Part III: Retrospection

(painting by William Adolphe Bouguereau)


How could I go back to bed after this? I sat in front of the fire and watched the dancing flames. They reminded me of the last time Clainia was in this room, it feels like ages ago, sitting in front of the fire making the flames dance to the tune I was singing. The flames changed direction before my eyes, rising in the high tones and falling in the low ones. It was wonderful to watch, Clainia could do everything for a few laughs. I began singing the song in a low voice;

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
remember me to the one who lives there,
he once was a true love of mine....."

I was startled to feel  the tears trickling down my cheeks just as I was startled to see my best friend turn into my worst enemy.

"How did it come to this?"

I weapt for all the games we played in the forest, for the stories we told one another in front of the fire, for the secrets she revealed to me, for our songs in the lake, for the promise we gave one another to always be friends no matter what....

(painting by Sir John Everette Millais)

Then one morning Richard came to the castle, the distant cousin we hadn't seen for such a long time. He was a man now, but still his eyes sparkled like when he was five.

He was such a challenge and we were so bored, with nothing new to play. I wanted him for myself and so did Clainia but who would he choose?

"Of course, Clainia if you start your potion- making and you spell-casting then of course he will choose you..."

"I would not do such thing if you don't want me to......but you will lose either way."

"No, he'll pick me..."

"Because of your title and estate and your father's power, isn't that a kind of magic?"

"What would you have me do? Deny my father and my privileges to have Richard.....be real!"

"We could switch places...." she whispered

"What are you talking about....switch places...how?"

"Well you become me and I become you. We will see how he treats us and then we will decide who gets him..." she said with a smile "I can do it, with the right herb that is....well? Don't tell me you are afraid..."

"Do I have to wear your rags?"

"Rags, shoes and all! For a moon." she said.

"A MONTH!!! A month is a long time don't you think? I..."

"It takes a moon for the effects of the potion to wear off..."

I thought about it for a moment but I could tell by the way she looked at me that she knew I wouldn't refuse, and she was right, this was a new game, a game I had never played before..

"All right but I you need to wash all your clothes and your hair properly and brush it, and cut your nails and...."

"You can do all that when you are inside me..."

"And what will YOU do?" I asked with a crooked smile.

"We'll see....We'll have to go herb hunting now, I need a fortnight to prepare the brew..."

(painting by John William Waterhouse)

And so she had and our bodies were switched. A wicked game it was, one we were not ready to play...

( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)

Part II: Parley

(Art by Angie Mcleod)

"You shouldn't have come here....GUARDS!" I shouted.

"I am here to talk, there is noone outside to come to your rescue.."

"What have you done?"

"I gave them some well-deserved rest...Now get dressed!" she said and threw the white night gown on my feet. My hands trembled as I pulled the fabric over my head, I didn't know if I was feeling more fear than anger.

I walked to the fireplace and threw a log into the fire.

"When are you going to stop hunting me?" she asked with a pained expression on her face.
"When you are dead." I answered without meeting her gaze.
"I didn't kill him." she said

"I saw him dead. I saw him with my own eyes."

"I know you did, but our eyes do not always tell us the truth."

"I know what I saw..." I snapped

"Yes but do you know what you did that night, what really happened before you found him dead in the morning?"

I closed my eyes to hide my guilt and shame but the dancing flames behind my lids didn't grant me refuge. The Witching hour. I had agreed to it, I had even demanded it and now I could not hide from it.

My head felt heavy on my shoulders I let it fall.

"Do you want to know?" I heard her whisper in my ear and  turned around in panic.

She was standing right behind me, the same height as mine, her red hair swimming around her face with a life of its own, she had magic to her very bones.

"Why don't I remember then?"
"Because you chose not to.."

"You betrayed me, you never cared.." I complained.

 She shook her head in frustration, I caught glimpses of green as her eyes moved in front of the flames.

"I need a moon's time to rest and then you will see Richard again. Maybe he can explain better than I."

I was stunned by her words and said nothing. She turned her back on me and started to walk to the door.

"A moon's time!" she shouted  and was gone.

( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)

Part I: Release

"RELEASE!!!!!!!!" I shouted.

The dark rain of arrows filled the dull sky and fell full of anger on the small, flaming village below my feet. Random screams, bodies collapsing like puppets whose strings were cut without consent, more screaming..

"Release!!!!" I shouted but knew they weren't waiting for my order this time.

Kicking the steed under me, I galloped downhill. I had to make sure that she was dead, that there was noone alive to help her escape, she had to burn and this time I would make sure that she died a very permanent death.

The witch. She, who had a whole village under her spell, a village in my realm, under my control, living in my land.

"FIND HER!" I shouted and tried to ignore the frenzy around me. People were running trying to put out the flames with buckets of water.

