Garden of Wisteria
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- Posted: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 02:37:29 +0000
Perhaps it was the formal way in which she spoke or the regal nature that seemed to project from her, but something in this new vampire reminded him of his mistress. It served to relax him somewhat. After all, if his mistress was mannerly when she fed, then perhaps a lady vampire of similar bearing might be the same? But perhaps it was the blood that he had seen her covered in the night before that did not reassure him. In any case, she said nothing about her feeding. Which worried him. He hadn't meant to pause. Was she like the mistress and could read his mind? Or was it that obvious? It seemed that he might have made a grave misstep. His mistress was sure to be less than pleased if she found out.
She asked his name, which he wasn't expecting. He had been led to believe that he was beneath everyone else and that his role was to be as invisible as possible. Still, not wanting to displease her again, he spoke up. "Kristopher Oakes. However your ladyship chooses to address me, I will be just outside the doors." It was tempting to ask her about feeding again, if only because his mistress would be displeased to find out that she wasn't being taken care of properly. But he also didn't want to anger her. Deciding to hold his tongue for now, he bowed slightly and paused. Hesitantly, he asked, "And how would my lady prefer to be addressed?"
Living in a house of vampires was literally like being in a historic jumble. Different ages, different origins, different customs. Some, like his mistress, clung to her roots and customs while others seemed to evolve with the ages. It was almost impossible to navigate because the habits and customs that one of them expected from one, could offend the others. That all would have been confusing enough if he wasn't the primary food group within those walls.
The strangest part was, occasionally something new would come up that he found strange, he would mentally shake his head at the oddity but then suddenly realize that he couldn't remember how it was that he usually did things. Where was he from? How could he find one manner of greeting odd when he couldn't remember how he used to greet people before he came here. Usually that was about the time that Cassandra would wash through his mind again, drawing him deeper into the fog and making him forget about trying to remember.
At the moment though, it wasn't his mistress keeping his mind at bay. It was a pair of dark luminous eyes that held him captured.