that simmers amorously above the tops of trees, spilling beams of white light that settle over half frozen lakes and the dancing figures of midnight revellers. It is a complex path, but I have walked these woods a hundred times over, I could make this trek blindfolded.
Dancing round the forest, past swaying birches and comically tall redwoods, I close in on the singular, continuous beat, my mouth watering at the thought of fresh blood, slick and warm sliding delightfully down my throat. The hunger grows in my stomach, scratching at my throat with its sole, devouring need. I have not fed for days, mostly from the unfortunate necessity of dealing with the politics of my palace, and a few rogue vampires who thought it might be funny to re-enact the red massacre on a slightly smaller scale. That and my dear brother, who in recent months has become the driving force of chaos throughout the walls of Sezeria.
Then there is my business with Fangorn. The alarming prevalence of missing people has certainly put a damper on my appetite, but no matter. I am here now, and I shall feed.
At first I catch glimpses of her through the gaps in the trees, shifting from shadow to shadow to tail her as she walks, throwing crumbs of a half eaten cake into the bushes- perhaps for the smaller Folk, though it is likely to be taken by rodents. There is an unnatural elegance about her, a delicate softness in the way she sways her way down the well worn track, humming a little to herself the beautiful notes of a bluebirds melody.
I should have thought it strange that I, a vampire, a creature known for their elegance and poise, seductive prowess and all manner of unearthly charms should happen to find a mortal creature so inexplicably appealing. Yet the fact remains as I follow her unheard through the towering shadows of bent and gnarled trees, that there is something about this creature that I simply cannot take my eyes off.
As far as hunting goes for a vampire the rules are simple: stick to the shadows, and do not let yourself be seen. Strike when your prey is weakest. Devour.
The rules have always been rather simple, though generations of flirting and fraudulence have twisted them quite grotesquely, turning hunting into a game of seduction and wild, midnight orgies while feasting on the honeyed blood of drugged and glamoured victims. Regardless of what the tales might say, I rarely indulged myself in such a revolting pleasure. I dance, and I kill, but sex is never a part of the bargain.
Yet watching this woman sway through the warm air, I suddenly feel compelled to throw all my hunting games out the window. All at once I don't feel hungry any more.
A breeze lifts up, trailing her crimson dress around her as it plays in the hands of the wind, swirling it around her like blood soaking through water. My heart pangs. There is a strange familiarity about this sight, like a long forgotten dream or vision, a word on the tip of my tongue that I can't quite place.
She looks so vulnerable out here alone, without the silver sword anchored to her waist I might have called her easy prey. Something beats inside me, a strange stirring in my heart, the urge to keep her safe for fear of what might become of her if I don't.
Then I do something stupid.
"You really shouldn't be out here alone,"
I don't know why I say it, perhaps on a whim, or a sudden distinctive urge to keep this curious little girl safe, but the sound of my voice startles her, sending her hand bolting for her sword. There are calluses on the tips of her fingers- a fighter it would seem, but then she surprises me. Instead of gripping her sword, her fingers flicker downwards, a silent spell murmurs on the tips of her lips as coils of flame shoot down from her palm, swirling into a revolving ball of fire that hovers inches above the ground, blazing and spitting like a snake. Narrowly, I peer at it from the gloom.
How curious, her flames are golden, I have rarely had the pleasure of seeing that before. In fact, I don't think I have ever seen golden flames- aside from the ones in my books. Just who is this woman?
The woman frantically scans the darkness before her, searching for me in the inky void that engulfs her, unable to see through the impenetrable blackness despite the faint source of light. Lazily, I shadow shift out from the trees, eager to get a closer look as I say with a surprising softness:
"Careful, I am not going to hurt you,"
Her sword whips out of its sheath, brandishing at the sound of my voice as I edge closer, pulling my hood lower over my face to hide the horns that protrude from the side of my head. It's obvious by the frantic pull and tug of her heart that she doesn't trust a word I am saying, but she doesn't seem adverse to me either, a tender sort of curiosity playing on her features, as though some small part of her wants to see this creature for herself. The thought alone makes me smile, somehow finding myself wanting to please this lonesome midnight creature.