"WHERE IS THE WITCH? Bring her to me or you won't see the break of dawn, I swear!"

And then it started to rain..out of nowhere the skies opened and drowned my flames into nothing but mud.

"CLAINIA! I KNOW THIS IS YOUR DOING!!! YOU CAN SAVE THEIR HOUSES BUT YOU CAN'T SAVE THEM.."

Three steps later I was soaked to the bone. My dress stuck on me like a tourniquet, the air wrapped my long hair around my neck like a manacle but I felt no fear.

"IS THIS THE BEST YOU CAN DO?...KILL THEM ALL!!!!"

"I am here.." her small voice hit my ears like an arrow. "I am here Lady Eleanor, let them be..."she whispered to me.

Lifting my hem from the mud I moved forwards trying to make out her shape but I could see nothing through the rain.

"Make it stop.." I ordered her and though no sound came out of my mouth the rain was gone as suddenly as it had come.

She was standing in front of me, so young and beautiful, covered in nothing but rags, yet could feel the power emanating from her slender body.

"Why did you kill him?" I whispered "You didn't have to kill him...Why did you do it?"

"I didn't." Her voice rang in my ear but her lips did not move.

"He had chosen me. That's why you did it. You couldn't bare the thought that he had chosen me over you, despite your evil tricks...I loved him."

"He is not dead...yet." she sang

"Perhaps not...but you are. BURN HER!" I ordered.

My men lifted her up like a hollow log and tied her up at the ancient Poplar tree. She said no word but she didn't have to; her green eyes could eat me whole.

Soon the flames matched her hair and still she said nothing.

"I shall see you soon." she whispered in my ear and fear washed over me.

 I grabbed a sword from the ground and ran inside the flames aiming at her heart. The steel rang as it hit the burning bark of the tree and my skirts caught fire. Men with wet blankets threw me in the mud and though the flames were gone my heart was turning to ashes as I knew that she was gone once more.

  (Painting by Edmund Blair Leighton)

The stone walls of the castle rose like a prison around me and I collapsed on my father's chair. I could still smell the fire in my hands hinding my face inside them. I felt nothing but despair.
Everyone has gone leaving me all alone.

My clothes fell on the ground and I felt the hot water on my skin, the cloth rubbing my arms but grief had me by the throat and I couldn't breathe. My head sank in the warm pillow, my bones relaxed under the warm covers and I drifted off to sleep only to be hunted down by dreams of her.

She was kneeling down before me over a small bush with tiny white blossoms.

"Take it, it will help you sleep" she said.
"How do you know I need to sleep?" I asked her narrowing my eyes with suspicion.
"Because I am the one who haunts you when you sleep my sweet Lady Eleanor." she said and touched my cheek with her fingertips.

"Why don't you release me?" I said begging her with my eyes, "You got what you wanted, now let me be.."

"Release...yes, well... I cannot do that yet you see, not yet."

"Why?" I demanded.

Then the air changed. The forest around us was losing its colour, the trees started to melt and black rocks rose in their place, the white blossoms turned into thorns, wrapping their needles around my wrists and ankles. Blood trickled in the dirt as the thorns reached the bone.

"NO!" I shouted in agony "NO, NO, RELEASE ME!"

"RELEASE...." my eyes opened wide only to behold the darkness of my chamber. I felt the hot tears trickling down my cheeks, and turned to the bedside table for the candle.

"Don't cry Eleanor, it was only a dream..."

She was standing right over me.

"Clainia" I exhaled in terror.



( Two women, two parallel stories, read Clainia's side of the story at matiasmeni.blogspot.com in her own tongue (or in google translation) or just click on the title of this post to go directly there. Lady Eleanor's side of the story will continue here.)

All the things they left unsaid.

(painting by Jean Francois de Troy)

Despite the love, the kind words,
his promises, his lies,
I keep getting lost in thoughts
that sting me like Autumn flies.

When was the last time he bathed...in liquid,
when did he last take off that wig,
last night's dinner I can still see under his nails,
chicken with sweet caramelised fig.

It's not that I bathe all that often,
once a fortnight, twice... sometimes,
but he stinks like a wild boar,
what have I done to edure such crimes....

I want to shout...
"Oh have a bath",
"Get your figgy hand off me",
I'd rather take the dog to bed",
"I'd rather bed the queen herself!"...

I smile and pull back to avoid the stench
I wish his hand I could forcefully wrench,
For the love of God I need some air,
such torment is just not fair.

9 days

Day 1

After a long, treacherous journey I arrived in Stuttgart and went straight to the glass palace where I was supposed to spend the night. Cold beer and warm food, satisfied me fully and I rested well.
The King and his brother invited me to breakfast in the open gardens of the city and under a glorious sun I explained the purpose of my visit. She had been sighted not many days ago and rumours had it that she had fled to Zurich. I intended to find her at all costs.

