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It was midnight. The full moon shone down on Nikolai Ivanov who stood at the bow of the sailboat that was headed towards his homeland. Nikolai had been restless for the whole of the voyage, and something kept disturbing his sleep. Dark visions haunted his dreams, visions that had him waking up in a feverish sweat. This, mixed with the hint of seasickness he was starting to feel, was enough of a reason to drive him out of the common quarters and onto the deck of the ship.
He needed a drink, a strong one.
Beside him, not too far off stood two sailors speaking in rapid French. Nikolai, in all his years of living in France, had yet to master the language. But, he had learned enough in his job as an undertaker to catch words like “coffin”, and “empty”.
An empty coffin? Well that was an unusual piece of cargo. Just then he felt eyes on him and a shiver went down his spine. The sailors quickly cut off their conversation as the sound of heavy footsteps headed in their direction. “Bonjour! Bonsoir mademoiselle.”[1]
“Bonsoir, bonne nuit n'est-il pas?”[2] Said a seductive female voice from the direction the footsteps came from.
“Oui.”[3] Answered the sailors, the flirtatiousness heavy in their voice.
Just then another Frenchman called out from the stern of the boat, making the sailors curse lowly in heavily accented French and head off in his direction.
The footsteps resumed and continued until an elegantly dressed, long haired woman stood beside him. She noticed his gaze and smiled at him. “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour.” Answered Nikolai in his meager French.
The woman laughed lowly. “You are not French, da?”[4] She asked as she took out a quellazaire[5] with a fresh cigarette.
Nikolai entranced by her beauty quickly searched for the box of matches in his coat pocket. “No.” He answered in russian as he lit the end of the cigarette, his hands were trembling. Her eyes met his.
“My Russian is very limited.” She said in heavily accented Russian still holding his gaze and blowing a cloud of smoke away from him.
This made Nikolai chuckle throatily.
“Do you know English?” She asked in the enquired language, her French accent still heavily notable.
“Barely miss, but much more than French.” He answered
“It is good enough.” She smiled bringing the quellazaire to her lips. “The moon, she is beautiful, is she not?” she asked with a sigh as she looked up to the sky.
Nikolai’s eyes were drawn to her parted lips as the sigh left them. “Yes.”
“You are not looking monsieur.” She clicked her tongue with a chuckle
“I am sorry miss, but your beauty, I have not seen such a beautiful woman before.” Said Nikolai, nearly feverish in his desire for her.
“Nor will you ever again.” She answered in French bringing her hand to caress his face. Nikolai’s eyes were vacant now as the woman bent and sniffed deeply at his pulse. “You smell…delicious, monsieur.” Her eyes glinted red, and as she grinned her now elongated fangs glistened in the moonlight. She took a deep bite, and with a guttural moan from both proceeded to feed from her victim. Minutes passed, and the woman concentrated on Nikolai’s pulse; she had experience in this, she’d been doing it for years now and she knew perfectly well when to stop. But there was a considerable difference between knowing when to stop, and actually doing so. Nikolai’s pulse slowed and the woman put forth all of her strength of will into disengaging her fangs from his throat. She threw her head back, licking the remaining blood off of her lips and groaning low in her throat at the residual taste of the blood on her tongue.
The woman looked down at Nikolai’s dazed form. “The stench of the dead clings to your clothes Nikolai.” She said crazed, not yet having come down from her high. “Be good to your wife and daughter.” She caressed his lips, and licked the bite mark she had left behind.
Leaving the body prone on the floor, the woman straightened and looked into the distance at the approaching bit of land that was Russia, and closed her eyes inhaling the cool night air, smiling a bit despite herself. She fetched her gold pocket watch and opened it to check the time; the Delacroix’s family crest that it bore glinted in the moonlight. The inscription at the top caught her attention, and for a minute she could have sworn she felt her eyes water as if she were yet alive.
To my daughter Xindel,
Mutantur omnia nos et mutamur in illis.[6]
Much love, your father.
And she had changed, perhaps not for the better, but these new circumstances had forced her to do so unwillingly. She fed from the living because she had to, their blood sustained her; she was a monster, a freak, an abomination to religion, logic, and even science …she was a vampire.
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[1] Bonjour (French)– Hello; Bonsoir (French) – Good evening; Mademoiselle (French) - Miss
[2] Bonne nuit (French) – Nice night; n’est-il pas (French) – is it not
[3] Oui (French) - Yes
[4] Da (Russian) - Yes
[5] Cigarette holder
[6] All things change, and we change with them.
 Blissful Xinn · Mon Jan 21, 2013 @ 02:42pm · 0 Comments |
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