Remind Me of the Heart(LittleRabbitXPotassiumboron)

LittleRabbit

LittleRabbit

Edgepeasant
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
  2. 1-3 posts per day
  3. Multiple posts per week
  4. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Advanced
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Female
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Starting over is never an easy task. Especially when leaving loved ones and precious memories behind—sacrificing the comfort and familiarity of old in exchange for a new and adventurous start. While bittersweet, however, sometimes moving on is for the best—at least that's what Elora told herself as she sat the last of the moving boxes down. She had spent months deciding to either stay at her old home or start over after her most recent, messy, breakup and the untimely demise of her parents. Her heart felt too heavy in all senses—everything just looked at in her family home felt like salt being rubbed into a fresh wound.

Even so, it was a rather hard choice to make, and one that could be made lightly. Everything she ever knew was in her family's humble home. The house she grew up in gave her a large amount of comfort. Yet that same comfort was becoming tarnished by an ex that would often show up, make grand jesters of love—or comment vague threats about her safety in living alone.

Only after deep consideration did Elora take the first steps into taking over the inheritance her parents left her.

A large and beautiful manor was hers to occupy, though she was warned there was a tad bit of damage that needed to be taken care of. The house had been passed down through generations on her father's side, however, no one in her family was willing to live there—much less take care of it.

Upon closer inspection, the Villard Manor was in worst condition than what Elora first imagined. It was apparent that some remodeling had been done at some point, blue traps still laying on the ground and newly placed walls had been left unpainted.

Dust and cobwebs lined every inch of the building. Lush ivy climbing the manor exterior. The invasive greenery threatened to overtake the bricks and outside windows—windows that had been boarded up long before Elora got there.

The dark oak aremberg flooring was coming up in some places, or threatening to give way in others. Elora also began to realize she would have to hire an electrician to rewire the building and to have a plumber come install new pipes. As of now, the water was contaminated with rust.

Certainly, this home was going to be hell to bring to livable conditions—one that made the small woman's head spin and ponder if it was even worth it. But… wasn't this what Elora wanted when she moved?
A challenge to keep her mind busy. To take pride in a home many have deemed impossible to repair or outright avoided.

Besides all the negative the manor had a lot of positive notes as well. Such as the large window that overlooks the landing that leads to the upper areas of the house.
The window would make for a rather dramatic entrance, one that thrilled Elora to no end.

Beautiful marble carved railings circled either side of a set of stairs that lead to a landing and thus the window she was so entranced by. The railing continues to run together before splitting off between two more sets of stairs, one leading left and the other leading right. Either set lead to several guest rooms or bathrooms in those upper levels.

There was a rather large fireplace in both the dining room and living room—both suitable for hosting and entertaining a large number of guests. The kitchen was charming in its own way as well, it was not very large, but comfortable enough as to not feel closed in by larger appliances.
There was also an overgrown garden just outback with a dirty water fountain— something Elora told herself she would eventually get to.

Weeks turned into months, but finally, at the start of winter, Elora was able to start moving to the manor. While the house still had some minor touch-ups, it was deemed safe enough to live in.

Thus that's where our story begins.


Taking the last of her moving boxes upstairs Elora began to set up the master bedroom. She had decided to keep the original bed frame but the comforters and pillows had to go.

The wallpaper had been ripped off, the bare walls painted gray with white accents. Cream color comforters now lay on the bed along with lace curtains that decorated the windows.

A large painting of a man and woman that had been hanging above the room's fireplace was relocated into another room for safekeeping. It would be a temporary fix, just until she could decide on what she wanted to do with it.

Now her own pictures laid upon the walls, the fireplace holding small trinkets of hers on the mantel—a faux fur rug sitting in front of the fireplace to add a bit more comfort and charm to the room.

Day quickly turned to evening as Elora put the finishing touches on her new home together. Deciding to treat herself after working so hard, Elora indulged in a hot bath of rose water and lavender, to relax. Once that was over she began preparing a dinner for a night of lounging and reading trashy romance novels. Novels that she wasn't so fond of sharing with others.

While the night did feel odd—with the moon no longer showing and a light fog rolling in—Elora simply decided to ignore it.

After all, it was the first night she was spending in her new, fixed-up home. There was bound to be a smidge of anxiety floating within her.

Nonetheless, Elora began to settle down onto her couch. Curling up in a blanket with her food on the coffee table, the small woman reached for her book, only stopping when she heard a buzzing. Within moments darkness engulfed the home. Leaving a stunned Elora in pitch darkness.

"Nooo!" Came the disgruntled whine, followed by a groan. Getting up, Elora fumbled around until she found an electric lantern. Flipping it on, she now stood in the middle of her kitchen. Her heart racing from the sudden loss of power, bewilderment covering every inch of her face. Some part of Elora simply hoped the power would turn back on by itself. But as she waited, Elora concluded that it would not.

It was not storming, so the power outage made no sense. Perhaps…and Elora hated this thought, perhaps a breaker got flipped in the basement. If she wanted the power to come back on…well she would have to go fix it.

Elora despised the basement.

For it was the worse area of the house too. There was just something about it that was too suffocating—the air too heavy to be normal.
It always felt like someone was down there, watching her, waiting for her to mess up.

She hated it.

After a few seconds of throwing a little temper tantrum, the blonde made her way out of the kitchen and to the foyer. Taking a sharp turn she moved to a door that lead into the dreaded basement. White knuckling her lantern, Elora crept down the steps—stopping at the bottom to do a quick scan. She had to make sure no one was down there with her after all.

Of course, there isn't...you're just being paranoid.

With a shuttering breath, Elora stepped off the stairs and slowly made her way to the back of the basement.

After a few tense minutes, she found the breaker and flipped the red handle, the light finally filling the house once more. Letting out a sigh of relief Elora was more than ready to head upstairs...that was until something had caught her eye. Just to the far left of the breaker was a hole in the wall—old bricks slowly tumbling down. The wall itself looked oddly misplaced. As if someone had quickly built the thing before running away.

Slowly walking to the wall and peering green eyes into the darkness Elora saw...well... she couldn't see anything. There was no source of light in the room, not even a window.

Perhaps it was stupid curiosity, but Elora wanted to know just what was behind that wall. Wanted to know why someone felt the need to build it in the first place.

So like any rational person, Elora started tugging at bricks. Removing them one by one or in chunks depending on where and how she pulled them. Soon there was a large enough hole for her to move into. Shining around her lantern light she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, that was until something caught the light—reflecting itself in the darkness.

Furrowing her brows Elora moved her light again until she found what caused the disturbance—a rosary sat upon a wooden chest, and under the rosary sat a bible. The chest had metal chains around it that were now rusted to all hell and back, barely keeping themselves together. Odd symbols were painted on the chest in red, some words written in what she could only assume was Latin.


"What the actual fuck." Came the harsh, hush whisper of Elora. Biting her lower lip, the small woman stared at the chest for a while more —trying to wrap her mind around what she was seeing.

Sadly there was only one way to understand this mystery in her basement—and it wasn't something Elora was going to like.

Taking a few moments to recompose, Elora sat her lantern down on the ground. Slowly moving to take the rosary and bible off the chest, the small woman respectfully sits them aside on the ground. Next, she removed the chains with an easy pull, metal chattering off of the wood, landing with a dull clang. Finally, she began working the paper off, peeling at least twelve or thirteen of those suckers off. Once the last of the papers were off did Elora flip up the lock of the chest, slowly opening it so she could peer inside.
 
Once, in centuries past, the manor that now stood dilapidated and forgotten had been a glorious, splendid sight, and a source of immense pride for its owner. It stood proudly at an incline, dominating in the sleepy village that it called home and looming with undisguised authority over the smaller abodes that could only exist in its shadow - literally as well as figuratively. Its sprawling estate had once contained within it glistening chandeliers, immaculately presented vintage decors, proud fireplaces never without a roaring fire.

The fire that had ravaged the property, combined with the subsequent years of neglect since the flames tore through its hallways, had left the property in a state of great disrepair, countless owners throughout the decades determining that the task of fixing the home up, restoring it to its past glory, was simply a job that required too much from them, be it financial strains or a demand of physical activity they hadn't the stamina to provide to the task.

Some claimed, however, that it wasn't economical concerns that dissuaded them from continuing with their journey, nor even the difficulty of the challenge itself. Rather, many owners felt uneasy within the property, initially drawn in by its historical status but becoming unnerved by the aura that seemed to reside within its walls; the heavy weight of... gloom that made the air thick; suffocating. Many delighted at first in the feeling of wandering halls that had their roots in centuries past, imagining themselves as the de facto Lords and Ladies of their own personal manor, much alike the potential aristocrats that possibly walked the very same floors in distant eras. It was an enjoyable endeavour, one that swept them up in the fairy-tale and blinded them to the nightmare they were stepping into.

When those very floors had once been stained by the blood of the innocent, the walls documenting their desperation to flee from the terror that stalked them with bloody handprint after bloody handprint, it was inevitable that the atmosphere within the home maintained a level of that eeriness, even centuries after the bloodshed had met an impromptu conclusion. Owner after owner may have relinquished their right of the property without knowing of its uneasy history, but they didn't need the specifics, the details, when the energy of the house, dark and brooding, was more than enough to convince them that their life was better spent elsewhere; somewhere bright, full of possibility.

Somewhere free of the creeping, clawing sensation that they weren't alone.

Because they weren't.

They never had been.

In the cold of the basement, behind a crumbling wall desperately constructed to hide the sight from the generations that followed, was a chest. The bible, the rosary, the scrawled Latin upon dusty pages... all of it had been designed not to keep anyone out, but to keep what resided within it in. Those that had defied their instincts, forced aside their fear, had done so to ensure that the village would be free of its tormentor for present generations and all that followed them; that the manor itself would be left listless and empty without its owner stalking its grounds, looming ominously in the shadows, peering from its grand windows, eyes glinting in the moonlight as he awaited a target to launch at; a neck to tear into.
The thick, crimson blood to satisfy his seemingly endless bloodlust.

For a brief period, past villagers believed that there would be an end to their torment. After so many years under the cruel eye of Lord Chaol, who ruled with a ruthless hand, love had seemingly bloomed in his chest, lighting his expression and lifting his mood considerably. The darkness that consumed him had evaporated as the affections of his love, his darling Athanasias, lured him from the shadows that he had once permanently resided within. It was she that gave promise to the villagers that their nightmare had finally ended; that they could freely walk the streets and nod at the man without fearing that he would tear their heads from their necks in reply.

It was inevitable that all hell would break loose when his love perished; when she was taken from his arms and met her demise shortly after.