Day 2

Switzerland was darker and its roads less inviting in comparison with the large carriageways of Germany. I arrived in Zurich in mid-afternoon and ran to the river where I knew she would be hiding. I ran to the boats but the boatman was gone which I found very peculiar.
I lay under the statue of the deer to gather my strength feeling all dark inside. Soon afterwards my men recovered the body of the poor boatman under the bridge. The man's insides were spilled in the water.
"Basel, to Basel..." he muttered just before his last breath escaped his lungs, and so to Basel I fled.

The King welcomed my to his quarters at the Rathaus, where Knights of old found refuge in days past. I walked along the river and among the beautiful buildings that littered the river banks but there was no sight of her or her victims, no sight of evil, only a cold breeze coming from the river sending its ripples to my feet. She had escaped to France, most likely Paris, so I decided not to linger another moment.

Crossing the border to France was not an easy business mainly due to my poor French and the fact that the gate master refused to use a different tongue though I had the feeling that he understood me perfectly.

Eventually, the night found me in French soil and in the first inn I came across right after the border.

My poor Frech barely allowed me to order dinner, I just said 'oui' to most of my landlady's questions.

The white plate was immediately filled with red blood as soon as my knife and fork pierced the surface of my steak, perhaps the lady had thought I was a vampire and interested in consuming raw flesh. I pushed the plate away disgusted and pained. I was indeed very hungry. The lady took the plate rudely away, I barely had the chance to mutter something about soup.

"Cassoulet" she muttered and threw a steaming bowl of floating white, meaty things in front of me. A large ladle protruded from the bowl whose brown liquid overflowed. I couldn't bring myself to taste this horrid looking concotion.

I spent the night struggling to keep the filthy blankets as far away from my skin as possible. I was certain that my horse had a better fate than me that night.

Day 3

The Kingdom of Luxemburg turned out to be a haven for my tortured body. I decided to spent the night there, one last night before I enter the city of Paris and meet my fate.
Anna and Jean the two blessed housekeepers took excellent care of me and my men and managed to vanguish my hunger with a superb duck that Jean had prepered just for us. Kind Anna tried to explain to me that Cassoulet is a very good traditional dish and that I was misfortuned enough to run into a bad cook. I wish I had more time at their home to give the dish a second try.
The language was no barrier here where the kindness of these hospitable people was a tongue on its own. A little bit of English, some Spanish, a little German and a kind heart spoke volumes of these fine people.
The heavenly smells made our mouths water. These kind people did their best to provide us with the best accomodation possible and I rewarded them generously.
I took the time to roam the glorious streets of Luxemburg feeling nothing but awe and envy for this jewel of a city.  The bells were ringing, and square after square opened before me like magic before my feet led me to the thick forest that enveloped the city in its fregrant embrace. The city gave me strenght and courage for my gruesome task that lay ahead and the flowers falling at my feet, like a blessing bid me farewell.
I would gladly exchange the land of my forefathers to dwell in this place, how I wished again and again that I could stay just a little longer but Paris awaited and with it a terrible doom.

Day 4

I knew Paris was bad news for me the moment I stepped my foot down. I was not welcomed here. The people addressed me like they had dung under their noses and dung is all I smelt in this vast city.
I found a place to stay and waited for 45 minutes just to be able to get my keys to my door from the indifferent housekeeper who told me I had to pay 25 gold pieces just to get my towels renewed the next day. My horse had to stay on the road and there was noone to take care of it. My window overlooked a pile of rubbish and manure and I was the only one of the tenants who seemed to be disturbed by this but I had found a place to stay for me and my two companions so I kept quiet. My plan was to stay in the city for three days and finish the deed I had set out to perform.
I began my search of the area around the centre of the city where at 5 o'clock in the afternoon I was attacked by a coloured prostitute inside a carriage who for no reason threw a bucket of soap on my face and cursed my soul in rapid French. I decided to move forward and pay no attention to the poor woman who for some reason I cannot fathom felt threatened by my presence. And so I moved nearer to the centre of the city where I began to look for her trail of victims if there were any.

I proceeded to the Hotel des Invalides because I thought that this would be the ideal place for her to get food and I was right. Five open coffins lay open in the church of Saint-Louis, being dead less than three days. Their throats were opened and their guts ripped. I tried to find a person to talk to about this and to warn them about her presence but noone seemed willing to put the language barrier aside.
I wept for these men and for all the people who were going to meet this fate but there was nothing more I could do.
At nightfall I went for a meal of dirty glasses and absurdly expensive trash and went to bed feeling exhausted and helpless.