Perhaps there is something wrong with me?
Slowly, my hands raised to quell her dissent, I step into the circle of light, listening to the rise and falls of ragged breathes in her throat and the quiver of her body as she holds her sword upright. Yet she doesn't seem scared.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I repeat, again finding myself swept by the sudden compulsion to subdue her anxieties, as though anxious to prove myself to this woman that I, the Prince of all vampires, am very much not a threat. The idea is almost laughable and yet, and yet, somehow, she finds it in herself to answer me.
"People don't usually scare the hell out of me on a dark night when they want to introduce themselves," she says with obvious suspicion, raising her sword a little more. Her voice is light, almost angelic, yet with a rustic teasing charm that makes me believe outside of wandering forests at the dead of night, she is not unfamiliar with the battleground of vicious mockery and charming teasing. But there is something familiar in this voice, a recognisable tune that I am certain I have heard before some long years ago. A little feeling sparks inside me. I draw myself up slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the expression of surprise playing on my face, though by the small smile that plays on her lips, I doubt that is the case.
No matter. Unconsciously, I take a small step forward.
"People don't usually come travelling in these parts of the woods late at night," I retort with a purr, taking another step, then another, all at once finding myself drawn to her, and entirely unable to look away.. Yes, there is something indescribably familiar about her face- the voluptuous curls of her hair, perhaps in the two beauty spots that adorn her pale skin, or the delicate little smile that she is clearly trying to hide from me. There is something there, a recollection that is just out of grasp- but what?
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Soren wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything that happened that day. To forget about the girl, about her strange fearlessness, about how odd he felt being in the presence of someone who wasn't afraid. And though Soren went back to killing, to draining the nymphs and the sprites and the pixies who danced at revels in the Great Forest- swaying their hips and biting their lips at him, a part of him was missing. He still loved the sound of their screams, of the hot sounds of the beating heart and the feeling of sticky, sweet blood trickling down his throat. But every day he found himself more and more conflicted. He couldn't put aside how oddly good it felt to be unfeared, couldn't keep the words that little angel had told him from ringing in his head like an ever chiming bell.
He hated her for it.
Some days, he would spend hours in his room, grating his nails into the desk to banish the notion of returning to the borders from his mind. But secretly he wondered if perhaps some small, mindless part of him was becoming 'nice'.
You see, Soren wanted to forget. He tried to forget the way the little angel had looked at him with utter compassion, to forget the strange things he was feeling and the soft melodious sounds of a heart unplagued with fear. He wanted to forget it all. And he almost did, too. Until one night he came across a strange girl in the middle of the Great Forest.
And suddenly, Soren remembered everything.
***
I had never intended to do anything other than kill that night. I came into the forest with one thought in mind and one alone- the urge to hunt, to decimate, and to sink my fangs into the first lonesome creature I caught wandering in the inky blackness of the night. It was a simple task really, it had never gone wrong before.
But I never anticipated coming across her that night. I suppose that is where it all went wrong.
The first thing I hear is a heartbeat; the soft, ardent throb that pulses out into the darkness against all the other beating hearts, beckoning me with its call of temptation. This one is strong. Yes, this shall be my prey tonight.
The forest is dark, lit only by the moon that simmers amorously above the tops of trees, spilling beams of white light that settle over half frozen lakes and the dancing figures of midnight revellers. It is a complex path, but I have walked these woods a hundred times over, I could make this trek blindfolded.
Dancing round the forest, past swaying birches and comically tall redwoods, I close in on the singular, continuous beat, my mouth watering at the thought of fresh blood, slick and warm sliding delightfully down my throat. The hunger grows in my stomach, scratching at my throat with its sole, devouring need. I have not fed for days, mostly from the unfortunate necessity of dealing with the politics of my palace, and a few rogue vampires who thought it might be funny to re-enact the red massacre on a slightly smaller scale. That and my dear brother, who in recent months has become the driving force of chaos throughout the walls of Sezeria.