Chaol's brief stint wandering amongst the public without seeking their destruction concluded with unimaginable violence. Walls of his home were torn apart, furniture wrecked, vases smashed as he roared into the night, his unbeating heart feeling as though it might break into countless shards, each plunging deeper every time Athanasias' smile came to his mind; the sound of her laughter ringing in his head to torment him for his failure to protect her; to cherish her. In response, fearing that the man now had nothing to lose, measures had been taken to confine him to his prison; to keep him locked from the world that no longer possessed any meaning to him. The idea of letting a man, a monster, run rampant when he had nothing to lose, nothing to restrain him, was a horrendous one, and it simply couldn't be a reality.

And thus, the chest proved, for centuries, to be a success, each owner remaining naive to the existence of it and, most importantly, to the figure that slumbered eternally within it, awaiting the day for the confines to be lifted and his freedom granted once more.

Even Chaol didn't think it would take this long, however.

He had fallen into his endless sleep sometime after the initial prayers were chanted above him. He gathered every ounce of his strength to bash at the roof of the chest. He shouted and roared until his throat grew sore. He demanded to be released, invoking not only his superiority in the hopes of his commands being listened to but spewing out threats of pure vitriol to scare those eavesdropping into releasing him. When that didn't work, he tried to coax them with charm, smoothly luring them with promises of riches and even eternal life itself--

But there was nobody to listen to him; nobody to come to his aid, and so the fearsome Lord shut his eyes, put himself at ease, and faded into his slumber, thoughts of Athanasias both a comfort and a torment to him.

At first, he wasn't too sure what he was hearing as the silence that had dominated for centuries began to unravel, noises directly above him demanding his attention and bringing him from his reverie with unsatisfying roughness. A muscle in his forehead twitched as centuries of rest seemed to reach its eventual conclusion, the fog that had resided in his thoughts gradually beginning to lift as each of the barriers preventing his escape were naively lifted by the manor's newest occupant. It was only when the chest itself was opened, revealing him in all his grandeur, that Chaol knew this wasn't a realistic dream, concocted by his mind to torture him with the sweet taste of freedom he had longed for for so, so long. No, as the air hit his face, cooling it with the natural chill that lingered in the basement, Chaol knew immediately, with entire certainty, that he was free.

That his imprisonment was finally over.

With his consciousness returning, so too did his thirst; that ever-present, never fully satisfied ache in his throat that had never burned as intensely as it did now. To that end, the thudding heartbeat of his saviour was a cacophony to his ear; a satisfying noise that promised the warm gush of blood, coating his throat with its sweetness--

His eyes shot open at the thought, the hue to his iris' an unfathomable, complete black in his ravenousness. Locking on the figure of Elora, a hand shot out to grip her arm with remorseless strength - were he fully fed, the grip would have resulted in the bone snapping in two, and the fact he lacked the ability to exact such an injury only angered him further. He was weak, fragile, vulnerable - but that was temporary. Oh, he intended to correct that as soon as he could.

"What are you doing in my house?" came the deep-throated growl, guttural and rough from both anger and a prolonged period of rest and subsequent hunger. His nose scrunched, lips twisted, as disgust registered at the sight of a measly human claiming his property as his own, his eyes darting to the sad, pitiful basement once his back lifted from the bed of the chest. "Answer me, girl. What year is it?"
 
The moment Elora opened the casket, she wished she hadn't. With her nerves already on edge, they became more shot as her gaze peered at a well-preserved body in the inky darkness.

Many thoughts ran through her head, rather quickly might I add. At first, she had thought it was her eyes playing tricks on her, that the body she found was only a mannequin some sick construction worker had left as a joke. Her mind then wondered about the possibility of a serial killer hiding within her new home. That Elora had stumbled upon their hiding place and she was next! Who knew how many bodies were under her feet at that very moment!

Elora was only shocked back into reality when she felt an icy grip snatch her arm. Then the voice, one that trembled with anger, rivaling the sound of distant thunder pierced through the short silence. Horror had gripped every inch of Elora's mind. Freezing her in spot, the woman looked much like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Her blood ran cold just as her face became pale, hot tears prickling in the back of her eyes.

A natural response would be to scream, to tug away from the man in horror—or to at least try and fight the man off. Perhaps close the chest lid on him and take off running far, far away. However, Elora's survival skills seemed to…falter at that very moment. Each breath she drew was shallow. Her heart racing…no hammering against her chest. Beating as if it was a bird trapped in a cage, desperate to get out.


Then the woman opened her mouth...

"It…i-it's 2034." Came the soft whimper, answering the question the man had demanded from her. "And…" slowly her voice rose, the woman seeming to find her strength once more. "…this is my home. I don't know who you are, or how you got in here." She paused for half a beat considering her words for only a split moment. "You know what I don't want to know how you got in here." Moving her arm, Elora tried to yank herself away from the odd man's icy touch. "I'll be calling the police and they can square this away. You just…just stay here."

Foolish arrogance and false bravery made those words tremble from rosy lips. The woman putting on an act of toughness as if that would somehow scare the newcomer.

Little did she know the man before her could hear just how hard her heart was beating, how hard it was passing blood through her body. How he could taste the fear that filled the basement, feel the adrenaline that coursed through her veins. Perhaps if she had known all of this she would have been more reluctant in her approach with the man thus far.

Besides, Elora stood a measly 5'3…how much damage did she believe she could actually do?
 
2034...

For a moment, all the pounding in his head seemed to become muffled, as though he was beneath the ocean's waves and deafened to the energy, the noise, that broke off on the land around him. Focusing on anything other than the revelation that he had been cocooned in a chest, a prison, for countless centuries was impossible, the news causing a mixture of anger and sheer disbelief. Had he possessed a warm flow of blood within his veins, he was entirely sure that it would have run cold as the realisation of imprisonment and its sheer length sunk in. He could never envisaged a timeline in which the villagers of the past had triumphed in their endeavours to trap him, but they had - and with such inarguable success that the ancient Lord, so used to being able to flaunt his superiority over these mortal beings, was left frozen in sheer shock; in embarrassment.

He wanted to believe that he had the last laugh, his good looks retained and strength destined to return to him when his thirst was eventually quenched while all those that had wronged him were little more than dust in their own coffins by now, but Chaol simply wasn't accustomed to feel the sting of embarrassment; the bitterness that came with feeling as though he had lost a battle. He had no doubt in his abilities to win the war itself, especially when his foes were six feet underground at this point (and with the lesson learned not to ever allow himself to get into this position ever again), but it didn't stop the cringe; the mortifying acknowledgement that, for a brief moment, he had undoubtedly gifted those bothersome humans a taste of victory. A taste of superiority.

Granted, that 'brief moment' had extended across centuries until all those that knew of his imprisonment had long perished, leaving him a forgotten husk awaiting release from his confines by some naive mortal, unaware of the danger they were allowing to escape - but that was just as aggravating to the Lord. One momentary blip aside, he thrived in the shadows, in the dark, but voluntarily did so in the knowledge that his name held a level of fear beyond the high walls of his dominating abode; that the mortals beyond it sent his home cautious glances, a shiver running down their spine whenever Lord Chaol and all the rumours surrounding him were brought into general conversation.

The fact so many centuries had passed and his name no longer held that prestige, the fact he was a forgotten entity, unknown and foreign... oh, it infuriated him.

And he longed, desperately and with every fibre of his non-existent soul, to put right that grave wrong.

But first, to deal with the tedious human and her frightened rambling.

"You won't be calling the police; you will not get a chance to do so when your escape from this house is... unlikely," drawled the Lord as he stood before the human woman, his confidence born from an understandable obliviousness to the modernness of this new century, the one he had occupied lacking the invention of the phone and thus blinding him to the possibilities that had exploded since his... involuntary incarceration. In what may as well have been the mere blink of an eye, Chaol had abandoned the coffin in favour of standing before the inevitably disturbed Elora, a crack to his back and neck sounding loud in the eerie silence of the basement and provoking forward a content sigh. He felt ravenous, desired nothing more than to tear into the girl's neck and leave her to stain the basement floor purely because any good fortune he may have afforded previous guests to his home no longer seemed appropriate - why would he gift them their lives after he had taken what he desired from them when he had spent centuries locked away, forgotten and ignored?

No, he was in no mood to be charitable to their kind anymore; to let them live when their deaths would satisfy him far more.

The unfathomable racing of her heart brought him back to reality, the thudding seeming to increase with every passing second, going so fast and with such pressure that Chaol wasn't sure the girl would survive a minute longer; that she would succumb to her fear before he could even place a hand on her, pulling her into his embrace so he could press his lips to her neck; his fangs into her flesh--

The image alone, coursing through his mind, was enough for his teeth to sharpen in hungry anticipation; for his eyes to darken as animalistic tendencies, instinctive predatory natures, returned to him. His strength may have been lacking, the vampire a mere shadow of the pride he had once been centuries prior, but that could all be regained; restored.

It all began with a meal, a feast - and Elora, with her palpable fear and wide, hesitant eyes, seemed destined to be the starter course.

"Tell me, girl," he began tauntingly, his lips parting into an eerie frown, his face seeming to glint ominously in the dim light of the basement. A hand flew back out to grab her arm, restricting any desire to flee she might have held-- not that she could get too far from Chaol in the first place. "You truly lack the knowledge, the awareness, of who I am? You claim obliviousness to my name? This house. it is mine. My portraits hang from its walls; my name is found in letters that line the drawers of the grand desk in its library. You mean to tell me that all traces of myself have been... destroyed? That... is quite unfortunate for you, I'd have been a tad more gentler in my approach had you flattered my ego; appealed to my narcissism. Alas, you leave me disappointed. No matter."
 
Perhaps it would have been smarter for Elora to have ran as soon as her arm had been tugged free. Smarter to keep her ramblings at bay and take off running up the stairs, locking the basement door behind her. Trapping that man until help could arrive.

However…she did not believe her legs could or would work properly at that very moment. They felt numb, also jello-like at the thought of moving—she cursed herself at the sensation.

However, it was understandable.

Elora had been unwilling to go in the basement, to begin with. The doom and gloom that once filled the home only intensified once she opened the oak coffin the stranger had been confined in. Choking…suffocating. The sensation only grew stronger as the man claimed she won't make it out of this house, nor would she be able to phone the police. Elora curing the fact that she had left her phone upstairs in the master bedroom.
The cracking of bone filled the silence between the two, sounding so loudly she wondered how a bone or two did not snap. The sound causing the young woman to cringe slightly.

Just how long has he been in there?

Taking a step back as the man now stood and stepped out from his prison. The first bit of freedom he had in centuries. There must have been some euphoria for his muscles to finally move, to bend and stretch. Though those feelings might have been overshadowed by the parchedness in his throat.