Day 5

                       (Digital Art by Magrad)

On the fifth day I left my companions at the inn for a well-deserved rest and visited Montmatre. The area was filled with decadent cabarets, drunks and whores, an ideal place for a Succubus to hide and seek food. It seemed that my prey had Paris in mind all along and so didn't linger to my other destinations. I only had a small painting of her to guide my search but I knew she was a shape shifter and extremely good at the art of deception, but I was going to take my chances. I couldn't go back home empty handed. I went inside the first cabaret I saw and took my diary out to write a few more words. By the time I had finished my sentence I saw a stunning woman stabbing me with her violet eyes. She was the most beautiful creatue I have ever seen, so angelic, so pure. I know I am wasting precious time with her but she is the one woman I have to meet. I will order another drink and one for her if she is willing to drink with me..

Day 6    Louvre Meat

(painting by Rembrandt)

He travelled far and wide to find me and that is so flattering. He was a very flattering man. I usually don't enjoy seducing men and killing them afterwards but he was really worth all the trouble I took, and this diary...ah I love diaries! Never kept one but always loved them. I have decided to finish wtiting this journey for him. After all there are only four days left to complete it. I see that he has written nothing about who he was and what he did. As far as he told me his name was Theodore and he came all the way from the Balkans. He was after me ever since I paid a visit to his village a few months ago and though I remember nothing of it, which means it was nothing special, he seemed to be holding a grudge for everything that took place. Some people cannot let go...

I let him have me as much as he liked, I gave him pleasure, but I am what I am and so I broke his neck and bled him dry. Then I tore him open and ate, because this is what I do. I hope the future readers of this diary don't think badly of me. This is what life after death turned out to be for me. But I'd rather have this than nothing at all...

Anyway, I let his body there and went out to get some fresh air. His people will claim him and take him home whereas I might as well go on with my journey.

Paris has a certain kind of air that is devoid of flowers and sweet smells, it's all meat!

That is why I go to the Louvre every day.

I like to see the people of the museum look at the tourists with disgust, like flies that just never go away. They are tired of them, yet there is nothing they can do but tolerate them with as little affection as possible.

 Their noses looking up at the ceiling, the women are the worst but it's the men I am most interested in. I know people think that I am a threat to the tourists but I feel nothing more than pity for them. Baking under the sun, women with stollers, small children, old men and women, waiting for hours and hours just because the people in charge are not interested enough to open another ticket desk. Tourists are mistreated as it is, it is the others that I take home with me. You'd be surprised how many languages they speak when they are in trouble!

Day 7  The Versailles massacre

I could have visited the Palace in the dead of night but I like the smell of many people in enclosed spaces and I was feeling lonely. A girl like me cannot hold friends for long and I like to have some company around me.
 So I decided to wait outside with the crowd. It was 10 o' clock in the morning and there were about 700 people queuing in a neat file all waiting to enter a very small door in the distance to get their tickets. Two hours later and the line hadn't moved much. More people had come and more were coming. An Asian lady behind me with a baby in a stroller went to the man at the gate, more than 100 metres away and told him that her baby was baking in the sun and asked for permission to enter. The man's profile frowned and he aswered something in French pointing to the queue where I was standing. Now that is the kind of man I usually invite to dinner.

I know what they say about the women of my kind; the sun is a killer and we roast on the spot. Hell! I wish that were true. The only thing that sun does to me is get on my nerves, so after 2 hours of waiting with my fellow tourists, I left...but I didn't go too far -if you know what I mean!-

I know that you are waiting for all he gruesome details of my feeding but I will leave some things to your imagination. What I will say however is that the King's bed was not as comfortable as I thought nor as large. The man at the entrance was found the next morning swimming with the fishes in the beautiful gardens of the palace.

Day 8   Brussels

Nourishement aplenty, more beautiful than ever but still I was happy to leave Paris. All this white dirt around every single momument worth visiting went straight into my eyes with the slightest of breezes.
Ladies covered in dirt, shoes losing their colour though nobody seemed to care.
 I still don't see why the French haven't discovered gravel yet. With that mystery in mind I packed my bags and called for a carriage. Brussels is my next stop.

This is where I spent my one day in Brussels. The Grand Place is truly grand and so were the people around me. I felt kind of sad because the next day I was bound to return to my castle and stay there to rest for a while but I managed to relax in this beautiful place and chose not to eat because I was still heavy from the previous night.
In one of my afternoon strolls I visited the local hospital, I think I was attracted by the smell of it. This particular hospital was very clean and tidy and there was a lady doctor in charge who at that particular time was alleviating a young woman's pain. The doctor spoke softly and gave the woman medicine which helped her immediately. I became rather fond of the doctor and kept my distance.


