Welcome to Gaia! ::

Pale grey smoke wafts up from the no-longer burning candle’s wick, making me cough more than it should, considering that I don’t need to breathe. I can’t think on it long, though, for the dawn is coming, and I need to retreat to the safety of my windowless bedroom.

As I lie, hidden from the deadly rays, the pangs of my hunger (or should I say thirst? Two hundred thirty years and I still can’t decide) continue to gnaw at my insides. The nearby farmers have become suspicious of their livestock in the last few weeks, and by now, I am no longer in any state to search far and wide for wild game. Why had I not hunted before I was too far gone to resist humans? Oh, right. There is one particular human who, as of late, has captured my attention, and I did not want to appear abnormal to him. Now I am thinking this desire rather silly, since I must be becoming less normal with each passing night. I must look frightful, but since I cannot see my reflection unless I will it, and I seldom will it, I can only judge by the fact that I feel more tired than I have a right to, and what I can see of my hair grows lankier and stringier than it has ever been. Even as an unwashed little peasant, my hair had never looked this bad. This man will be the death of me, I swear. I close my eyes and ready myself for the memories that are sure to visit once more as I wait for dusk.


Twenty years old, and offered marriage by Alec Thompson, a man who owned his own farm, I had little to worry about. A farm of my own to oversee would be a step up from tending crops on the duke’s land. I was pretty enough; I was neither short nor tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and named Elizabeth for the Queen who had died shortly before my birth. My husband to be had set off for America to seek a plantation, and we were to wed when he returned. If only. I, however, was a foolish girl, never thinking that harm would ever come to me, so I refused an escort when I made my way about the Hertfordshire village we lived in.

I had been out gathering wood that day. The light was almost gone, and I was not quite out of the woods when I heard a rustling that was my only warning before strong arms seized me around the neck and began to drag me off to somewhere a little more secluded. I bit, scratched and kicked the whole way, but every mark I made on my abductor vanished almost instantly. The taste of his blood grew strong in my mouth, and I longed to be able to spit it out, but the uneven ground forced me to swallow more often than was good for anyone. The last thing I remember was being pulled into a hollowed oak tree, and a handsome face lowering his lips to my neck.

I awoke at dusk, though how long it had been, I still don’t really know. All I knew then was need. I inhaled, tasting the air around me, and a hot, wet smell came from not far off. It wasn’t as good as it could have smelled, but, given the circumstances, I didn’t really care. Following the scent through the woods, I found the source and pounced. Upon ingesting most of the blood, I could think clearly and found a stag dying in my arms, blood on his neck and more dribbling down my chin. I was absolutely mortified at what had become of me. I had heard the tales, but my foolishness had kept me from guarding myself against the creatures of the night. Now I was one of them. My own family would try to kill me if they knew. They likely wouldn’t succeed, but I had no intention of meeting them. I didn’t want to be responsible for the massacre that would ensue in that event. But did I have to be a monster? Could I still be human? Or as close to human as a thing like me could ever be, at any rate.

The funny thing about my daily reverie is that only those memories that are shameful or unpleasant have to be replayed. So I can skip my decision to survive only on animals, but not finding out the hard way that the pain of a single ray of sunlight was not worth watching the sunrise. Silly newborn that I was, I had wanted to see how my new vision could affect the color of the sky as the sun peeked over the hills and shone down onto the forest and the moors. It became almost painfully bright before the sun even showed itself, and my hand managed to rest in a place where the sun had no trouble finding it. I fled for the safety of an abandoned cottage, but the damage was done, and my hand wouldn’t move properly for a week.

Nor can I forget crossing the sea to America, about ten years after my fate was sealed. The disorientation caused by the water and the fact that I had had to hide myself in the bowels of the ship shouldn’t be felt by anyone, yet I felt it, and have remembered it in vivid detail daily for almost two hundred years. Perhaps I am being punished for some grievous sin of the progenitor of my race, though I have felt my faith in divinity slowly wane, because what god would punish those who came by this life by accident?


My life continues to flash before my eyes, until I reach the set of good memories that I have never wanted to skip.