Muscles tensed in Elora's legs, preparing her to run from the looming, intimidating man. However it seemed like the newcomer could sense her attempt to flee, for once more a stronghold was placed on her arm. Holding her in place, daring her to try and rip out of its grasp once more.

Confusion and panic ran rampant over the young woman's face as he spoke of the letters in the library. Just how did he know about them?

Most had been torn, burnt, or damaged from rain that seeped through a hole in the roof. Many of the books, if not all of them had to be tossed from the damage. What could have been saved remained in newly polished oak selves. The letters that had once been hidden away, the ones she could save, were now tucked away in a keepsake chest deep in a closet in a spare room. Having read through some of them…a few seemed too sentimental to simply be tossed away as if it was nothing but trash. To Elora, they were someone's precious memories—given that the authors were long gone. Now…she was wondering just if the owners weren't as gone as she once thought.

As he spoke of portraits, the memory one the one that had been in her bedroom flashed through her mind. Strangely…ever so strangely this man resembled the same man in the portrait. Only…he looked much happier and not so, crazed?

Yes, crazed might have been a good word to describe him at this moment.

Elora thought for a brief second that it was all a trick, hell people could still get portraits done like that in this very age and day. Glancing at the 18th-century clothes that adorned his body, still perhaps believed it was a local trying to scare her out of the house. Yet…the dust that had been on that coffin was thick. Too thick to be anything new.

"You.." the words started before dying in her throat. Shaking her head Elora tried once more.
"I don't know what game you are playing. But you do not own this house. It has been passed through my family for generations. I am the owner of the deed…and…" once more her voice faltered, losing her nerve as she peered at black eyes illuminated by only the electric lantern that was just out of reach.

"My name isn't girl…it's Elora."
 
Existing within a tightly-locked chest for decades upon decades without truly living, truly experiencing, had understandably left Chaol a little... out of sorts, his mind continuing to race as he struggled to comprehend the weight of the situation he found himself in. The gravity of it was almost crushing, his head swarming with countless questions that only served to confuse and overwhelm him with each passing second - because how couldn't it? The last period his eyes had seen beyond the darkness of his coffin was now... gone, left in the past as Time's remorseless surge forward continued - and though he would have had to leave the time behind him even if he hadn't been confined to his prison, the fact he had been stripped of the natural progression tormented him.

He hadn't been given the chance to transition from each changing decade along with time itself, become accustomed to the altering trends and gaining an awareness of the societal shifts as they happened, along with everyone else. Instead of an easy transition, Chaol had been left deprived and confused, his mind very much still set in the past even as he stood before Elora, knowing with great discomfort that this was the future.

A future he was very much unprepared for.

The swirling of unease in his chest continued its journey throughout his body in its entirety, his eyes drifting down to take in the slight of his now archaic clothing - a fact made all the more clear with the juxtaposition to Elora's modern style. Thus, Chaol was quick to frown in his continued bewilderment when he saw just what clothes Elora was presenting, his perplexity deepening at the fact she wasn't donning a dress as any and every woman had during his day. Things had shifted so much, so drastically, that Chaol found himself... wary, for the first time in a long, long time. Even when he had the villagers at his door, parading burning torches and seeking his demise, Chaol hadn't felt frightened or fearful. On the contrary, he welcomed their attempts with a mocking smile-- on reflection, he perhaps should have taken it all more seriously.

Had he done so, he might have avoided spending the best part of a century locked away from a world that progressed relentlessly forward without him.

Any fear that might have momentarily been present in the man abruptly vanished, with anger rearing its head in its place. Had Elora not attempted to defend herself and her rightful home, then perhaps she would have won herself a few more valuable seconds of freedom from the intensity, the outrage, of Chaol's glare - but that seemingly wasn't destined to be the case, her brave remark being instantly met with a sneering expression, one of disgust and, most notably, fury.

"Your house? Yours? Do not stand before me and insult me with your lies, girl," he mocked, deliberately opting not to honour her request when doing so would make it seem like he cared to offer her that crumb of respect... when in reality, Elora was nothing to him but a nuisance, an inconsequence, who he would be happy to be freed from conversing with.

Perhaps it was that realisation that eventually kicked him into action, or simply the continued burning in his throat, but whatever the motivation, Chaol was quick to act. His instincts, even after lying dormant for so long, returned with ferocity as his body seamlessly moved, memories of past feeds flooding to mind and providing that sadistic thrill of pleasure that always accompanied the act of feeding. He had no doubt that some of his kind saw the act as necessary but a regret; something they wished they didn't have to do to survive.

Chaol was not one of those people. He wasn't prone to happiness, and even less likely to physicalise such an emotion, but he couldn't deny the excitement that crashed through him as he held his prey in his tight grip; the adrenaline that coursed in his veins as he took in their fear and heard their heart thump harder and harder; the delight he gained when his teeth sunk into the soft of their skin, when their blood flowed down his throat, sustaining and pleasing him in equal measure. The blood alone was addictive but the entirety of the act, the full process, was what Chaol truly craved - and what he had sorely missed for entire decades.

His first taste of it had arrived at the fear in Elora's eyes, but had been dampened as his confusion, his anxiety, kicked in. Only now, as he pulled Elora into his arms and brushed her hair from her neck, did the adrenaline start its tempting pulsations once again, his head no longer swarmed with confusion but with desire for the blood in the girl's veins; for the panic and the fear that rolled from her in waves.

He forced her head to the side and, unable to resist a second longer, elongated fangs, sharpened dangerously to a point, sank deep within her neck. The first drop of blood was the closest Chaol had ever come to tasting heaven, with the countless that followed only heightening his ecstasy. After decades of starvation, he was now being fed and the process was difficult to switch off from; to detach himself from. Instead, he pressed his jaw tighter, his hands holding her with greater strength, his head pressed in close as he devoured as much of her blood as he dared himself to, his eyes growing darker, his body becoming stronger, with each mouthful.
 
A frown become more evident on the woman's face as the man insisted that this was not her home. That she was lying to him. It was obvious the man was…more than a little disgruntled. There was something in those dark eyes that spoke of fear? Fear and confusion. Much like someone who had woken up from a coma, unsure of who they were, where they were at, or the people that surrounded them.
It was..scary in a sense. A type of feeling that told, no, yelled at Elora that she should go. To keep her mouth shut and not bicker with the strangely dressed man. That feeling only intensified as his glare bored into her entire being.

All of a sudden she was a child again, being scolded by an adult much older, much stronger than she was. Too scared to speak, too nervous to make him much angrier than he already was. There was no point in trying to explain herself, to defend her home or words, the man wasn't hearing it. He wouldn'thear it.

Still, she needed to de-escalate her current situation. Glancing at the hand that held her in place, Elora was sure the man would snap it if he could. If he wanted to, if she pushed him too much more. Perhaps her stubbornness, defending her claims wasn't the way to go.
"Listen…" she started softly, much gentler than how she had been moments ago. Green eyes slowly trailing from his hand, back to his face. Her own softening, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

He might have seen that look before. The look of a human trying to bargain the way out of certain death. Their last desperate plea to untangle themselves from the spider's web. Though…somewhere deep inside they knew there was no escaping. Still, she had to try at least a little, right?

"There must have been some misunderstanding. If you'd just let me go I'm sure we—we can go upstairs and sort this out." Before she could say more, the woman found herself being sharply tugged into the man. Slender arms coming up to place the barest amount of space between the two. The brush of her hair was enough to cause a swell of panic in her, unsure of what the man was thinking—what he was capable of doing. Millions of thoughts rushed through her mind, fight taking over her system just as he began to lower his head.

Harshly the woman tried to throw herself back. Squirming, grunting at him to let her go. Though it was to no avail. Somehow, even after as long as he had been in that box—his strength still outweighed her own. All at once she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck, stilling her body in shock, confusion, horror.

He…bite her?

A harsh intake of breath spoke of the discomfort she felt when he buried his mouth that much deeper into her throat. Elora could feel a wet warmth tinkle down her neck. Missed blood-staining pale skin, her life being stolen from her with each eager mouthful. It was hard to tell if his strength was coming back or if the human in his arms was growing weaker. Her struggling becoming more sluggish, just as her heart slowed and her vision became blurry, darkness just edging on the corners of her sight.
A weakened no, rasped from her lips. It was unsure just who she was speaking to. The vampire that held her captive, the darkness that was closing in, or was it death that was slowly approaching her with each passing second. Her legs becoming weak, body limp as he had his feast.

Still…it was too good to stop.

That sweet nectar that poured from her throat, free for Choal's taking. There was no one there to stop him, or try and steal his meal away. No annoying scream of fear or panic from another to disturb him from his temporary heaven.

That blood sweetened with fear and adrenaline was all his to take, down to the very last drop.
 
Nothing could ever come close to describing the feeling that Chaol gained into his possession whenever he fed. Even when he had the ability to readily supply himself with that nectar, back before his imprisonment and subsequent decades of starvation, the Lord had always devoured each drop of blood that passed his lips, unable to fully comprehend the magnificence of its flavour. There were undoubtedly variations from person to person, some possessing a richer tone to their blood while others were able to provide him with a sweeter taste, but regardless, it was all unfathomably addictive to Chaol, each drop from each person sustaining him in a way that nothing else could have when he was mortal.

After so many decades deprived of the very thing that fuelled him, the very thing that the entirety of his body craved, Chaol knew he was at threat of losing himself entirely to the act. He didn't care to dispose of the humans that sustained him when his view of the populace was through the lens of a predator, seeing them only as prey whose sole use was to provide him with what he needed - so what did it matter if several of the former village went missing after being taken to the grand halls of his estate? Granted, some were allowed to leave, memories muddled and minds dazed, but often, no such freedom was ever gifted to those that became a victim to the man's blood lust.

And after suffering the pain of starvation, where every inch of his body burned fiercely in its desire, its need, for sustenance, wasn't it inevitable that Elora would simply become one of those victims? Another innocent soul who lost their lives within the manor, falling as prey to the strong clutches of the vampire clutching her tightly in his arms and drinking fiercely from her throat without care or consideration?

Ultimately, that was what Chaol intended at first, his mind captivated only by the process of drinking and energising his weakened body. Already he could feel its strength returning to him, a clarity of the mind restored in place of the crazed confusion that had dominated in the years of solitude and total darkness. He felt justified to drain every drop of blood in Elora's veins, to leave her nothing but an empty husk who would rot beneath the earth he unceremoniously buried her beneath-- but Chaol, unpredictably and uncharacteristically, tore his fangs from her neck before her last breath could be robbed from her, eyes of unfathomable intensity locked upon his prey as he digested the thump of her heart - weakened, quiet, but still present.

As he needed it to be.