Then there is my business with Fangorn. The alarming prevalence of missing people has certainly put a damper on my appetite, but no matter. I am here now, and I shall feed.
At first I catch glimpses of her through the gaps in the trees, shifting from shadow to shadow to tail her as she walks, throwing crumbs of a half eaten cake into the bushes- perhaps for the smaller Folk, though it is likely to be taken by rodents. There is an unnatural elegance about her, a delicate softness in the way she sways her way down the well worn track, humming a little to herself the beautiful notes of a bluebirds melody.
I should have thought it strange that I, a vampire, a creature known for their elegance and poise, seductive prowess and all manner of unearthly charms should happen to find a mortal creature so inexplicably appealing. Yet the fact remains as I follow her unheard through the towering shadows of bent and gnarled trees, that there is something about this creature that I simply cannot take my eyes off.
As far as hunting goes for a vampire the rules are simple: stick to the shadows, and do not let yourself be seen. Strike when your prey is weakest. Devour.
The rules have always been rather simple, though generations of flirting and fraudulence have twisted them quite grotesquely, turning hunting into a game of seduction and wild, midnight orgies while feasting on the honeyed blood of drugged and glamoured victims. Regardless of what the tales might say, I rarely indulged myself in such a revolting pleasure. I dance, and I kill, but sex is never a part of the bargain.
Yet watching this woman sway through the warm air, I suddenly feel compelled to throw all my hunting games out the window. All at once I don't feel hungry any more.
A breeze lifts up, trailing her crimson dress around her as it plays in the hands of the wind, swirling it around her like blood soaking through water. My heart pangs. There is a strange familiarity about this sight, like a long forgotten dream or vision, a word on the tip of my tongue that I can't quite place.
She looks so vulnerable out here alone, without the silver sword anchored to her waist I might have called her easy prey. Something beats inside me, a strange stirring in my heart, the urge to keep her safe for fear of what might become of her if I don't.
Then I do something stupid.
"You really shouldn't be out here alone,"
I don't know why I say it, perhaps on a whim, or a sudden distinctive urge to keep this curious little girl safe, but the sound of my voice startles her, sending her hand bolting for her sword. There are calluses on the tips of her fingers- a fighter it would seem, but then she surprises me. Instead of gripping her sword, her fingers flicker downwards, a silent spell murmurs on the tips of her lips as coils of flame shoot down from her palm, swirling into a revolving ball of fire that hovers inches above the ground, blazing and spitting like a snake. Narrowly, I peer at it from the gloom.
How curious, her flames are golden, I have rarely had the pleasure of seeing that before. In fact, I don't think I have ever seen golden flames- aside from the ones in my books. Just who is this woman?
The woman frantically scans the darkness before her, searching for me in the inky void that engulfs her, unable to see through the impenetrable blackness despite the faint source of light. Lazily, I shadow shift out from the trees, eager to get a closer look as I say with a surprising softness:
"Careful, I am not going to hurt you,"
Her sword whips out of its sheath, brandishing at the sound of my voice as I edge closer, pulling my hood lower over my face to hide the horns that protrude from the side of my head. It's obvious by the frantic pull and tug of her heart that she doesn't trust a word I am saying, but she doesn't seem adverse to me either, a tender sort of curiosity playing on her features, as though some small part of her wants to see this creature for herself. The thought alone makes me smile, somehow finding myself wanting to please this lonesome midnight creature.
Perhaps there is something wrong with me?
Slowly, my hands raised to quell her dissent, I step into the circle of light, listening to the rise and falls of ragged breathes in her throat and the quiver of her body as she holds her sword upright. Yet she doesn't seem scared.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I repeat, again finding myself swept by the sudden compulsion to subdue her anxieties, as though anxious to prove myself to this woman that I, the Prince of all vampires, am very much not a threat. The idea is almost laughable and yet, and yet, somehow, she finds it in herself to answer me.