The sun’s power began to wane in the evening, and once it sank beneath the horizon, I ventured out of my house to bring the washing in after having left it out to dry that morning. Just as I was taking the last of my linens inside, there was a noise that couldn’t have meant anything good. Someone’s horse was screaming, which, in these parts, was never common. I lived close enough to town for bears and wolves to be a rarity, though they were some of my favorites to hunt. But around here, horses generally didn’t scream. Unless…

I dropped the clothes I was holding and raced toward the sound, wishing I’d had at least a dagger with. Fighting others with my bare hands got a little messy. It wasn’t long before my suspicions were confirmed. I came into a clearing a little off the road to town to find a naked woman attacking a man on horseback, though the horse would no longer be of use, and looked like it was about to pass out. Sure enough, the chestnut mare keeled over, taking the man down with it.

Hoping that the fall and blood loss had rendered the man unconscious, I cleared my throat loudly enough to signal to the woman that she had some unexpected company. She turned, alarmed, just as I leapt the last thirty feet between us and buried my hand in her hair. I had intended to drag her off and stake her to the ground until sunup, but she just had to make things difficult and fight back.

Fangs buried themselves in my arm, only to be repaid by my fist burying itself in her nose. Amateurs. The newborns did little other than bite, and they hadn’t the sense to even try to blend in by wearing clothes. Honestly, one would think it more advantageous for the more typical of my species to blend in more than I do, since they are the ones who make the night time dangerous for humans, and therefore don’t want to arouse suspicion. Bloody savages.

Deciding that it would be easiest to dispatch the child here, I quickly removed her head and other limbs from her body and, seizing two pieces of wood from the ground nearby, lit a fire and threw the appendages thereon. Once she was sufficiently charred, I made my way to the overturned horse to check the condition of the wayward traveler. As I’d suspected, he was out almost as cold as the horse, but from his heartbeat, I could tell that he was going to practically walk away from this. The horse…well, the horse wouldn’t be so lucky.

After dragging him from under his horse, I threw the man over my shoulders and carried him home. He would be safer there than most other places. I laid him in the front room so that if he woke after sunrise he wouldn’t be too afraid. I decided to leave him a note, in case the dawn came before he woke, but for now, I watched him sleep and took in the sight of him for the first time. He wore a black coat over a white shirt and pale trousers that were full of blood and dirt. Rather typical and dirty men’s clothing, but goodness, he wore them well. His high cheekbones and dark eyelashes combined with stray strands of his thick black hair to make him look so forlorn that I couldn’t bear to step away from him until the first rays of sunlight peeked ever so slightly through the window.

That night I stepped out of my room to find that he waited all day to meet his savior. Now that they were open, his eyes were mesmerizing, pale green and piercing, and I almost missed that he was attempting to thank me. Thankfully I recovered enough to get a conversation started, just so I could keep hearing his voice. Eric (for such was his name) never commented on my living alone, or on any number of things which must have been unusual to him. At length he took his leave and I stayed to ponder until sunup.


The next day, I was jolted out of my reverie around midafternoon by a sound in the front room. My senses went on the alert as footsteps neared my door, and I stood with my back to it, waiting. The front door must have been open, for the air in the house shifted, carrying a scent under the door. One that I’d not thought I’d smell again.

“…Eric?” My voice hung in the air as I waited for a response from the other side of the door, tensed to spring. It seemed like forever before his footsteps stopped outside my door and I heard the shifting of fabric as he raised his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, I opened the door and did my best to look tired.

“Oh, uh, good afternoon, Elizabeth.” I shivered at the way his voice sounded when he said my name with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. No one had said it since I was human, with the exception of me giving it to him the night before. It made me realize that I had painfully few acquaintances. I had, in fact, had none, and very little contact with humans since I picked a few pockets to hire a messenger to tell my family that I had died in, actually, the same manner as I had really died. Aside from the not staying dead, anyway.

“Good afternoon. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” I felt awkward for spouting niceties I’d only seen in books, but this seemed to be an appropriate time to do so. I did, however, break down and simply ask, “Why are you here?”

