Innocence & Roses

Kelantha

It was a somber night, with only a wisp of the moon revealed through the trees that moved overhead, rustling branches rubbing against one another amidst the fragrance of the enclosed little garden. Light spilled out through the open verandah doors, giving way to the feeble silhouette of a woman adorned entirely in white, standing in the doorway, half turned aside from her guests and with a single rose clasped in her pale fingers. She was a vision of loveliness, a face innocent and angelic, surrounded in a haven of gently glowing golden curls. My eye was drawn instinctively to her, following the natural curve of her graceful neck, the clarity of her eyes, the sound of her laughter as it rippled through the early twilight. She kept a steady watch over the little girl, whose similarly clad figure skipped along the steps that edged the patio, gathering roses from the bushes that grew nearby.

She could not have been more than five, her slender legs clothed in white stockings that arched up from tiny shoes fitted with a row of silver buttons. The likeness between mother and child was profound, not only in appearance but the clarity of their movements. Cumbersome and immature as they were, the little hands had the same fondness for growing things as they carefully plucked forth the blossoms, to be gathered in a bower in her arms. They were European, accents known to me during my travels. I watched from the shadows at the outer edge of the garden, a silent observer upon a room filled with laughter and gaiety, on the outskirts of which danced a little angel.

�Do not go too far,� admonished her mother, and was drawn from the doorway inside. Humming a melody that was entirely her own, the little girl danced from one bush to another. Leaving the majority of roses on the ornate metal table where fragments of afternoon tea still remained, she walked upon the grass. Something drew her to me, lingering in the lengthening darkness beside the gate. I knew the moment she beheld me standing there, one hand clasped around the topmost rail, for her step faltered. There was curiosity in her eyes as she beheld me, fascination lurking in the depths of her soul as she came forward, her head slightly tilted beneath the mass of ribbons that bound back her curls.

I did not speak to her, my hand falling from the gate as I opened it. Her soul listened to the urging of mine and she obeyed, coming out onto the cobbled street. It would have been natural to lay hand on her, to stroke her hair as I eased her suffering, and yet I could not compel myself to do such a thing. That which had been natural in days past now eluded me, to my own regret and despair. The humiliation I had suffered, having to take my mate�s wrist in mild admonishment, as I gazed upon the dead individual in my arms, still remained heavily upon me, and yet I could not compel my body to obey what my mind commanded. Instead, I found myself walking with her down the shadowed lane toward the park that lay beyond. Her step was far from reluctant, but willing�there was a sense of utter submission in her, almost a primal desire to be used.

We crossed beneath the flowering bower into the tranquility of the park and here I watched her play. There were still several roses clasped in her fingers, and she danced with them down the path. I followed in my gown of black, eyes burning as I beheld every movement with motherly fascination. I sensed when he drew near, felt the frustration brewing within him as he observed, turned as he came to me. Dracula looked first upon the child I had so prudently brought into the glimmering pools of faint light that illuminated the eerie surroundings, and then at me, his dark siren of the night. The child came laughing to us, skipping past, and one of his lean hands reached out as though to snatch her. Mine caught his wrist with so rapid a movement, I might have been her protector rather than her stalker, and the incredulous manner in which he looked at me then was powerful; he made no harsh movement in reprimand, merely demanded silently that I release him, and I did so with unabashed humility.

The little girl had stopped and was watching us, her head slightly tilted to one side. There was a hunger in her eyes as she beheld him, an eerie kind of understanding as he vanished into the darkness. By now, her absence had been noted and I could hear her mother�s frantic cries in the lane. I realized that my hands were trembling as I held one out to her, feeling the softness of her palm as it slipped into mine. She came with me trustingly as we retraced our steps, and as we came to the bend in the path that lead past their charming little house, I saw her mother, a ghost in the night, white lace fluttering around her as she turned toward us in expectation, then gave a cry of joyous relief and ran toward us with arms outstretched. I released my hold over the girl then, and she ran to meet her mother.

�Lucy,� chastised a soft voice stricken with unshed tears, �whatever possessed you? Mother was so worried about you!� She might have given the girl a shake had not her relief been so powerful, and instead rose to her feet to address me. �Thank you,� she said with a tremor, the street lamp illuminating a trace of moisture in her eyes. My hand lingered on the child�s golden curls for an instant, then was withdrawn as the others came near, her father and uncles. Someone mentioned me, but when they looked up, I was gone, vanished into the darkness, angry with myself for my weakness and distraught with what was happening to me. I was retaining my humanity, my sense of compassion, my understanding of human emotion and life. That relentless drive that he had instilled in me for survival was diminishing.

Something was happening to me, something I could not explain nor understand, or even at the time conceive, only that I returned to the hotel with the vision of the child and her roses imprinted upon my mind, an image that did not fade even with my husband�s return, when he unfurled his cape and cast it into the window seat, beheld me for a long moment, and then, wordlessly, held out his wrist.

>> on to next chapter

This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.