"People don't usually scare the hell out of me on a dark night when they want to introduce themselves," she says with obvious suspicion, raising her sword a little more. Her voice is light, almost angelic, yet with a rustic teasing charm that makes me believe outside of wandering forests at the dead of night, she is not unfamiliar with the battleground of vicious mockery and charming teasing. But there is something familiar in this voice, a recognisable tune that I am certain I have heard before some long years ago. A little feeling sparks inside me. I draw myself up slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the expression of surprise playing on my face, though by the small smile that plays on her lips, I doubt that is the case.
No matter. Unconsciously, I take a small step forward.
"People don't usually come travelling in these parts of the woods late at night," I retort with a purr, taking another step, then another, all at once finding myself drawn to her, and entirely unable to look away.. Yes, there is something indescribably familiar about her face- the voluptuous curls of her hair, perhaps in the two beauty spots that adorn her pale skin, or the delicate little smile that she is clearly trying to hide from me. There is something there, a recollection that is just out of grasp- but what?
Soren wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything that happened that day. To forget about the girl, about her strange fearlessness, about how odd he felt being in the presence of someone who wasn't afraid. And though Soren went back to killing, to draining the nymphs and the sprites and the pixies who danced at revels in the Great Forest- swaying their hips and biting their lips at him, a part of him was missing. He still loved the sound of their screams, of the hot sounds of the beating heart and the feeling of sticky, sweet blood trickling down his throat. But every day he found himself more and more conflicted. He couldn't put aside how oddly good it felt to be unfeared, couldn't keep the words that little angel had told him from ringing in his head like an ever chiming bell.He hated her for it.Some days, he would spend hours in his room, grating his nails into the desk to banish the notion of returning to the borders from his mind. But secretly he wondered if perhaps some small, mindless part of him was becoming 'nice'.You see, Soren wanted to forget. He tried to forget the way the little angel had looked at him with utter compassion, to forget the strange things he was feeling and the soft melodious sounds of a heart unplagued with fear. He wanted to forget it all. And he almost did, too. Until one night he came across a strange girl in the middle of the Great Forest.And suddenly, Soren remembered everything.***I had never intended to do anything other than kill that night. I came into the forest with one thought in mind and one alone- the urge to hunt, to decimate, and to sink my fangs into the first lonesome creature I caught wandering in the inky blackness of the night. It was a simple task really, it had never gone wrong before.But I never anticipated coming across her that night. I suppose that is where it all went wrong.The first thing I hear is a heartbeat; the soft, ardent throb that pulses out into the darkness against all the other beating hearts, beckoning me with its call of temptation. This one is strong. Yes, this shall be my prey tonight.The forest is dark, lit only by the moon that simmers amorously above the tops of trees, spilling beams of white light that settle over half frozen lakes and the dancing figures of midnight revellers. It is a complex path, but I have walked these woods a hundred times over, I could make this trek blindfolded. Dancing round the forest, past swaying birches and comically tall redwoods, I close in on the singular, continuous beat, my mouth watering at the thought of fresh blood, slick and warm sliding delightfully down my throat. The hunger grows in my stomach, scratching at my throat with its sole, devouring need. I have not fed for days, mostly from the unfortunate necessity of dealing with the politics of my palace, and a few rogue vampires who thought it might be funny to re-enact the red massacre on a slightly smaller scale. That and my dear brother, who in recent months has become the driving force of chaos throughout the walls of Sezeria.Then there is my business with Fangorn. The alarming prevalence of missing people has certainly put a damper on my appetite, but no matter. I am here now, and I shall feed.At first I catch glimpses of her through the gaps in the trees, shifting from shadow to shadow to tail her as she walks, throwing crumbs of a half eaten cake into the bushes- perhaps for the smaller Folk, though it is likely to be taken by rodents. There is an unnatural elegance about her, a delicate softness in the way she sways her way down the well worn track, humming a little to herself the beautiful notes of a bluebirds melody.I should have thought it strange that I, a vampire, a creature known for their elegance and poise, seductive prowess and all manner of unearthly charms should happen to find a mortal