“Well, ah, I wanted to thank you again.” He seemed a little embarrassed and unsure, and I glanced at him questioningly, squinting against the brightness of the front room. At least the light wasn’t hitting my door.

“It was nothing, really.” I had hoped he would see fit to leave it at that, but he shifted as though he wanted to say more, so I gave in. “Would you fetch a candle from that table, then, so we can talk in my room? My…eyes are very sensitive to the sunlight.” He obliged, seeming to buy my half truth, and we were soon shut away from the last few hours of sunlight and seated on the only piece of furniture in the room—my bed.

“Honestly, you saved me from the worst fate imaginable for my family. I had thought that the road to town was safe, so I was unprepared.” He took my hand, and if I could have blushed, I would have. “If you hadn’t come along, I would have been staked and burned once my body was found.” My eyes widened in surprise, hoping that he would mistake my fear that he knew what I was for amazement that his relations were so enthusiastic about eliminating my kind.

“Well, when you live alone like I do, you get used to being ready for anything.” I shrugged.

“Except daytime?” His velvet voice was brimming with suppressed laughter and he was trying hard not to grin.

“I was…in an accident years ago. It’ll sound silly, but I fell out of a tree and my eyes and face got badly scratched. Bright lights have bothered me ever since.” I had actually seen this happen to a boy I played with as a child; even though his face healed, he couldn’t stand sunlight. People had wanted to kill him after that. I was too young to understand at the time, but now… “Anyway, it’s been easier for me to just sleep during the day. And safer, too. I’ve always thought it better to be alert at night because it provides better cover for thieves, or worse.”

“That does make sense.” He paused. “How did you come to be alone, anyway?”

“Well, my family died a long time ago, and my betrothed died before we could wed.” That was the short, technically true, version. With a sensitivity to my kind like his, I doubted he wanted to hear the long, actually true, version.

“Ah. I can’t imagine not having anyone. I live on my father’s farm with more siblings than you could shake a stick at.” I could have listened to Eric talk about his family forever, but he left not long after sunset with the promise of returning in a day or two, though next time, it would be after dusk.

True to his word, Eric came back two days later, and we talked more about our backgrounds. I told him that it seems like forever, most days, since I came here, but that I was born in England, in a village in Hertfordshire, and asked him how long his family had been Americans.

“About two hundred thirty years. My great-great-great-great-great grandfather set up a plantation in Virginia in the sixteen-twenties. He came from Hertfordshire, too, and he would have brought his fiancée to America, but she was killed before he got the chance.” Eric’s eyes darkened as he continued, thankfully not glancing at my face, which must have lost what little color it had.

“She was the reason my family’s been hunting the monsters like the one you rescued me from. It was one of them that killed her.” Well, my messenger had done his job. “I can’t even remember the first time I heard the story. We get raised on it. She was pretty and blonde, like you, and her name was even Elizabeth, I think.” I tried to rearrange my shock into mild interest as he glanced up into my eyes, but my mind went blank as I was arrested by his intense green gaze, which was probably for the best, since it must have made my features relax themselves.

“Alec…” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken the name until Eric’s brow furrowed and he said, “What was that?”

“I, ah, said, ‘Eric,’ and was going to continue with, ‘he must have really loved her.’” It was a flimsy lie, but he didn’t comment on it, except to agree with it.

“Yeah, he was pretty broken up about it. Pa said it took him ten years to find another bride. He vowed to put down every vampire he came across, and he taught it to his sons, who taught it to their sons. This side of the Atlantic, monsters fear the name of Thompson.” Eric’s voice was dangerous and seductive as he confirmed my suspicions, but I kept mine light as I responded:

“Well, they ought to quake at ‘Elizabeth,’ too.” This elicited a smile almost as dazzling as a sunrise as he pulled me into an unexpected embrace. If I had had a heart, it would have skipped a beat as his warmth flooded into me. I had never been quite so close to a human pulse, and the sound and smell of him so close made me almost giddy.