His hunger might have been settled, no longer gnawing painfully at him, but he still felt tempted to take every drop he was rightfully owed, his eyes dipping to the stream of blood leaking from the wound he had created - but he quickly averted his gaze, swallowing hard to fight back the desire to drain her dry. Doing so fed into his animalistic tendencies, his murderous ideals... but it would only place him in a difficult position that would make his adjustment to this new modern world all the more difficult. He was used to a life that no longer held relevance in society and held a position that nobody in this town seemed to recognise or even acknowledge. To regain it, he needed to first have knowledge of this world he inhabited - and as tempting as it was to dispose of Elora and tackle the challenge by himself, the fear of making himself appear like a fool to these mortals and be openly mocked for his bizarre fashions and antiquated manner of speech was too great for Chaol to take on.

He had to be smart; intelligent.

And for that, as loath as he was to admit it, he needed... assistance; someone to tutor him on all he had missed in his years of absence from society. He had no desire to actually engage in society, of course - but he at least had to harbour an understanding of all that now encompassed it.

"You'll be fine, do stop the theatrics. Press this to your neck, it'll stem the bleeding," he muttered as he snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and tossed it carelessly across to the other - all whilst his mouth and lips remained stained with her blood, an image he knew might be unsettling and distressing at the best of times, let alone whilst in the dimness of the basement. With a dramatic sigh, he retrieved another handkerchief and proceeded to dab at the mess he had created, deciding that, as little as he cared for Elora, it would be wise not to scare her into fainting on him and potentially injuring herself in the process when he needed her alive as a reluctant but necessary teacher.

"You attempt to leave this house or call for assistance, and I will snap your neck, Elora. You remain here, under this roof, and if you should leave the property, I demand that you return having kept quiet about the manner of my existence. Let anyone in on that secret, or attempt to flee the boundary of this town, and I will react with unrestrained violence. I will track you down, however far you flee, and I will punish you for your disobedience. Obey me, honour my commands, and you might still live to see the sun rise each morning," murmured Chaol smoothly, the cracks that had existed in his voice prior now entirely vanished from his speech, allowing it to proceed with a smoothness, a deepness, that made his lips twitch a little in satisfaction. A little blood had been enough to bring him back to his former glory, or as close to it as he could be satisfied with for now.

Already, he was standing taller, head tilted back and shoulders broad, his strength flowing through him alongside Elora's blood. Absently brushing his beloved dining jacket free of the dust that clung to its velvet fabric, he shot his reluctant guest a sharp look, the paleness of her complexion catching his eye.

"If you are fearful that you might faint, do sit down and stop swaying about. I require your assistance and you are no good to me, unconscious and sprawled along the floor. No, gather yourself, girl. You are perfectly fine. Now, let us leave this basement; I demand to see the state of my home. I fear to think what has been done to it in my... absence."
 
Dazed, shocked, disoriented-those were all fabulous words to describe Elora's current status. For a reason she could not explain at that moment, the vampire pulled his teeth out of her slender neck. A flood of relief filled the woman for a fleeting second. While her legs felt weak, her body too heavy to stand, she did not feel as though her life was in imminent danger. Was it delirium she was currently feeling? Perhaps her brain was producing a false reality for her. Willing her to relax while death came and whisked her away. Perhaps she was still being sucked dry at that very moment, her heart slowing to a stop and—

All thoughts were suddenly swept away, the faint ringing in her ear disappearing as a smooth, calm…sarcastic voice broke through. Reprimanding her for the weakened state. As if she was choosing to be like this.
Haphazardly the Chaol tossed a handkerchief at the woman. The old fabric smelling strongly of wood and dust. Lifting her hand, she did as told. Keeping the fabric close to her neck.

Okay..so he did not hit a major artery… perhaps he did not want to kill her after all. Perhaps she misjudged his character. Maybe a little angry, hell she would have been too. Maybe…just maybe he wasn't a bloodthirsty killer and is willing to talk about their current situation calmly and civilly.

Then…Chaol opened his mouth again…

Allowing herself to sink to the ground, looking up at the vampire as he spoke his demands. Spitting her name in a way that shared how just how little he thought of her. How little he would be willing to understand the circumstances that now bonded them together. While she was sure Chaol would make good on his threat of beating her to death should she mention him to anyone or even running away—Elora had already decided long before then that she would not be the one leaving. She couldn't—truthfully the young woman had nowhere to return to. Her home was already sold and she no longer felt comfortable in the town she had grown up in.

This was suppose to be a new, carefree start. So much for that.

Even if she dared to mention to anyone a vampire was holding her captive, who was going to believe her? Some amateur paranormal hunting group?

…

…

No

That would only get them all killed.

For now, Elora decided, it would be best to go along with this crazed vampire…at least until she could figure out another plan. Perhaps one that placed back in the box he had just came out of.

It appeared that Elora had very little reaction to the man's threats. Doe eyes stared at him, unblinking—far away. It was slightly…unnerving to say the least. As Chaol spoke of needing her assistance, the woman seemed to hear that. Squinting in bewilderment.

You just used me as a human juice box, and you expect me to help you?

"You just used me as a human juice box and you expect me to help you?"

Oh…inside thoughts Elora, inside thoughts.

Cringing at her statement, the woman sat on the ground a few moments longer before slowly standing up. Maybe it was best to not anger him yet again…besides the faster they could get out of the basement the better.

"Fine. I'll show you upstairs. But this is our home vampire man." Elora stated, staring at him a moment longer before making her way to the basement steps. "It is in a lot better shape then before, just so you know."
 
If Chaol knew what a juice box was, maybe he would have been amused by the quip.

Maybe.

The likelihood was that a man of his eternal stoicism wouldn't find much amusement in anything.

Not that the question was worth pondering when the truth of the matter was that Chaol remained entirely oblivious to the words that had been uttered, any attempt he made to try and bring understanding to them ultimately -and inevitably- ending in failure. Instead, he latched onto the bizarre response that he felt Elora was presenting; a response that only encouraged his frown to deepen in apparent disdain or at the very least, disappointment.

He had anticipated her to regard him with fear and trepidation, and though both emotions were present, they weren't quite as intense as he longed for them to be. He had just revealed himself to be a monster, had literally tore his teeth from her soft skin - and she still maintained enough composure within herself to converse with him? To lay clarifications about the home -his home- at his door?

Countless of his victims had stumbled over themselves in their fear as he loomed above them, the whites of their eyes present as they stared upwards at the oncoming threat, visibly shaking and shuddering as the likelihood of their life coming to an end neared. That threat remained hovering over Elora's head and yet she seemed remarkably... at ease and acceptant of the sharp turn her life had abruptly taken. She could be a marvellous actor, of course, but Chaol doubted that.

No, for whatever reason, she resisted to grant him the fearful display so many others of her kind had gifted him and as much as it irked the Lord, leaving him fearful himself that he was losing his ways, he couldn't deny the quiet intrigue that grew; the curiosity that blossomed as he took in the odd girl and her odd ways.

"I do not understand your references -what on earth is a juice box?- but that matters not. What does matter, Elora, is that this is and always shall be my home. Do you not... understand the severity of the situation you are in? Has it not occurred to you that I am a vampire? That I could tear your head from your neck in the blink of an eye? You are... responding to the revelation with remarkable... calmness. The last person to do that--"

Chaol paused before the sentence could be concluded, the indifference usually painted onto his face broken by a flash of pain; a flash of genuine emotion. Even in the dim light of the basement, the stark contrast along his features was visceral - if his heart could beat, he knew it would be hammering in his chest, to the point of breaking into pieces because the last person that had learnt of his secret and regarded it with surprising calmness, the last person to retain her strength even against a potentially fearsome foe, had been Athanasias.

He had thought of her endlessly during his imprisonment, of course. In fact, his thoughts were often dominated entirely by her: sometimes they were mournful, grieving the premature lost of his love, and other times they were entirely positive, recalling the fondness that had warmed his cold, unbeating heart as he clasped her hand in his own, pulled her close to his embrace, allowed his head to be filled with her laughter--

No. No, he wouldn't think of her now; not in front of this woman. She couldn't see him... weakened by his emotion. Not now; not ever.

"Take me to the study, I wish to see my portraits; my letters. My belongings," he demanded curtly as he quickly strode after her, his indifference back in place to cover the brief flash of vulnerability that had existed for a few seconds. "I care not for your opinion, nor to converse with you for matters that are of no interest to me. You will speak to me when I allow it. When I do not, you keep yourself from me; busy yourself with other matters. I do not care to endure your company unless I need to, is that understood?"
 
It wasn't so much that Elora did not understand the situation she was in. Nor did the looming pressure of death not phase her, because it did. However, that fear was currently overshadowed by the need to survive. Her father always told her that panic gets people killed. A statement that rang over and over again in her head. If she remained calm, level-headed—she could get out of this situation, right? Let Chaol feel as though he is in control—though in actuality he truly was.

Nonetheless, Elora was currently freaking out, but in a quieter state. There was still fear that gripped tightly in her eyes—her little brain swimming as it tried to comprehend what had just happened.
Somehow she had awoken a blood-thirsty monster. Well, it wasn't somehow much as she purposely opened a box she shouldn't have—but that was in the details.
That standing before her was a creature she had only consumed media about. Media that made her feel gypped!

This first meeting with a vampire wasn't romantic, or hot. It was terrifying and painful. Not to mention this vampire was nothing like the ones she read in books. He did not talk to her in a suave manner. Did not try to seduce her with empty whispers or put her under some kind of spell.

No.

This one was a bully at best.

Mocking her fear and blood loss. Trying to kick her from her own home…

Elora had been ripped off. Silently she cursed those books and movies.

However, surprisingly there was a bit of humor in this dark situation, the fact that he was questioning what a juice box was…well it made the corner of Elora's mouth twitch just slightly. Amused by the confusion. Though now wasn't the time for amusement, just as he clarified he could rip her head off in a matter of seconds. And she did not put it passed him. One wrong move and Elora could be done for.

Curiosity sprung into the woman as he began to recall someone, someone important it seemed. Judging by the slight amount of vulnerability—one that was gone within a matter of seconds.

"No. It has occurred to me that my life is in a highly dangerous situation. I guess I'm just stunned is all. We have books about your kind—obviously, they were wrong to so many degrees." A little bit of bitterness left her voice but quickly disappeared the next second. "You were nothing more than a myth—a legend. To find out vampires are real…well it's very shocking. As for what a juice box…we can get to that later."

It struck her just then much Chaol had missed out on. It was clear the man was going to be in for quite a shock when she lead him upstairs.

What was he going to think of the lights that you could turn on and off with a simple switch? Was he going to try and attack the tv? What about when he hears a phone ring for the first time? Or sees an airplane, or even a car for that matter? It was all going to be so scary, so overwhelming. So…sad.

