This book is supposed to help me
put my feelings into words. However, I
cannot imagine spontaneously writing down emotions, so I suppose I shall have
to start my story from the beginning.
My name is Aurora de Ruchelle, my given name in any case. I am known now as Aurora De Romanus, but I
shall get to the reason for that later.
I was born in the south of France, to me the loveliest place in the
world. The year was fifteen hundred and
sixty-seven when I had reached what was considered the beginning of a young
woman's life, the perfect marrying age--which at that time was around sixteen
years. I had been raised to be a
perfect lady and wife, being an only child, the only woman in a family of three
men. My father taught me the best he
knew how to be a lady, a good wife, and the perfect woman. I knew how, and still do, to cook, stitch,
work a farm practically on my own, I learned to obey a man's every
command. I was, according to my father
and brothers, the perfect woman. I
recall my oldest brother telling his wife at a family gathering to be more like
me. I was so involved with my
perfection that I very nearly became a mindless drone. Only my brother's constant drilling of
history, mathematics, literature, daily lessons in all the arts that kept me sane. My brother, whose name I have long since
forgotten, kept me sane and an intelligent woman beneath my perfect ladies'
facade. Keep in mind, in those days a
woman was not considered perfect unless she was a drone. So I suppose I should have thanked my
brother for helping me retain my imperfection.
Or perhaps I should curse him.
At any rate, let me continue.
By the winter of my sixteenth
year, I was married to a man, I believe his name was Antoine, and living in
Paris. His family name I have tried to
forget, as it is something utterly appalling to me now, no matter that it was
my own for a short time. We were
generally content, save the times he came home drunk, and shouted and beat me
or worse. Of course, being the perfect
woman, loving and supportive despite the situation, I did nothing about
this. I addressed him as 'sir' even
when he was in a stupor, for he would surely hit me otherwise, I obeyed his
every word as he threw dishes or even chairs across the room. I never even considered leaving him. It simply wasn't done. This was not England, where Henry VIII has
legalized divorce. I was stuck in a
marriage to a quite repulsive man, and this is where I gained many of the scars
that still remain on my body. I have
many scars, mainly on my back. But ask
me how often I remove my shirt in the presence of others. Oh, please excuse my sarcasm. This is supposed to be a telling of my
story. My history. Once again, I stray.
We stayed together for six
years, that waste of flesh and I.
Through all those years it never even occurred to me to rise against him
in any way. But one night, he simply
did not come home. I waited late into
the night, as any good wife should, but he did not come. Days passed, and I did not see or hear from
him. Finally I ventured from the house,
and upon the asking of friends and a few of his relatives, I discovered that he
had apparently run off with the daughter of a Countess, who was very rich. And very young. Antoine was certainly getting on in years, far older than I. I was twenty-two years of age at this time,
and the one he had left me for was not over sixteen. I sobbed nonstop for days, collapsed in a shivering heap in the
center of the floor. It was then that I
decided to completely abandon any hopes I had of becoming the perfect
woman. I became cold to anyone who
crossed my path, sometimes I was flat out rude. I was a free woman, free to live as I wanted, do as I pleased. I was away from the people who wanted me to
be perfect. I got a good job as a barmaid
in a local tavern, supported myself with a few coins to spare. I was miserable. I had no real purpose in life, not anymore. I even decided at one point to take my own
life. And I did, in a sense.
It happened one night in fifteen
hundred and seventy-four, near midnight.
I lay in my bed, half awake, and suddenly there he was. A vision in black tattered clothing of a
century ago, caked in dirt. His auburn
hair hung in mats to nearly his shoulders, deep brown eyes nearly the same
colour as my own. In an instant he was
by my bedside, bent over me. For a
moment it occurred to me that he was a mugger set on rape, but this idea was
quickly abandoned as I felt him bite down hard on my neck. I felt as though I was being drained of all
my strength, and I quickly realized that this was indeed the case. It lasted only a few moments, then he broke
his violent kiss, though I clung to him, seemingly immovable. He ripped his own wrist, causing it to
bleed, and held it over me.
"Do you want to live forever,
to have a purpose for all eternity?" he asked me, his voice quiet and
soft.
"...Yes," I answered
weakly, thinking him some kind of demonic savior. I would have a reason to live.
He let his blood drip into my
mouth, but I was only allowed a single swallow before he pulled away and
disappeared from my side. It was then
that I lost consciousness.
I must have slept for days, I
may even have appeared dead. I must
have appeared dead, for when I finally came to, less than half aware, I was
somewhere dark. Somewhere small, so
small I could barely move, and so very dark.