Day 9      Rapeseed

   (painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner)

It is here in Cologne on the banks of the Rhine that I will part with this diary for ever. Firstly because this is my last stop before I go home and secondly because this turned out to be a fine city indeed. Crispy clean with friendly people and good food for those interested in such things. I wish I could stay here another day but I run on a tight schedule and home calls.
Very rarely indeed do I get the chance to roam the world  and every time I do I discover that it has changed and I have to discover all the familiar places once again. May this diary be witness to all that happened in these last 9 days and deter people from ever coming after me again.

It's the rapeseeds that always welcome me home. Yellow is the colour of sleep that I crave most of all right now. I am tired and homesick and full of blood, I am content.
Here's to Theodore who inspired me to write, may he rest in peace, I know inside me he already does!
My castle is not far from here, surrounded by two small rivers which like small water snakes coil around it to their cool embrace. I love its stone bridge than connects it to the rest of the world, its small courtyards and all its possessions which I have collected over the centuries. I shall not say more of it because I do not wish to temp the reader into finding it or into claiming what is mine.

This is the end of this journey and I wish you all farewell.

With unsatiable hunger for your flesh,

AlithiaPes

Hunted

(painting by Dean Mcdowell)


This was the 19th day she was on the run and she had ran out of hiding places. Everything was soaked in light and there was no place dark enough for her. There was always some crack on the window pane, a gaping door that vomited light and there was the smell.

Light had a smell of its own.

 Dust, human rubbish being cooked in the afternoon heat, sweat, dog shit, water turning to steam the moment it hits the pavement. The horrifying smell of light, that promise of death was tormenting her more than light itself.
"Have to leave this place, have to leave.." she muttered during the hours of unrestful slumber but the nights were too short and feeding took too long. She knew that if she didn't find a way to leave the city, people would start to notice, but she was too helpless and afraid to care. Yet it was night time once again.

She didn't have to see them to know that they were there, hiding as well inside this broken house. Starving immigrants who came back at sundown to count their few coins they had got from wiping windows all day, some were already drank others fast asleep.

Fast food.

The smell of light snuck inside her mouth with the first embrace, her eyes opened wide but she couldn't stop, not when the blood was already clogging her throat. She cornered them, sealed their mouth with her hand and bled them dry. The sleeping ones she tried not to wake. She slipped under their filthy covers and wrapped her cold hands around their waists, full of love and care. They turned around in alarm only to relax under her spellbinding stare. Death found them with the frown of confusion stamped on their starved faces.

 By dawn the house was full of corpses and in flames, another hiding place burned to the ground
The first light hunts her down again and she runs like a bullet looking for the next place to hide.
Around the corner and the sun  hits her straight in the face, her skin fries, her lips melt, her eyes blur. Another turn, a little shade, a basement door.
 She kicks it open,  jumps inside and collapses on the floor.

A myth. ( i.e. a story that no one believes in anymore)

(photo by Julie Fain)

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when dragons were aplenty, there lived a girl, a very pretty girl, loved by many but who desired none.
She spent her days and nights in the forest outside her village, picking herbs, blossoms and shoots and using them to make curious, little potions which then she used on plants and animals to see their effects.
Some flowers bloomed before their time, others died before seeing the rising sun, animals grew wings and flew away, while others grew old and died. She kept the potions in small glass vials in the hidden pockets of her skirts, she made labels made of leaves to know which is which and she never let them out of her sight.
She was a clever, little girl with an everlasting talent for concotions and magic brews, a little witch, that was what she was.
Time flew, her beauty grew and so did her collections of tiny vials. Soon she could not carry them all at once
and began to look for a secret place to hide them, a cave perhaps.
Yet, such  a talent cannot stay obscure, especially in a tiny village like hers, the village people started to talk.
So she found no other way but to leave her tiny house in the tiny village and make her living elsewhere.
All the village lads tried to change her mind. They offered her jewels, marriage and fancy fabrics, they begged and they wept, they made promises of travels to new lands but she never yielded. She left in the dead of night, into her mighty forest she went, where all her weapons grew. As she happily skipped around the trees her tiny vials made a happy, high-pitched sound which echoed miles away from where she was but she cared not, she felt home already.
The rising sun found her under a tall pine tree which stood right next to the mouth of a cave. When she woke up the sun was high up in the sky which caused her skin to be all itchy and red. She had a nasty sun-burn.
Into the cave she ran and there in the shade she took all her bottles out, one by one until she found the right one. A few drops and the angry burn was gone, her skin was all soft and cool, the magic brew had done its wonders once again.
And so it was that the village girl had found a new place to dwell and was happy indeed because she neither knew nor she cared that the cave was the house of someone else far stronger than her.
After a fortnight the dragon returned to his lair, where generations of dragons before him had called it home.
He came back in the middle of the night and found the pretty girl sleeping on a bed made of leaves.
Without making any noise, he placed his newly found treasures at the very back on the cave and spent the night scrutinizing the girl and the dozens of glass vials stacked in a single file on the floor.
He uncorked them all, some he smelt, others he used on his scaly skin, by dawn he knew them all and the girl as well.
The girl woke up with a start, her face near the dragon's nose, his big green eyes opened wide and the warm masculine voice sounded wisely.
"Welcome pretty girl to my home. I'll call you Maya and you'll be mine. " 
The dragon's voice like a lover's song, touched her once closed heart. You see  dragons have a magic of their own, far more cunning than all the potions she brewed together. The girl fell for the dragon right then and there. She fell so deep, her real name was erased from memory, so the story goes, she was only Maya, the dragon girl.
And so time flew again and Maya was a girl no more.