After a moment, we pulled apart, and moved on to other subjects, though we sat holding hands for the rest of his stay.

Several weeks passed in this manner, with Eric calling on me after sunset, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting together in silence. Each night, we sat a little closer, but the closer we got, the more distant Eric seemed. And each night, I remained at home until dawn, knowing I needed to feed, never wanting to. Perhaps being with him made me think starving myself to death would be a better thing to do than continue what little existence I have.


Dusk arrives, and with it the need grows stronger than I have ever known. The moonlight beckons as I step outside, tasting the air on my breath. Something approaches. Something that smelled like steak to someone who’s been living off prairie grass for two hundred years. Forgetting any and all morals I had once thought I had, I plunge toward the smell, intent only on satiating the need. Before long, I come upon the source of the intoxicating aroma and slow down just enough to move silently in for the kill. My unfortunate victim throws up an arm to ward off his impending doom, but neither it nor the stake in his hand are a match for the need that overpowers the rest of my senses.

Hot blood flows into my mouth and my head clears ever so slowly and I become more aware than I have ever been. I am aware that I’m not in a position that is usual for a cow or a deer or any other animal that I am used to. I am aware that this blood tastes better than anything I’ve ever had before. I am aware that this is my first human. I am aware of black hair and piercing green eyes that stare hatefully at me before the life flickers out of them. I am aware of Eric dead in my arms and the wooden stake that now lies on the ground before us. I am aware that he never cared for me, but I…I love him. It came gradually and subtly, but it is there in the scream my heart makes. Even though he had apparently set out to kill me tonight, I love him. It doesn’t matter that he’d deceived me; the scream in my heart is the sound of ultimate suffering as I look at what I have done.

Time passes, and I sit, looking like a macabre statue. If I could cry, I would, and let the tears mingle with the blood on my chin. As it happens, I sit staring at lifeless green eyes, numb but aware. I am aware of the sky growing lighter on the horizon, but I do nothing about it. Dawn comes, and I look forward to it for the first time in over two hundred years. For the first time, the sun rises and I do nothing to avoid it. I welcome the warmth it brings, even though it grows too hot to bear and I lie down next to Eric’s lifeless form and let my physical pain compete with my heart’s anguish until they drown each other out and blackness embraces me and--

I'm doing some editing now, part of which is changing the current narration to present tense. That should make things easier to swallow at the end. 3nodding

EDIT: Plus, I've added a fun plot twist *wiggles eyebrows*

I realy enjoyed this, Noise. The characterisation is good and I liked the twist that Eric was her lover's son. I'm also glad you had him come to kill her, that he wasn't "blinded by love" or something along those lines. He thought she was a vampire, tricked her into loving him/distracting her with his history (which was wonderfu foreshadowing for the ending, hats off to you), then came back to kill her. You handled it well. I actually rwally really want to read more; there are places you could definitely have expanded on to make this a very interesting novella. I also want to know if Eric died or if he became a vampire. Oooh, and how would they get along? The fact you had this sort of ending reaction, raising debate and questions, is excellent.
There were a few places where your wording slowed the narrative down, some awkward phrases. This happens often when people use the narrative style of the Romantic era. Saying that, there really were only a few lines and you handled the narrative stye better than many I've seen in ages. The style is appropriate to the setting of the narrative too, which makes it work.
And the fact that the vampires don't bloody sparkle is also a plus.

DX You guys are making it hard for me to post anything. Or to choose who to vote for DDX

Aww, thank you guys ^^ *glomps*

...And just if anyone's wondering, in my little world, you need to ingest some of the vampire's blood before getting drained in order to turn. And the vampire in Elizabeth's case was a *little* more sane than she is at the end. He had the sense to not kill her where she was standing, which opened her up to her epic mistake of fighting back. Eric, on the other hand, just got bowled over and drained.

...I think I mentioned in a previous post that I was changing the current narration to present tense so that she can actually narrate until the end sweatdrop

*goes to change title* (I abbreviated it, lol)

...and I hafta fork over some gold to the mule, right?

It's ok, lol. ^^

I can has feedback, pl0x?