Pitch black. And absolutely
silent. I thought back, and the last
thing I remembered was his face, his angelic face, surrounded by that auburn
hair, those brown eyes so like my own.
It crossed my mind that perhaps I was dead, perhaps he had given me an
empty promise. This angered me to no
end. I was furious that he would allow
my hopes to raise so high, only to crush them into the ground. He had let me die, look at me now, I am in a
coffin, buried six feet under! In a
sudden fit of rage, I screamed with all my might, using a newfound strength in
my arms to break the wood of the coffin, using my fingernails like claws and
digging my way through the loose soil.
I was filthy, but I didn't care.
I felt my fingertips touch the fresh, cool night air, and this fueled me
all the more. I frantically clawed,
until I had pulled myself fully from the grave. I collapsed to the ground, my face touching the dirt.
When I looked up, I saw him there. The one with the angel's face, and next to
him a woman with silver hair. Her
clothes were also tattered, black robes draping over her slim shoulders.
"You left me for
dead," I said quietly through gritted teeth, cold eyes staring into those
of the boy.
"You wanted to live. You had to prove you could outwit
death. Now you are ready to take the
next step," he responded, calm and cool.
"Next step?"
Without another word he took my
hand and helped me to my feet, the silver-haired woman urging me on. He led me
down into what I would have thought to be a tomb, since this was a cemetery,
Les Innocents to be exact. But it was
an expansive room at the base of that crude staircase, the one surrounded by
narrow walls of dirt. When I entered
the room behind the boy and woman, by the light of the torches in the walls I
noticed with a start that the walls themselves were made of human bones, mainly
skulls. This did not horrify me, as I
got the vague sense that it should, but fascinated me in some odd way.
Suddenly I felt very idiotic as
I quickly ran through the recent events in my head. That boy had come into my room to drink my blood, and he
had. He was a vampire! I suddenly felt embarrassed that I had not
realized it sooner.
"You are correct in your
assumptions," the silver-haired woman said as though reading my mind. "And soon you will become like us, if
you prove yourself worthy."
"..." We stood now in the center of the room, and
I noticed there were others, figures of all ages and physical types, all
dressed in tattered rags, the black robes over their shoulders. They closed in around me, and I say the
auburn-haired boy disappear behind the group.
I watched in slight awe as the others, vampires as well, which they
proved by their pale skin and their fangs as they laughed, joined arms and
spread into a circle. They danced in
that circle, the silver-haired woman joining them, leaving me alone in the
center.
One of them stepped forward,
holding a torch, which he swung violently in my direction. I held my ground, feeling the heat on my
face and loving it, even as it near scalded me. I watched in elation as the man who held the torch lit other
torches all around a large stone slab that appeared to be a table. The circle broke, and there he was again,
that angelic face. He watched me
silently, and I returned his cold gaze.
Then the dancing ceased, and all but the one that held the torch fell to
their knees, raising their hands over their heads, wailing terribly in a
preternatural tone that pierced deep into my sound, their song of Satanic
praise near painful.
"Are you ready to become
one of us? To serve Satan, to take the
lives of murderous and innocent alike, excepting those wearing a symbol of God
somewhere on their person? To never
take lives mercifully, to never enter a church or other holy ground? To never make another without the coven
leader's permission? To never reveal
your name to mortals you do not plan to kill?
Aurora are you prepared to do these things?" the boy asked me, speaking
just loudly enough for me and the others to hear above the cries.
"I am," I answered
simply, forcefully.
The one that held the torch
placed it in a slot in the wall, and violently, roughly, he picked me up and
threw me onto the stone table. I winced
as I hit the cold stone, attempting to rise but being unable, for the man's
hand now rested powerfully against my chest, holding me fast to the table.
The angelic boy stepped to me
and I froze, the one that held me moving away to cry and wail with the
others. The boy with the angel's face
stayed close, and bent over me, ripping his fangs violently into the flesh of
my neck. I clung desperately to him as
he drank from me, and I thought I heard one of the others beating a drum. Only as he released me and he began to rip
my clothes did realize that the drum
was my heart, beating loudly in my ears.
I let him remove the majority of my clothing, struggling to stay still
and silent and not writhe in pleasure as he took my hand and bit into my
wrist. The feeling of having my life
drained from me is indescribable. He
was rough with me, even violent, but I loved it. He released my wrist after only a moment, then he put to use the
fact that he had stripped me, and he sank his fangs forcefully into my side,
just above my hips. I could not help
but cry out, gripping his clothes in an attempt to pull him closer to me, but
he was immovable. I was beginning to
feel weak, but once again he pulled away, this time biting and drawing the
blood from my right thigh. I could no
longer hold onto him I was so weak, and my arms slipped limply from him,
dropping to the stone at my sides. He
pulled away from me, and I struggled to stay awake. I would not lose consciousness, I would not give up now.