(photo by Kerembeyit)


A dragon flier, a lover, a dragon witch, he had captured her heart, she had yielded within. Together fresh battles they won, new treasures they took, new places they explored and still time flew and a grown woman she soon was.
The dragon left her alone from time to time, in the cave she stayed, her potions she brew until one day, one very unfortunate day, a black steed came to rest outside the mouth of the cave, its rider all wounded and half dead lay on the steed's back still. She took him inside and made him all well, night after night he rested on her bed.
On the seventh night, the man's eyes opened and Maya was there, many nights followed and Maya slipped inside the bed.
A month later the man rode his horse at last, he asked her to come with him but she said that she couldn't. The man rode away but the dragon came back and he saw from the start Maya's change of heart.
Maya ran but not far enough the dragon followed. The dragon's angry breath burned her black silky hair and in the middle of her scream the dragon swallowed her whole!

And here the story ends, well not exactly but there is nothing much to tell. The dragon carried her within, close to his heart, two heart beats one inside the other. He made sure he fed regularly so that she could eat but never a herb of a weed, her weapons he was afraid to give. She cried and begged for the dragon to let her out but his vengeance lasted until her very last breath was out. Only then did the dragon cut his belly open and pulled her dead body out.
Woman and dragon lay together in the cave and were soon dead. I found their bones and their hidden treasures along with Maya's vials just like my husband had said. He was the wounded rider on the black steed and he was the only one in the story who lived happily ever after before he too, one day, dropped dead.

Fledgeling

   First he runs his lips over my powdered flesh,  lavander and cinnamon, lilies and honeysuckle. He sighs.

 Then his mouth opens and rests upon the vein, his tongue follows the throbbing of my heart,

I feel his lashes move over my skin, his eyes close. He waits.
The anticipation makes my heart race and he knows it so he lingers. Cool breeze runs through my hair making me shiver.
I feel his teeth pressing my skin, like butter it parts and heat comes out. He's forcing my blood inside him and my eye-lids drop.
I am all alone in the burning heat, my knees go weak but I don't mind. I know he won't let me fall.

His lips force my mouth to open. He cradles me in his arms and places me on the ground.

I take his head in my hand and push it to the side. My mouth opens and I stab his flesh with pearly teeth.

I wish I was more sentimental.

He is my vessel and I drink, his body shivers, his skin turns cold too fast for my liking, but he is young.

My fledgeling.

 My head drops on the wet earth and my eyes blur. The green dome of the forest, a mixture of green and grey-blue calms me and grants him life. I touch his hair and he shifts.

 He'll be all right.

The Misanthropist

                      (photo by PhantomThrone)



"Behind my mask of dignity and righteousness I wish them all dead!
My blood runs toxic in my veins when they touch me with their stupidity and ignorance. They should be rotting in the ground providing fresh food to the blessed worms rather than roam the surface of the Earth spreading ugliness and disease.
 People.
It's when they are dead that I look back at them with respect, when I value  their lives. Being dead cleanses them, makes them bearable to the thought. Being dead is their gift to the tortured living..
If I could, I would make them see themselves as I see them; with the same force and conviction. Maybe then, they would decide to relieve us from their presence and die. Though their stupidity would make even that harder than it is.
There are people everywhere.
The streets are full of them, they drive, they walk, they look suspiciously around them, see evil everywhere, drop their filth and occasionally spit when they see you watching.
They are rude, they lie, they deceive and they love to be deceived, they love to hate and are happy when it is the others that die a very painful death. They are afraid of everything that might happen and couldn't care less of what is happening unless it is in their own living-room and perhaps not even then.
I want them to see themselves are they truly are: an abomination, a thorn in the flesh...my flesh!

That's why I've come to you sweet sister. Give me what I've asked for! Give me the power to make them see themselves as they truly are! This is all I want."