For a brief moment, there was a look of pity on the woman's face. Too easily did she slip into that man's shoes, imagining just how terrifying a new world might be. Just how overwhelming it would be to not recognize anything, not understanding how something so simple could possibly work.

But again, that pity was only felt for a brief moment.

For when Chaol opened his mouth demanding that she does not speak unless spoken to, that pity went flying out the window. As he spoke about not caring for her company the woman's eyes narrowed, a sharp remark forming at her lips—stopping her as she drew in a sharp breath.

"Understood. You'll barely notice I'm here." Elora hummed, tension sitting lightly in her voice.

Going back up the steps, Elora cracked the basement door. Through the crack, Elora could see the lights were back on. Thankfully flipping the breaker did just the trick.

Pausing, Elora turned her head
to glance at the vampire behind her. "You might want to shield your eyes. It's going to be a little bright." Opening the door, Elora introduced the vampire into his new world.

Stepping out of the basement, Elora took the same sharp turn and began to lead him through the foyer. She paused for only a second to nod at the kitchen they were passing by. The kitchen that was once separated from the house and its guest by a single door, not stood naked. Allowing anyone to see the unsightly servants and cooks that were usually running about…though it was relatively dark.
"We will…uh get to that later. That might be a bit more overwhelming."

Despite the vampire's demand for her to be silent, it seemed the woman was not too keen on following that order just yet.

While the walls were painted white, the floors seemed to have remained the same hard-wooden ones he had been familiar with. Though, they did look newer…more shiny and less blood-stained.

From the foyer, Elora moved towards the front of the house where the stairs were. The stairs were bare now, no grand red runner ran down them. Those wooden stairs were replaced, blackened, and slick looking. The railings also had been replaced with newer wooden ones—white ones that seemed to contrast well with the new steps. From the stairs the young woman turned left, leading him to his former study.

A once solid oak door had been replaced with two white French doors, giving the study an unneeded dramatic effect. Stepping to the left, Elora flipped a switch to turn on the chandelier that hung high above the tall ceilings. No longer were the walls a simple wooden texture. No. They were smoothed, painted an emerald green. The bookshelves appeared to be the same, however, there were a lot fewer books than he could remember. More than a majority of his shelves lay barren. Worst of all the desk kept his letters in was no longer there, replaced now by a wooden desk with golden legs. A slender laptop sitting closed.

His portraits had also been replaced. In its place were gold picture frames of famous (though dupes and not the real thing) art pieces he had yet to see. Nothing of his had seemed to remain.

Slowly pulling her hand from her neck, Elora clutched the handkerchief in both hands now. "A lot of things were damaged when I moved in and were impossible to save. I do have some old letters, but I moved them to another room."
Elora's words came out more hesitant, fearful even—having no idea how the man was going to react.
 
If books about his kind were so wrong in their depictions that Elora was puzzled, perplexed, by the way Chaol regarded her, then it only left the vampire's mind to whir in curiosity. He was loath to admit that that curiosity existed, his ego refusing to allow him to even consider possibly finding these pieces of literature for himself to see just what Elora was referencing (because really, a vampire of his age, his status, his high regard ought not to concern himself with such frivolous nonsense)... but denying it would be a flat-out lie when the intrigue had been ignited, his lips darting down into a quiet frown in dismay at how quickly her words had struck some interest with him.

It was better not to regard Elora with anything other than disdain; to view her simply as a means to an end. She was the link to the modern world beyond the home that he wished to discover, to familiarise himself with in order to make an appearance out on the streets under the cover of darkness in order to feed without bringing too much attention to himself - something that would happened with incredible swiftness if he were to leave the house now, unaware of society's progression and standing out like a sore thumb, bewildered and bemused, because of it.

Elora was merely a reluctant tutor, someone whose sole purpose in his life was to teach him what he needed to know before she could be disposed of; thrown from his home and left to fend for herself.... unless, of course, she proved to be so irksome that he decided to cut his losses entirely and snap her neck instead. Whatever outcome he eventually settled on was irrelevant, really - either way, she wouldn't mean anything to him and he was determined to keep it that way, which ultimately meant not allowing for any connection to form; any bond to foster.

He had no desire to ever regard any human as a potential... companion, viewing them instead as blood bags whose purpose was to feed and sustain him. Only one person had ever broken through his walls, melting the ice around them with ease - and the pain that tortured him from losing her, a pain that still throbbed endlessly in his chest even if it had been centuries since she last took a breath, would prevent him from ever seeking to open himself up to a similar experience again.

And anyway, his darling Athanasias was the exception; his heart's partner. With her gone, Chaol was alone and that was the way it was destined to be; the way it had to be.

Breaking himself out of his reverie, with his thoughts drifting once more to his lost love, Chaol cast a single, solitary glance back at the coffin. It wasn't difficult to abandon it as he ventured upwards into the main house -frankly, he wanted nothing more than to tear the wood of the chest apart with his bare hands and toss every splinter of wood into the fire- but there existed a weight on his chest as he fully took in the sight of the box that had been his prison for countless decades. It had hardly fit his tall frame, his strong physique, and even if the blood had recharged him, his limbs still ached from how he had been cramped within its walls; from how hard he had relentlessly banged upon the roof of the chest, hoping against hope that some human would hear him-- or the anguished cries that also emanated from him whenever Athanasias came to mind.

No, he wanted to see the chest rightfully destroyed for all the misery it encompassed. Only then, with it destroyed utterly and completely, could Chaol heal from it all and move forward.

But first, he had to literally move forward, up the stairs and behind Elora into the almost blinding light of the main hallway.

All at once, Chaol felt... overwhelmed once more, albeit to an entirely new level when he was faced with so much change. Elora's presence convinced him that society had changed massively since his day, but to be faced with so many more examples all at once... the vampire struggled to keep a mask of indifference in place. He didn't care to be seen as vulnerable or overwhelmed by his surroundings, and certainly didn't wish to have his emotions picked apart, but there was something horrifying in seeing his treasured home, with all the features that had brought him comfort as he wandered its halls, now... a shadow of its former self, at least in terms of its newly refurbished interior.

The study was perhaps the most egregious example, Chaol standing in its doorway in observation of everything that had been altered since he was last free to walk among it. His bookshelves may have remained but that almost fell into inconsequence against the plethora of alterations, with his eyes falling to the space above the fireplace where his portrait had once proudly lined the wall; a portrait not only of him but of Athanasias, smiling brightly as her hand rested delicately in his own. It had been her idea to have the portrait commissioned; an expression of their love and devotion, she said--

And to see it no longer hold pride and place in his beloved study, replaced instead with some inferior piece-- it made Chaol's blood boil, as though the last remnant he had of Athanasias, the last piece of evidence he had that she had desperately and devotedly loved him, had been... eviscerated from existence. He had his memories, but he wanted the physical proof; the small reminders that she truly loved him as much as his memory told him she did.

Which was why he wanted the letters; the notes and poems that they would pen to one another despite sharing the same house for some few weeks, the two delighting in leaving the letters for the other to find among the property. Those were the treasures he sought the most, the truest expression of how Athanasias had felt for him - and Elora suggesting that they weren't disposed of but merely moved someplace else caused Chaol to shoot her a glare, a look of pure venom with his jaw immeasurably tight, in expectation.

"Then you fetch those letters to me. They had better all be there, Elora, or I will... I will..." He trailed off as he sunk to the chair beside the desk, his lips pulling into a scowl at the pale imitation of the desk he had often sat proudly at. Unable to fathom what he would do, or how he would react, if the letters weren't recovered, he chose to distract himself by peering absently at the modern technology set so casually upon the desk, a finger hovering over the laptop's keyboard before, as curiosity demanded of him, he tapped one or two keys upon recognising the letters etched onto them-- only for the vampire to visibly recoil at the sound of the tap itself, his fingers pulled away from the object as though it would physically burn him if he continued his exploration.

"The letters, Elora," he prompted after a further moment, his eyes lifting briefly to meet the woman's. "Hurry, at once. Bring them to me-- but do not read them. Their contents are not for your eyes to witness."
 
The tension could be seen on Chaol's shoulders as he stepped past Elora into his former study. Understandably the vampire was overwhelmed by all the changes. She was sure his mind was swirling with memories of his former home, and how none of it now aligns with his current situation. Elora assumed she would feel the same way if she returned to her childhood home, only to see the new owners had completely changed it from her memory. Taking away the warmth and comfort she had once known, that single thought caused her heart to squeeze painfully. Pity filling her body, unable to do anything but watch as the vampire took in his new surroundings.

There was no hope that he would enjoy anything in the house she had done. The young woman assuming he would find issues with anything and everything. Elora understood and assumed he would, mentally preparing herself for those moments.

As she spoke of the letters, the woman sucked back her lips, closing them tight as the vampire glared her down. If looks could have killed…Elora would have been down for the count. Her already pale face seemed to pale more from the intense gaze of hatred. Perhaps it would have been best not to have said anything, judging from what she could read of those letters, they must have been pretty important to Chaol.

Then once more the threats started, but very curiously his words had trailed off. A disgruntled sigh falling from his lips as he looked at the new desk, flopping himself in the chair beside it. Then…he began poking at the keyboard—its screen lightening up as it had not been properly turned off. A picture of Elora and two older adults popped up on the screen—the computer welcoming him and asking him to place a password in.

Elora might have been more concerned if she had not been engulfed in her own amusement. That amusement clearly seen as Chaol looked up at her—demanding her to gather his letters. Acting as though just a few moments ago he did not become startled by the tapping of a keyboard.

It took everything for Elora not to laugh. To not embarrass the already tense creature.

When their eyes met, the woman had for a brief moment a softened expression—however that quickly vanished as he spoke about not reading the letters. Her eyes widened slightly, the woman breathing a breath of harsh air, nervously laughing while waving him off. "No no. Of course not. Only a weirdo would read someone else's letters." Nervous laughter continue as she lied straight to his face, the woman taking a few steps back, further into the hallway. "Let me go find them."

Before more could be said, Elora disappeared down the hallway, her feet carrying her as fast as they could.

Chaol was left alone in the room, his thoughts being his only companion. Much had changed throughout his home, and yet there was still much to see. Was Athanasia's garden still out back? What about the gazebo where they would lunch together after a long and stressful morning? Were their clothes still hanging in their closet, or what about Athanasia's favorite tea set? There were so many changes, so many questions. Was it possible to answer them all at once, or would the new knowledge drive him crazy? Would the fact that most of everything he had come to know and love was replaced gnaw away at him? Those precious memories taken from him by the merciless hands of time, would they drive him into a deeper despair?

It was…too soon to know for sure.