I watched dazedly as the
silver-haired woman brought a large bowl with a spout. She gave it to the boy, and he took it in
one hand. With his other he opened my
mouth, tilting my head back. He then
slowly began to pour the contents of the bowl into my mouth and down my throat,
and I realized without much of a shock that it was blood. He then poured faster than I could swallow,
and the blood began to run out of my mouth, over my cheeks and down my bare
chest. When I had swallowed all I could
of the blood, the boy ripped his own wrist and let me drink a few mouthfuls of
his. His was powerful blood, I could
tell. It was thick, and slightly sweet,
the most satisfying taste I have ever had the extreme pleasure of
experiencing. I shuddered as he pulled
away, suddenly having a cold chill despite the heat from the torches
surrounding me.
"She is your sister!"
the boy exclaimed, turning to face the wailing congregation, their arms still
above their heads as their bodies convulsed wildly. "Let us see if she is worthy of joining our family for
eternity!"
Two black robed men came from
the circle and lifted me by my arms and ankles. I laughed, near insane with the pleasure of the touches I had
shared with the leader, and the rush I had from the blood. They carried me up more crudely cut steps,
then slid me feet first into a hole cut in the wall. It reminded me of the grave as they sealed my inside with mortar
and stone near my head, then I heard a metal gate slammed and locked outside. My laughter finally subsided, but I could still
hear their praise, their preternatural song.
After a long while even those sounds came to and end, but by then I no
longer cared.
A terrible pain had torn its way
into my stomach, and did not subside for hours, only to return hours
later. I was no longer laughing because
of the pain it caused, but I still was euphoric over my current situation. I became suddenly aware of filth leaving my
body, all the putrid fluids I had to deal with so regularly as a mortal, and of
a new pain, no longer the tearing straight through my sides and stomach, but a
deep throbbing deep in my gut and heart.
I winced and with a bit of difficulty turned onto my left side, my arms
clutching my stomach. I did not know
this new pain, but it ran straight through me, as though something was pulling
at my veins, tugging fiercely at my heart and draining all the blood that I had
consumed previously. I tried to think
things through calmly, to discover why I felt this way. However, I did not have time to think long,
for soon a feeling of utter exhaustion washed over me, and I once again lost
consciousness. The death sleep, as I
know it now, had taken me.
When I awoke, I could hear
people outside my own private hole speaking, but it was very faint, and I
couldn't make out the words. All I
could concentrate on was the same pain, pulling at every single part of my body
and soul, begging for something, though I did not know what. As I began to think once again, I
realized. What they had done to me made
me as they were, now and for all eternity.
I was truly a vampire now, and I would need blood. Why, then, had they locked me in this God
forsaken hole? I became angry with them
once again, for preventing me from doing the very thing they knew that I would
have to do, or perish among this soil and tar.
Once again with fingernails like claws I dug through the soil,
scratching more furiously at the mortar.
When I could not remove it, I simply braced myself, and punched straight
through it with a soft grunt of concentration.
Now the bars. I grabbed hold of
two of the vertical bars, made of solid iron, and, pulling with all my might, I
twisted them and they groaned as they created a hole just large enough to pass
through. Squirming because of the tight
space, I managed to pull myself free and land with a quiet thud to the dirt
floor below.
All eyes of the others were on
me as I calmly glanced from face to face, imprinting each on my memory. I even saw him, the angelic boy, and for the
first time I knew his name. He said not
a word, but still he told me.
Armand. His name was Armand, and
the silver-haired woman Allesandra. I
never learned the others' names, as we from that day forth only referred to
each other as "brother" or "sister." I waited not for any kind of permission from
Armand, I had been right in assuming that he was the leader of this coven, I
simply ran up those crude, steep and narrow steps and out into the cold air
that blew through Les Innocents. None
of them chased me, so apparently they knew I meant to come back. I merely wanted to get a good look at this
immortal body before it was covered in black robes, this womanly figure hidden
forever beneath folds and folds of tattered material.
I ran, away and away from the
cemetery, careful to avoid the Places of Light. Places of Light, where had that idea come from? When had a simple street dotted with high
lamps become a Place of Light? I realized
with a start that Armand had been there, outside my little makeshift prison,
explaining to me the laws and traditions of those who were now my people. Avoid the Places of Light, do not be seen if
you must leave for any period of time, never stray too far from your crypt lest
you be captured by the sun and turned to ashes by its shining rays.