creature so inexplicably appealing. Yet the fact remains as I follow her unheard through the towering shadows of bent and gnarled trees, that there is something about this creature that I simply cannot take my eyes off.As far as hunting goes for a vampire the rules are simple: stick to the shadows, and do not let yourself be seen. Strike when your prey is weakest. Devour.The rules have always been rather simple, though generations of flirting and fraudulence have twisted them quite grotesquely, turning hunting into a game of seduction and wild, midnight orgies while feasting on the honeyed blood of drugged and glamoured victims. Regardless of what the tales might say, I rarely indulged myself in such a revolting pleasure. I dance, and I kill, but sex is never a part of the bargain.Yet watching this woman sway through the warm air, I suddenly feel compelled to throw all my hunting games out the window. All at once I don't feel hungry any more.A breeze lifts up, trailing her crimson dress around her as it plays in the hands of the wind, swirling it around her like blood soaking through water. My heart pangs. There is a strange familiarity about this sight, like a long forgotten dream or vision, a word on the tip of my tongue that I can't quite place.She looks so vulnerable out here alone, without the silver sword anchored to her waist I might have called her easy prey. Something beats inside me, a strange stirring in my heart, the urge to keep her safe for fear of what might become of her if I don't.Then I do something stupid."You really shouldn't be out here alone,"I don't know why I say it, perhaps on a whim, or a sudden distinctive urge to keep this curious little girl safe, but the sound of my voice startles her, sending her hand bolting for her sword. There are calluses on the tips of her fingers- a fighter it would seem, but then she surprises me. Instead of gripping her sword, her fingers flicker downwards, a silent spell murmurs on the tips of her lips as coils of flame shoot down from her palm, swirling into a revolving ball of fire that hovers inches above the ground, blazing and spitting like a snake. Narrowly, I peer at it from the gloom.How curious, her flames are golden, I have rarely had the pleasure of seeing that before. In fact, I don't think I have ever seen golden flames- aside from the ones in my books. Just who is this woman?The woman frantically scans the darkness before her, searching for me in the inky void that engulfs her, unable to see through the impenetrable blackness despite the faint source of light. Lazily, I shadow shift out from the trees, eager to get a closer look as I say with a surprising softness:"Careful, I am not going to hurt you,"Her sword whips out of its sheath, brandishing at the sound of my voice as I edge closer, pulling my hood lower over my face to hide the horns that protrude from the side of my head. It's obvious by the frantic pull and tug of her heart that she doesn't trust a word I am saying, but she doesn't seem adverse to me either, a tender sort of curiosity playing on her features, as though some small part of her wants to see this creature for herself. The thought alone makes me smile, somehow finding myself wanting to please this lonesome midnight creature. Perhaps there is something wrong with me?Slowly, my hands raised to quell her dissent, I step into the circle of light, listening to the rise and falls of ragged breathes in her throat and the quiver of her body as she holds her sword upright. Yet she doesn't seem scared."I'm not going to hurt you," I repeat, again finding myself swept by the sudden compulsion to subdue her anxieties, as though anxious to prove myself to this woman that I, the Prince of all vampires, am very much not a threat. The idea is almost laughable and yet, and yet, somehow, she finds it in herself to answer me."People don't usually scare the hell out of me on a dark night when they want to introduce themselves," she says with obvious suspicion, raising her sword a little more. Her voice is light, almost angelic, yet with a rustic teasing charm that makes me believe outside of wandering forests at the dead of night, she is not unfamiliar with the battleground of vicious mockery and charming teasing. But there is something familiar in this voice, a recognisable tune that I am certain I have heard before some long years ago. A little feeling sparks inside me. I draw myself up slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the expression of surprise playing on my face, though by the small smile that plays on her lips, I doubt that is the case.No matter. Unconsciously, I take a small step forward."People don't usually come travelling in these parts of the woods late at night," I retort with a purr, taking another step, then another, all at once finding myself drawn to her, and entirely unable to look away.. Yes, there is something indescribably familiar about her face- the voluptuous curls of her hair, perhaps in the two beauty spots that adorn her pale skin, or the delicate little smile that she is clearly trying to hide from me. There is something there, a recollection that is just out of grasp- but what?