The soft clicking of a clock somewhere could be heard. The gentle sound of rain slowly and rhythmically began beating on the windows of the study. After about ten minutes, the sounds of footsteps could be heard, and once more Elora returned, this time carrying a box in her hands.
Gently she placed the pink box on the table in front of him. A little golden latch keeping his personal memories sealed away from dust and destruction.

"I must warn you. When I found them they were in the best of shape. The roof had caved in at some point—and there was some water damage from the rain. Others looked like they have been torn. But it's nothing a little bit of tape could fix. Just be gentle with them. I'm sure they aren't as firm as you remember."

It was easy to think Elora was being condescending, especially when her voice was as gentle as it was. As though she was worried she would spook him, or perhaps acting as though he was a helpless child that needed tender talking to understand. However, those things were far from the truth. While yes she was scared, anxious and weary of this man. The pity she felt for him seemed to out weight those current feelings.
 
In her temporary absence, Chaol was left once again to his own thoughts though at least with only himself for company he didn't have to try quite so hard to hold back the emotions from finding their way to his expression. Rather, he allowed them to flood it as the full weight of his circumstances set in, his shoulders sinking as if physically affected by that invisible pressure tying him down. He rested his head back against the surprising comfort of the new desk chair and turned around in order to face the fireplace behind him, his eyes trained in on the warm, flickering flames in an effort to cleanse his mind free of the thoughts storming, raging, within it; thoughts that only aided in heaping on more of that seemingly eternal weight.

He never... used to feel like this; was never someone who had to endure pain and heartache before Athanasias came along. Until her presence in his life, Chaol had been content living a life of solitude, known by the village as a figure of mystery and unease, whose rare sightings amongst them and the propensity for guests to his home to go abruptly missing only furthered the rumour mill that surrounded him. But that was fine to Chaol; preferable, in fact, because he didn't care to befriend anyone or have them approach him with any kind intent. He wanted his own company and for decades, he had just that, tied to his own bitterness and brooding energy with contentment.

But then she came along and tore it up with nothing more than a flash of her smile. The first time he set eyes upon the Princess, Chaol was almost sure his unbeating heart had fluttered in his chest in response - and to see her return the longing of that gaze, to not be disturbed by the rumours that surrounded him but actively seek to hold his attention and initiate a conversation have Chaol... a strange sense of promise; of optimism for a future where he wasn't alone but had a partner at his side. Someone who unequivocally accepted him for who -and importantly, what- he was.

Did she change him? Undoubtedly - but those changes felt natural, an instinctive response to the positivity and happiness she brought to his life. No longer could he be moody when surrounded by her love; no longer could he resist the town when he had Athanasias' hand tight in his own, reassuring words offered to his ear that, no matter what, he would always have her there with him.

That had been a lie, albeit one she didn't anticipate making, because where was she now?

Dead, six feet underground, without him.

Chaol sharply exhaled a breath as he forced the image aside of Athanasias' last moments, grimacing as he tried not to fixate on the guilt he felt at having not been at her side as she passed to whatever other realm existed beyond their own. Another part of him hated her for causing in him the emotion he was now battling off; an emotion he would never have to contend with if she had never been in his life in the first place. Without her, he would be the emotionless being he had been before her; someone who had no trouble in navigating the world when he felt disconnected entirely to everything it provided.

And yet here he was, struggling with the weight of his grief, struggling with the overwhelming nature of the modern world, struggling with the loneliness he felt without her company.

Just... struggling.

He pushed himself back up to a more refined position when hearing Elora's approaching footsteps and sat back around in the chair before she entered, adjusting his collar and ensuring that no emotion stained his expression before witnessing her reappearance. He wasn't naive to the emotions he was having to battle with but he hoped -prayed- that they would abandon him; that he would, with a little time and determination, return to the man that he had been before Athanasias... even if her brief time in his life had changed him, given he couldn't part himself of reminders of their relationship, as his desperation to clutch her letters tightly to his chest served to prove.

"Yes, yes, they're fragile. I do rather understand how that would work, thank you," he sarcastically quipped as he waved a hand absently as though to dismiss her from his view - why would he need her present now he had some letters in his possession? He hardly wanted Elora to stand over him as his eyes took in the romantic writings from his former love, drinking in the vulnerability that would undoubtedly splash his face as his dead heart felt like it would break all over again as he reminded himself of a happier time.

He steadied a hand as he flicked open the latch and carefully opened the box, the fragility of the letters immediately clear to him as he peered in. The water damage and general passage of time had left them thin and crumpled, at risk of entirely breaking were he rough with them but a gentleness belying his inhuman strength could be witnessed as he plucked one letter from its confinement, quietly unpeeling it until Athanasias' swirled penmanship met his eye.

"You can leave, Elora. You are dismissed," he murmured beneath his breath, albeit distractedly, unable to even shoot her a glare to make his point clear when he was entirely transfixed by the handwriting upon the page... and the loving words contained within it, the teasing remarks about his moodiness making a corner of Chaol's lips tilt upwards in something akin to a smile. "Wait outside the study for me; I will come to you when I am done."
 
The weight of death was something incomparable if one had yet to experience it. A kind of pain that often left a person numb, wishing they could go back and live back in the past. Wishing they had been kinder, happier with the person that had left them. Desperately wishing that their death was nothing but a dream, that their loved one would come dashing around the corner as though nothing had happened. When someone died, it was like they had taken a piece of the livings soul, their heart with them. Painful, depressing, sometimes even maddening.

It was not fair.

It wasn't fair to the living that the dead get to move on, carefree and happy—while the living was forced to continue without them. That they had to suffer unfathomable heartbreak that was treated like such a taboo in the living world. It was unfair that their survivors had to go on, live another day without hearing their loved ones' voice, their laughter—wishing they could give some kind of advice or comfort when they needed it. Begging for them to come back home and fill their world with life once more. Wishing you could join them if it meant you could ease the crushing, debilitating pain you could not escape—no matter how hard you tried.

It was not fair…

But life continues.

As much as one did not want it to, the sun will invariably rise again. Then, one day, that intense sadness doesn't feel as suffocating. The heart doesn't feel nearly as heavy, and grief comes like an old friend to sit with you. To share memories that make you laugh instead of cry. Perhaps even laugh so hard that you actually begin to cry from the sheer joy it brings. You begin to talk about the other person much easier. You began to feel their love as though they have never left. The warmth of the sun feeling as though it was a kiss on the cheek. The sound of the wind capturing their laughter as you began to enjoy life once more. In the darkness of night, the loneliness it brings, you could feel their arms wrap you in a comforting embrace. Reassuring you that everything would be fine. That you would wake to the rising sun once more, allowing you to relax and close your eyes. Sleeping until the very next day.

It takes time, but what is that for someone who has nothing but time?

As the sarcasm dripped from Chaol's lips, Elora fought back to give her own retort to the man. Fighting to save her own sarcastic remark that him knowing how to be gentle would surprise her. It felt as though he was about to crush her to death moments before, and her neck was already feeling sore from the rough way he had bit her.

No.

Elora knew nothing of gentleness from this man.

Still, she wasn't about to anger him just yet. Instead, she watched in silence as he opened the box, plucking the letters up with surprising care, dismissing her so he could be alone. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Elora could have sworn she had almost seen him smile.

Without another word, the woman left the study just as he instructed. However…she didn't exactly stand outside the door to wait for him. Elora was unsure just how long he would be in there—and she still felt intensely light-headed. Instead, she had disappeared down the hallway. When she returned

the woman sunk onto the floor, her phone in one hand while a pack of crackers sat beside her. Elora snacked on them as she absentmindedly flipped through her phone.

Though she was flipping through the device, Elora's mind was completely elsewhere. She wondered if her parents knew the dark secret that had been kept in the basement. Wondering if this was the sheer reason why so many had left the house in complete ruins. Did the townspeople know of the vampire still, or was it now all an urban legend? What were people going to think if they find a man was suddenly living with Elora? How would she even begin to explain that?

Or explain the odd way he spoke and dressed?

Perhaps she could explain that he came from old money. That he was raised to speak and look a certain way…though his meeting with the public was surely far off.

God, she hoped it was far off.

Sadly the woman did not have any new clothes for him to wear. Perhaps she could figure out his size tomorrow and do some shopping. Would he try and join her? Could he even go outside or would he burn in the sunlight? Would garlic actually hurt him? Or what about crosses?

With some time on her hands, Elora began shifting through the internet, trying to learn more about his kind. However, she took everything she read with a grain of salt. It was the internet after all, and most of the people who made these sites were lunatics with nothing better to do.
 
Left alone in his own company once again, Chaol allowed his posture to return to the prior informality as he sunk back against the desk chair, allowing his eyes to scan the letters that he had collected together over his and Athanasias' painfully brief time together. Memories flooded back to him as he read, remembering vividly the strength of love that rose in his chest when his eyes first graced the pages and how, after digesting all they had to offer, he would set them aside and search for Athanasias, pulling her by her hand into his arms as kisses were placed lightly to her neck in gratitude; a chuckle vibrating against the soft of her skin at how unbelievably happy he was.

How happy she made him.

Though the same surge of love strode forward now as he read, it was undoubtedly tinged by the sting of his loss and grief, with the memories that similarly came to mind only causing his mood to sour. He tried desperately to cling to the happiness they provided him, to be grateful that he had at least experienced the joy of having Athanasias in his life, however short the period was... but he couldn't. Anger rose abruptly and violently to the surface as his shaking hand worked fast to set the letters down before he could inadvertently crush them in his growing wrath.

Because it wasn't fair that Athanasias was gone, taking from him and left to die of a broken heart without him. It wasn't fair that he had been torn of her embrace and left confined to a prison for decades, stuck frozen in time as the world moved on without him.

And it wasn't fucking fair that his home, his sacred space that held the memories of Athanasias the strongest, had been stripped of its former aesthetic, as though all traces of Athanasias herself and the love they shared had been disposed of.

Was it any surprise that the patience he had displayed since being freed from his confinement had now snapped?

The painting hanging above the fireplace wasn't destined to last for too much longer when Chaol's eyes, searching with anger and lit ominously from the fire's flickering flames, settled intensely upon it. In decades past, he had stood at the doorway to the room as Athanasias encouraged him to place his hands over his eyes, only insisting he open them again when the portrait -their portrait- had been hung up by her own hand. He remembered the laugh that broke from his lips as he heard her struggle, imagining how she had clutched handfuls of her dress in order to clamber upon the desk and set the portrait in place, but the laughter died down when he removed the cover of his hands and took in the proud portrait: him devilishly handsome beside an effortlessly beautiful Athanasias, the painter having succeeded magnificently in capturing the look of love that had been present in both their eyes when stood for the portrait.

And now some... meaningless piece resided in its place, an insult to Athanasias' memory.