"Behind my mask, I see them in their Venetian Red costumes, pretending to be someone they'll never be. They are desperate ghosts picking stardust from the marbles just before the flood.
Pointless...Even under all this velvet you can smell their stink; the smell of pus manages to escape their plaster masks, death simmers behind their eyes, he gloats....ha, what is he waiting for..I can give him a hand you know...you see that jester over there....wouldn't you just love to see him dead? A dead jester in Venice...so appropriate..I can do it with one gloved finger like this..."

"STOP IT SISTER! There are so many people you will be seen! As stupid as they may be, they can always find a witch in a crowd.
Listen to me..give me what I want. Grant me my wish once more and when the time comes I will make sure you are rewarded generously."

"You will reward me for giving you death?
Have you ever seen yourself through the eyes of another...sister? Have you felt their hate, their disgust, have you heard their whispers in your head asking you to die, out of spite, have you seen their horrid play unfold behind your wet eyes, your own death scene, blood sprouting out of your pores, your youth fading away, your hair falling off leaving open sores on your skull...your body breaking in your mind, your scream frozen in your mouth, their hate so poweful, eons of magic cannot cast it away..Have you? This is the gift you seek."

"I shall not use it on myself. I will control it, you'll see.."

"I see fear is already nesting in your mouth,....You know I speak the truth...good! It is not a power that you seek but a curse...Still you confuse me. You say you hate all human beings and then you say that you want them to see themselves as they truly are...you want to change them, save them from themselves...what kind of a punishement is that, I wonder.."

"It is what they deserve."

"But still, an act that shifts prespectives and changes attitudes.. a very merciful act. The strong ones will shift and find deliverance and the weak ones shall go crazy and die..."

"Why are you making it so difficult. I have never asked anything of you, I put up with your madness...What are you doing. Leave that Jester alone. He's only a boy."

"Look, his is coming this way. I want him and so I claim him. He will see himself through my eyes tonight...I hope he is as entertaining as he seems and his blood as warm."

"You are mad! I don't know why I've come here..."

"Take what you ask for and be gone. I want to play with my Jester now. Here! The red stone is yours."

The Hunt

(http://youbentmywookie.com/wtf/1800s-vampire-killing-kit-sold-for-14850-1613)

"...and what you see here, boys and girls, is a beautiful specimen of the equipment Balkan vampire hunters used in the 18th and 19th centuries. The hunter who owned this particular case was a Sabbatarian, which means that he was born on a Saturday, a natural vampire hunter! According to local legend he could see an invisible vampire and was able to entice it with alluring music before stabbing it to death.
Hawthorn wood was used to make the stakes, which was the only wood that could kill a vampire, and the glass phials contain holy water, a very effective way of vampire disposal...."

" LOL! Vampires are very religious creatures who sparkle in the sun, everyone knows that!"
"What can a wooden stake do to our veggie vampires who wouldn't hurt a soul...."
"How old is that garlic anyway?"

"The garlic is recent...."

"Can we go now...I'm sick of this vampire crap!"

"I know it's hard to believe, but there are people who still believe in Vampires. Take the Serbian President Slobodan Milocevic for example. His body was vandalised not long ago. They staked him through the heart in order to keep him from returning as a vampire.....or the story of the Bloody lake in Iraq, just here

 and the the reasons the locals give to explain the incredible mansions built all around the coast of this gruesome lake...they believe that vampires have bought the entire area and have built amazing fortresses and castles while spending their leasure time swimming in the lake! So you see vampire folklore is not dead yet I'm afraid!"

"Does this lake really exist? I mean, really?"
"Oh yes, this was taken from Google Earth. The local people say that all the blood comes either from the slaughter houses or the vampire victims....."
"What do you believe?"
"Me....I really don't know..but for this area to have such value....who would want to live near such a thing?...I really don't know...Well, back to the case..."


"What about the bullets then, are they silver?"

"No, this kit is for vampires only. We are greatful that Mr Joss McMillian, chose our museum for this generous donation. Thank you Mr McMillan, we are most greatful."

All heads turned around for a glimpse of Mr McMillian..

"The pleasure is all mine Miss London." said a very young voice from the very back of the room.

"What a hunk..."
"He reminds me of  Edward Cullen, my baby and future husband."
"Shhhhh...I can't hear, be quiet!!!."

"You see this museum and my family go way back. This case belonged to my great -grand father who passed it on to my grandfatrher and so on. It is quite useless today so I decided to put it to some good use."

"Why is it useless? The stakes look functionable to me.. LOL!."

" Well, let's just say that stakes have been made redudant. Vampires, like witches, have evolved through time and have managed to live among us without causing problems. Vampires, if you get to know them, are quite peaceful creatures not to mention wise. They have blended so well in our society, they live and work among us so seamlessly that it has become very hard to tell who is a vampire and who is not."

". . . . . . ."

