Embrace in darkness

Her tragedy had begun on that moonless night 3 years ago. The Count had come for her. She was the most beautiful woman in the village; Von Huppen had obviously chosen her for her long dark tresses and milky white skin. He’d come in the night, they’d been asleep. Both woken by the shattering of the window, Franz had leapt to defend her, only to have been carelessly tossed aside like he was nothing but a rag doll. The wall had shaken as he hit it, but he’d bravely stood and shakily moved back between the Count and his dear Francesca.

This time though the Count took more notice of the large man. The Count’s hand shot out to take Franz by the throat, Francesca had heard the wet snap of the bones in Franz’s neck.

Sobbing with fear she’d run to cover his discarded body with her own. The Count had just laughed and taken her shoulders in those same hands that had just so easily killed her Franz.

Leaning in the Count had sniffed, and then licked at her long elegant neck, before sinking his long teeth into her veins. Taking Francesca as his own, her will gone as her blood was taken.

She’d been his slave from that moment on, bound to his will by the terrible vampiric curse. Forced to serve him as yet one more of his brides, she’d performed unspeakable horror upon unspeakable horror for his amusement. No-one in the village had been safe from his whims. Sick with disgust at what she was forced to do against her will, struggling every second against Von Huppen’s control, but to no avail. She’d taken the new born twins from their parents, bringing them to the Count for a feast.

That’s why the villagers had stormed his castle those 3 months ago. Killing his servants, and finally locating his coffin in the deepest cellar. They’d staked him, ending his grotesque life. Cheering they’d ripped open the less ornate coffins, staking and beheading those they found there. They’d opened Francesca’s coffin last. Recognising her as one of the ones who had taken the twins, and as one of their own. They thought her a traitor, a vile servant who had given herself to evil.

They took her in chains to the village, the Count’s control over her gone now that his parody of life was ended. She’d sobbed, weeping in remorse for the things she’d done at his behest. Her protestations of innocence falling on deaf ears, no one would or even could believe she’d been under Von Huppen’s control. All they wanted now was to debase her. Treat her as the Count had treated them, as a plaything, a toy for the village.

Francesca thought she had known horror as a slave of the Count, now she learned of that horror which is good people gone mad. They’d kept her chained in the cellar of the Inn, a whore for the men of the village, thinking themselves so brave to lie with a vampiress. They’d cut her, burnt her, subjected her to the most awful of beatings. Her vampiric powers of regeneration had always healed her though. Not even the cruellest of violence would leave its mark for more than a few hours.

The men were pleased with her, an everlasting toy for their pleasures and a convenient target for their hate and rage. Cowering alone in the pitch blackness, she’d compared the horrors she’d inflicted as a slave of Von Huppen to the horrors she was now undergoing. At least Von Huppen had an excuse, he was a monster. These people were her friends from long ago. People she had known all her life. Their eyes filled with so much anger and lust when they looked at her in the candlelight.

Three months of pure hell had passed before one of her more drunken visitors had left his knife before staggering back up to the bar, his lusts satisfied. Shaking, she’d waited till the blessed darkness had returned. Summoning up every shred of control left to her, she’d taken that knife and cut through the wrist that was held by the chain. She was sick with the pain pouring up her arm, but she was free now. Free to escape. Escape! But to where?

Half unconscious with the pain, she’d edged up the stairs, bursting through the door to the Inn’s common room. Not stopping once as she ran through the patrons. Their looks of surprise turning to fury as they realised their prize had escaped.

Throwing open the door with her left hand she’d fled into the night. They’d be right behind her she knew, with dogs and pitchforks and fire. She wouldn’t be allowed to live this time. That was almost a pleasant thought as she ran on into the moonlight quiet.

It was only when she’s reached the graveyard that she stopped, listening for the howls of the dogs not so far behind her. Terrified she’d darted through the cast iron gates. She ran on, her severed wrist dripping blood onto the cold hard ground. Falling over in her panic, she looked up to see the name of her Franz on the stone against which she’d fallen, her blood dripping onto the raised earth of his grave.

Closer now were the sounds of the dogs. Her tears mixing now with her spilled blood on the ground. Then suddenly there came another sound, much nearer. Startled she turned her head to find its source. It was everywhere, and nowhere, a scraping noise, quiet but steadily getting louder and louder.

She screamed as the hand took hers. Pulling her down into the earth, deeper, struggling with the hand that gripped her. Arms encircled her, lips touched hers. Familiar lips. Her Franz’s lips. He’d come to protect her at last. Here she could lie and forget her pain, forget the horror. Lie with her beloved in his cold arms till the world went away.



WC - 999

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