No, she would break her heart if she were alive to witness how all of her hard work, all of her pride in commissioning the portrait and the shine in her eyes as she watched Chaol's joy unfold at its presence, had been brutally and cruelly dismissed of.

Once the seed of the idea had been planted, the outcome was inevitable - within the blink of an eye, Chaol had snatched the painting from the wall and broke its frame apart with his bare hands, tossing piece after piece into the the heat of the fire in the hope that its devastation would make him feel a little better... but when his anger remained, exacerbated by the grief and the unfairness and the injustice, the Lord was left to glare into the flames in disgust.

He wanted -no, needed- to feed again; to fuel himself on the fear of the humans that had long since forgotten his presence. He needed to break bone, get high on their terror, feel the warmth of their blood run into the cold of his own.

But one glance to the window, to the world beyond the sanctity of his home, put an end to that desire. He couldn't risk wandering out and bringing ridicule to himself when it became abundantly clear to all that crossed his path that he was... strange, standing out for all the wrong reasons against their modernity and ease in this new time; an ease Chaol had yet to reach.

Moving swiftly to find Elora, her blood still in his veins making tracking her presence in the home instinctive, he stood over her once entering her room without request. He could blaze angrily down at her for the disobedience she had shown in refusing to stay where he had demanded, but there were more pressing concerns flaring in his mind than chastising a girl for merely wandering down the hallway.

"...I was locked away in the 18th century. I have missed everything that has taken place in the world since that time, Elora. I am... bewildered by your clothes, your freedom in speaking to me without honouring my title, your strange... possessions," he paused to glance at her phone for emphasis. "....It is all odd, bizarre in fact, but I need to become accustomed to it all, so let us start with that thing in your hand. What on earth is it?"
 
In the hallway, just outside the study, Elora found herself wondering why she was listening to this man. Why was she obediently sitting outside her study like some dog? Like—like some child that was waiting for their parent to get done with their task. No, she did not have to wait on him. What was he going to do, kill her? Well…yes that was a strong possibility, but he needed her alive, at least for now. So the likelihood of him actually snapping her neck was pretty low.

At least she hoped it was low.

With a disgruntled huff at herself, Elora found herself standing back up. Marching off into the distance to the master bedroom, throwing herself on the floor there—relaxing slightly as she snacked upon her crackers. Just missing the sound of Chaol throwing a fit and destroying one of her pictures.


To say it was unnerving when Chaol appeared in her room was an understatement. There she sat on the floor, the plush rug softening the wood below her. A cracker half in her mouth, her phone in her other hand as she stared wide-eyed at the vampire. It was…very quick that he had found her. The small woman assumed it would have taken him at least ten minutes before he got to her room. Did he sniff her out some bloodhound? Were they somehow bonded now that he drank from her and didn't kill her? Could he read her thoughts?!


No…she might be safe from that one. Surely he would have snapped long before then.

The young woman listened as he spoke about needing her to teach him of this new world. How confused…if not frightened for the way everything has changed. Elora followed his eyes as he glanced at her phone, then looked back to his face as he questioned just what it was. Finishing her last bite of cracker, Elora stood up. Moving to her bed, she sat on the edge patting the spot beside her, beckoning for him to join her in a more comfortable spot. Perhaps the bed had looked familiar, truthfully when Elora found it, the frame was in much better condition. Some sanding, tinting, and a new mattress brought it back to life. Only it was the ugliest shade of pink he could have found. A blush shade, nothing like the royal red he had once known. Frilly pillows sat at the headboard, only adding to the girlish feel.

"First off, I have no idea what your name is. So addressing you is a little bit hard here. More so, most places in society have given up on titles, we usually just call people Sir or Ma'am out of politeness. I'm sure there are still people that go by Lord or Madam, but those are more…stuck up, snooty people we like to make fun of."

The latter of the explanation fell from her lips with a trickster of a smile.

"We still have our Kings, Queens, royal family and what have you."

Pulling up her phone, the woman made sure she was off her most current searches. Instead, he was met with a rectangular screen. One that showed a background of a happy little family Elora belonged to. "This is called a cellphone. It can connect you to just about anyone in the world instantly. Instead of writing letters, you can write messages using this device. They will travel much faster. No matter what time it is or where you are, the message is guaranteed to get there within seconds. You can also use it for entertainment." Elora explained, scrolling to another part of the screen, clicking on a little red square that opened up another screen. On that app, Chaol would find a sea of people staring at him. Unmoving, unblinking.
"Just like this. People can record themselves and post it online for everyone to see. Some people like to make funny little skits or talk about their lives. While others play games for other people to watch and enjoy."

There was a pause before Elora looked up at the man, her eyebrows rising in a slight bit of concern. "Does this make sense so far?"

Elora was careful with her words, trying her best to explain to the vampire just what she was holding, trying to explain to him in a way he might understand. Though it may have only confused or upset him more.

"Oh, you can also take pictures. Kind of like portraits but now you don't have to pay anyone to make them. And they are done in real-time, so you don't have to worry about sitting for long periods."
 
His desperation had otherwise demanded that he ignore the societal rules that had been present during his day, allowing him to feel justified in bursting into a room he knew Elora had been in without first knocking to alert her of his presence and his subsequent desire to see her - though frankly, he couldn't imagine that that had changed too much in the years he had been absent from the world. Surely it would always be a matter of having good manners to knock at someone's door, rather than burst in on them unannounced?

But when he held no respect for this girl with her claim on his house, it wasn't a concern of manners - why should he care to offer that crumb of respect when he possessed none of it for her?

What did alarm him, however, was the invitation to join her on the bed, the pat of her hand beckoning him to do so provoking a visceral grimace. It felt unfathomably personal, intimate, to sit beside a woman he didn't know on her own bed -or at least the bed she had now claimed- and if it was a thing that had become commonplace in this new future, then Chaol was decidedly discontented by it. No, a bedroom, to his eyes, ought to be the private space between one man and his beau, with the bed specifically a place for them to join together in an act, expressing the sacred bond that their love was.

As far as he could tell, Elora had no beau to share her bed with, but that didn't make it at all appropriate for Chaol to accept her invitation and sit beside her. He was only present in her bedroom because he was desperate to begin his tutoring - ideally, the lessons would begin in his study, or the drawing room, but time was of the essence and he didn't care to get into a discussion about the unease he felt being stood in her quarters, surrounded by her personal effects and treasured possessions.

It was the reminder of his own desperation that caused him to exhale loudly in despair, rolling his eyes to the heavens as if chastising them for having cursed him with so much trouble. As uneasy as he was with the invitation, he felt inclined to suffocate his discomfort and accept it - the longer he allowed the situation to drag by without answering her with his presence at her side, the less subtle his hesitation would become.

And he really didn't need Elora mocking him for his antiquated views; not when he already felt like a spectacle before her eyes with his old-fashioned clothing, his hairstyle, his manner of speech...

"A cellphone... it rather takes away from the romantic nature of letters, doesn't it? The fondness that can imbue the pages upon which you lovingly scrawl... no, I don't like it. Letters will make a comeback, this cellphone nonsense is just that: nonsense," declared Chaol confidently with a dismissive huff in disapproval, his eyes momentarily narrowed in on the screen when another image of Elora with her family flashed upon it. Knowing now that this was a picture, rather than people trapped in the screen as he had initially been alarmed to believe to be the case, made him feel a little foolish - but when he hadn't communicated his initial thoughts to Elora, she at least couldn't openly mock him for the stupidity of it.

As she continued, speaking in a slow tone that was understandable but still left him scowling in dismay, feeling like a child being taught to read for the first time, Chaol allowed his eyes to turn to the woman at his side, finally allowing himself to take in the details of her face with the benefit of the light in the room; a benefit that wasn't afforded to him in the dim basement. However tied to his misery Chaol was, the vampire couldn't deny the beauty that Elora possessed. It was a beauty unlike the sort Athanasias had claimed, the two differing in a variety of ways, but they were each beautiful in their own individualistic way - and Chaol didn't need to like Elora to make note of the blue eyes framed by long lashes; the tresses of soft, blonde hair; the full lips and high cheekbones upon a delicate complexion.

And not to mention the sweetness that her scent, her blood, produced; it was intoxicating and it took every fibre of his strength not to indulge himself in the taste once more.

"I did detest standing for my portrait, it was a tedious process," he reluctantly admitted as he diverted his strong gaze back to the phone in her hand, holding himself back from fully examining it as though it was dangerous, and getting too close to it would endanger him in some manner.

"Lord De Villiers-- my name, my title. Chaol is... acceptable, if you don't wish to use the formality of my title. I would prefer you did but you modern folk seem to not honour them as you should," the vampire offered, a little irked that he had to explain who he was rather than have it be a known fact, but better for Elora to understand he was from aristocracy and hopefully treat him accordingly than for her not to know at all.

Of course, she might not bow to him and offer up her obedience as a servant to his Lordship as he silently hoped she would... and frankly, he had the inkling that that would be the case.

Elora didn't seem like the subservient sort.

"That thing, does it have pictures of people from... past eras? Does it contain their portraits?" He enquired as casually as he could, though his eyes betrayed him, the desperation lighting the usual darkness unsubtle in such bright surroundings. "I... would be curious to know if I am on that thing; I was quite the name back in my day, renowned far and wide for my brooding good looks; my money, my land, my home. If your cellphone does not have knowledge of me, then it is quite useless, Elora. I suggest you detach yourself of it and return to letters; to books; to art. Things of substance."
 
A tilt of her eyebrow had Elora questioning the deeply unsettled sigh that the man produced. As if it was a chore to come sit by her, to have her explain out of the goodness of her heart the technological advances that society had made over the years. The woman assumed the grimace came from having to sit by her. To be near something that he considered nothing more than food. The woman had not thought twice of inviting him into her room, onto her bed. Not thinking just how inappropriate something like that was. Especially when it came to being a man.


"I don't have to show you any of this you know. You can try and go find someone else if you want." Elora huffed, tension mixed with annoyance falling into her voice.

As Chaol spoke about how letters would make a comeback, that cellphones were impersonal and least romantic, the human couldn't help but let a laugh bubble out of her throat. To some degree, he was rather correct. Text messages also lost their sense of voice, so it was often hard to tell just how something was being said. And because it was so instant, it was easier for miscommunication and misunderstandings to occur. More so when one was in the heat of a moment from a fight.

"You are right, text messages aren't as romantic. I think many women can agree that reviving a letter would make them swoon rather quickly, harder even if someone took out the time to do something so personal.
However, people can still write the sweetest things through their devices." For a moment something flashed a crossed Elora's face, something almost akin to sorrow, as if she was missing someone. However, that fleeting moment was quickly gone, instead placed with a cheerful smile to his instance that letters would make a comeback. "Perhaps you are right, maybe they will. But as for now—I think this could be a close second."