"Don't look so surprised. Vampires don't need to butcher people anymore, there are plenty of private blood banks that can suply them with the necessary amount of blood to sustain them, which is not as much as you think! The older a vampire gets the less he consumes you know..."

"Well thank you Mr McMillian, so now boys and girls...."

"Take Miss London for example, how do you know that she is not a vampire?"

"Vampires have fangs!"
"And they don't come out in the daytime!"
"They have red eyes!"
"And they are absolutely gorgeous!"

" You can't tell a vampire by how he looks, it's what he can do that makes him stand out and we rarely get to see that these days..."

"Thank you Mr McMillian but I am afraid we have run out of time.."

" Oh 'cmon, Miss London, we have so many questions....."

"Your buses are here kids but if you are so interested in vampire lore, why don't you all come to my cottage in Delphi next Sunday where I am organising a traditional vampire hunt with some friends where you can all get an idea of my great-grandfather's line of work, meet interesting people and see my collection.."

"Excellent!!"

"Oh Miss London can we go...."
"Yeah...please"

"I don't know.. I will have to talk to the director..."

"Summer school is such a bore, now that we've found something worth doing....."

"If you bring them Miss London I'll make sure the museum receives another generous donation..."

"I 'll let you know by the end of the week.."

"See you Joss....!!"
"Byeee!"

.              .                  .

"Google him, go on! I'm telling you! He is a BOOK character! It is not his real name!"
"Are you sure, I mean it can just be a coincidence, you know, these things happen!"
"I looked through all the city files, there is no such a name anywhere. Google it and see for yourself... Joss McMillian..see?"
"Ok so he shares his name with a book character.."
"I don't know, I think we shouldn't go.."
"I am going alright!"
"But I can't find him anywhere..."
"Miss London knows him and she lives here...."
"Yeah, but what do we know about Miss London anyway? She is a teacher and also works at the museum..."
"I don't care what you say! This is the closest I'll ever get to a vampiric experience. I am going to live my dream and you can stay here for all I care!"

.               .                    .

(http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=spooky+mansion#/d14ytfk)

"Oh Wow! This is an amazing place!"

"Yes...well Mr McMillian is a very wealthy man, therefore the donations..."

"So you've been here before Miss London?"

"Yes I have! Mr McMillian is a very hospitable and generous man. We are very lucky to be here tonight you know..."

"So has he done this...hunt before?"

"Oh yes, it is an annual thing, in memory of his ancestors. It's all very theatrical, and atmospheric...you'll see."

" The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

  but I have promises to keep,

and miles to go before I sleep,

and miles to go before I sleep!

Robert Lee Frost was right you know! This is going to be a very long night!!

Welcome friends to my annual Vampire Hunt here in my forefathers' house! We have some new guests this year, the student's of St. John's summer school, and though I expected around twenty of them I can see that only two are here! Where are the others Miss London?"

"They had made other arrangements for tonight, I'm afraid!"

"I wish the others had come! He looks so disappointed.."

"Shhh! He's talking about the hunt!"

"...what you have to do is simple! There's a vampire lurking in the forest. Your mission is to track down the enchanting, male vampire, use your map and your tool case to corner and capture him.

The one who manages to stay alive and complete the misson before dawn, is going to receive a prize worthy of a true vampire slayer. As always, the hunt starts at sundown. You have until sunrise to claim your prize!"

"An enchanting, MALE, vampire...how delicious!"

"Look at the kit, it's like the one in the museum..."

"....a few hours to spare until then. Please help yourself to the buffet, read the map and get to know your kit. The hunt will commence when the torches are lit and the forest gates open!"

.                     .                        .

                                              (photo by renq)

"So Miss London, why only two this time?"

"We need to be more careful you know or people might start to suspect! They are still looking for the one who went missing last year..Denise. I still don't know what you saw in her.."

"You smell so good when you are jealous you know, it'd be foolish of me to reassure you..."

"Joss... I mean it...."

" I miss old times my love...when the world was big and the women pure. I feel nostalgic, you wouldn't know...you are so young. And anyway, if it wasn't for the hunt you wouldn't be here now...my vampire queen... "

"Until the next one comes along...who is it going to be tonight the blond or the brunette?"

"It might be both you know....they are both crazy about sparkly, veggie vampires they might like the real thing..."

"And you say you love me..you just want me to lure young girls to your castle so that you can drain them and make them your whores..."

"They all like it you know...you like it, Denise liked it...you needn't have burnt her. It was just a fling. But still I am not angry. I can never be angry with you!"

"They way you looked at her was just unbearable..."

"My love...you are so scrumptious.. that you can have the brunette..."

"Really? Oh thank you my love, you are so sweet..Come here there's plenty of time before the sun dies..."

"I want your neck first."