As she continued, explaining how the phone worked—how to click and type on the device, the woman seemed completely oblivious to the staring Chaol was doing. Absorbed in trying to teach him as best as she could, to try and reach the vampire on levels he could understand.

As he spoke of his distaste toward standing for portraits, the woman looked back at him. Blue eyes full of curiosity yet hesitant to ask or prod to man questions from him. "It did sound pretty troublesome. I've never had a portrait done. However, I've seen people in movies get them done. Oh…that will be another topic we can get to on another day." She could feel the hesitation from the man as he continued to look at the phone, the tension that seemed to set in his stare as if the device could hurt him in some manner.

However, before she could ask him if he wanted to hold the phone, or touch it himself the man continued. Formally introducing himself, his title, and the desire for him to use that title. Of course, after having read those lovely letters of his, she already assumed he was the "dearest Chaol." The one that lit up the life of a woman that loved him ever so dearly. The one that kept her warm on winter nights and who made her burn in ways no one had ever before.
It was…odd.

For what had that woman seen in him? Was it some sort of Stockholm Syndrome that made her feel that way? What made her love a man that seemed so unlovable, so unable to love anything back? Or was it a side that only she could see? One that was especially just for her?

Whatever the case, she believed that woman to be…a tad bit unhinged forever loving this creature.

"It's nice to meet you Lord De Villiers" Elora spoke, choosing to use his chosen title, if not just to accommodate him slightly more. Perhaps when he annoyed her enough she would call out his real name—use it as a blunt sign of disrespect when she needed to.

"As for pictures of the past. It has some, though sometimes it's best not to google your own name." However, seeing the desperation in his eyes, that pleading look to fill some curiosity the woman couldn't help but give in, despite knowing it was going to be a mistake on her part. "I…well… let's look for you."

Typing in his full title, Elora came to quite a few related topics. Clicking on one, she cringed slightly—the blog containing a story that made him out to be a monster:


"In a small town, just east of Rosholm, you could a mansion of horrors. On a cliff that looms over a sleepy town, laid the house of a notorious murderer. Using his charming good looks, power, and money to control and torture the innocent residents.

His name was none-other than Coal De Villiers. A cruel man that killed people for fun.

Or so it seemed.

What many are oblivious to, was the fact that the man also killed for survival.

My team and I had found recordings, dairies of the townspeople stating the man was a creature of the night. A Vampyer. There are documents of people going missing, disappearing within his home after reviving an invitation, only to return with their bodies drained.

Was it possible that he was a sadistic man that bathed in the blood of innocents? A loonie who got off on watching the light go out behind his victim's eyes.

Maybe.

But I can't rule out the fact that he had simply devoured those people as well.

In an interview with a distant relative of one the original residents—they gave us great insight into the stories that had almost been lost to the sands of time.

According to their great great great grandfather, twice removed, There was a woman that came to save them. A princess that was captured and put under some kind of secret spell. A mind-controlling spell that forced her to stay at the creature's side.

Then came along a hero, a vampire hunter named Ralph who heroically killed the vampire. Sealing him away in his Manson of Murder.

To this day, there are rumors that one could hear wailing coming from that house of horrors. Is it the ghost of victim's past, or maybe the vampire himself? It's unclear, but it's a mystery my team and I will be solving!

Join us this Halloween as we stream our adventures in The Devils Manor!
If you wish to join us for a haunted tour or more information about any of the other haunting stories on our website please call us at (763)837-9973!"

Hoping for at least some kind of picture, Elora only found the house they currently resided in. In its worsened state with a horrible filter to make it more "creepy" she supposed.
Without a moment hesitation the woman turned her phone off with a click. Looking to the vampire with a somewhat nervous smile. "Listen…people are stupid. Unaware of the truths that lay within such silly stories. It's best you take it all with a grain of salt. Alright?"

As for the investigation on her house…Elora was sure she would deal with that when the time came. Thinking about it too much now was starting up a headache.

Tapping her fingers against her phone, trying to find a way to remedy the current situation, Elora remembered the painting she had moved into a spare guest room. Suddenly jumping up Elora began to make her way to her door once more. "You know I do believe I have a portrait that belongs to you. Surprisingly it's in pretty good condition. If you just want to follow me…" without waiting for an answer Elora took back off down the hall.

Perhaps three doors down from the master bedroom, closer to the study, Chaol would find her opening another door. Turning to the the woman flipped a switch, turning the lights on in a rather simple bedroom. A queen size bed sat in the middle of the room. Dark blue sheets and covers decorating the top.

A mirror stood on one side of the bedroom while simple, yet long dresser sat on the other side. On top of that dresser sat the portrait that had been missing from his office. Perhaps not as vibrant as before, but none the less it was still in one piece.

"I thought it was too beautiful to simply get rid of. Almost taboo to be honest." Elora started, turning to gaze back at the vampire.
 
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The intent nature of his observations meant that her brief flash of pain wasn't missed by Chaol's eyes - but he, naturally chose not to dwell on it nor even pay it all that much attention, because what did it matter if Elora's mind briefly ventured back to a memory that evidently held pain for her? She wasn't someone he decided he needed to care about - she was, however cruel it was, nothing more than a tool for him; a momentary necessity but otherwise entirely inconsequential to him in the long-run.

Their interactions would hold no longevity when her use to him had worn out and while he was sure that she understood the lack of interest on his part, it was best to ensure the message sunk in by simply ignoring her when he had no need for her - and that meant refusing to engage in conversations that were tilted in her favour; discussions that had her at the centre, rather than himself.

...But it was easier said than done. As ideal as it would be for Chaol to dismiss her with a scoff, he couldn't deny the fact that a curiosity had been piqued, its flame burning within him despite his best efforts to hurriedly extinguish it. He couldn't stop its ferocity, however, the corner of his lip dipping into a frown in annoyance at himself; at his weakness in feeling curious towards a woman he ought to have no feelings about whatsoever-- unless they were negative.

Eagerly grasping the opportunity to distract himself before his intrigue reached a point where he found himself enquiring about the pain that had flashed upon Elora's expression (because he really didn't want to let his guard down to that extent; not now, not ever again), he leaned in close in order to read the article presented to him. Naturally, the words transfixed him as he took in each one, oblivious to the closeness that his body now held against Elora's, their arms touching; his head a mere inch or two from her own.

But the proximity was lost on Chaol, so engrossed in the discussion about him online that he failed to even acknowledge the strength of the human's scent up close; the intoxicating fragrance that ordinarily would have stoked his hunger and every predatory instinct that accompanied it. Perhaps luckily for Elora, she was spared another uncomfortable bite to her neck-- for now.

As his eyes drifted down the article, Chaol initially found himself amused by the descriptors used to characterise him - because none were inaccurate in their usage. He had taken great pleasure in tormenting the village he had all but loomed over; a monster residing in the shadows and plucking humans off one by one whenever he felt fit-- so he couldn't turn his nose up or sneer at the references when they were all entirely... fitting. He was handsome, he was rich, he was sadistic and, ultimately, he was a monster.

The faint smile on his lips at how history had chosen to remember him faded when the tale moved on, describing the cruelty he had apparently exhibited over a lost Princess; some innocent young woman who had been captured and cruelly kept from the village she seemingly sought to save, brainwashed by the vampire's melodic tones.

None of it was true.

It had been an accusation thrown at him back when he first stepped out with Athanasias, and the man she was seemingly promised to as a bride had clearly felt that that was the case - because how could someone as pure, as sweet, as the Princess ever fall for Chaol willingly; ever look past his murderousness, his moodiness, his monstrousness and... love him?

But she did. It had taken Chaol by surprise just as it had stunned the populace of the village to see their arms linked together, sharing smiles of unsubtle joy, but Athanasias had loved him of her own accord and chosen willingly to do so. To know that history had warped the story, making him seem like he had forced her into his embrace and manufactured their love in his own head... it stung, Chaol's hand plucking the phone from Elora's grasp in order to stare at the accusations up close, as though in disbelief that this was staining his name.

Not everybody who read the article would believe that Chaol De Villiers had been a vampire, of course - but they would assume he was a dangerous murderer who had held Athanasias against her will, forcing her into his arms and making her a reluctant participant in his life when it just... wasn't true. It made no mention of the fact that their love had been genuine and true; that Athanasias had doted upon him and he worshipped her in response.

No, history would only remember Athanasias as a Princess who perished long before her time, who had endured the horrors of Chaol's company as though what they had hadn't been the happiest few months of her life.

He didn't want to move from the bed even as Elora stood and suggested he follow her, no longer interested in receiving the lessons he had come to her for. Instead, he just wanted to scream; to tear apart the house brick by brick just so he could get the anger, the hurt, out and stop it from poisoning him any more than it already had.

Shakily exhaling a breath, Chaol did his best not to allow the sting of tears from making an appearance. Crying was a weakness in his mind, and though he had shed countless tears over Athanasias, he refused to do so when in Elora's company. No, tears could wait for the pillow if they were to arrive - but he would work hard to prevent them. He had spent decades locked to his grief.

It was... exhausting.

What Elora wanted from him was a question he had no choice but to follow her in order to answer though, as his eyes settled upon the portrait, he was glad he hadn't been too stubborn, to focused on the rage flowing through him, to refuse her suggestion. Immediately, unable to present the composed demeanour he would prefer to maintain, Chaol moved swiftly to the portrait, a hand raised to the painted Athanasias upon its canvas. Time hadn't helped the portrait, its frame rusted and paintwork faded, but Athanasias remained... as perfect as ever in his eyes, a finger delicately tracing the rosy red of her cheek with an unrestrained smile carved into his own.

"What they wrote, those people on the cellphone... some was true, but what they said about Athanasias-- the Princess. It is conjecture; false. She... came to me. Loved me, deeply, of her own free will and own mind. She... wanted this portrait painted for us both, it was all her idea. She often had little ideas like that, to surprise me with something romantic. She was... she was wonderful," he whispered before he could stop himself, the confessions, vulnerable and present with emotion, falling from his lips as, perhaps subconsciously, he clung to the opportunity to talk of Athanasias positively; to openly recall the good times they had shared without the memories becoming tinged by his grief and subsequent anger over the injustice of being torn from her.

"...I was a monster, I admit that I probably still am inclined to be one, but never -never- to her. Our love, it... it was the only good, decent thing about me; the only time I was... happy," continued Chaol as he abruptly dropped his hand, clarity returning to him as he shot Elora a glance, his expression returning to the stoic indifference in the blink of an eye. "I want this returned to my study, I'm sure you can set it above the fireplace for me, when you have some time. It deserves pride and place there. Athanasias would turn in her grave to know it had been removed and tossed aside as though it meant nothing. No, it will return to my study, where it belongs."
 
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