The darkness held no mystery for me. This curse--gift, I reminded myself. She would want me to refer to it as such. See, this gift...another perk: I could see near perfect in darkness. My inherited elven blood had always granted me keener senses that humans, but I could never imagine acuity of this variety. It only served to madden me more, locked away as I was in this accursed box of ebony wood. I was still privy to the world outside. Every sound. Every smell. Every subtle fucking vibration. Try as I might, she had somehow secured my coffin in a manner in which I could not escape. I accepted this hopelessness, and that was when sanity gave way to the gnawing madness. Every moment was like an eternity; I dreamt...or, at least, I believed I dreamt. And each "dream" seemed to take another piece of my soul. And gone was the eloquent, arrogant youth of before; a deeper darkness awakened where had once existed a regal ennui. My damnation was complete.
I am unsure how long she intended to leave me there, my broken body mending itself and growing mad with starvation. I do know she roused me a fortnight hence. "Wake, childe. Quickly now." She repeated this as she rent the complex series of impediments put in place to keep me entrapped. When finally I was exposed to the world, time had not been kind. Though I had no reflection, I could sense the unsightliness that my isolation had ravaged upon me. Then, the hunger stripped away all else. Jennivere had brought a peasant family; a strong father, a supple mother, and a daughter not quite old enough to marry off. I mercilessly tore into them. First, I took the father. I leapt upon him like a ravening beast, my fang-filled maw separating the flesh of his neck as easily as a hot knife cleaved butter. His blood flooded into me, reviving me in a way that nothing before ever had.
The mother watched me with suppressed terror as I mutilated her husband and turned my savagery upon her. Before I silenced her forever, her final words were "Spare my daughter..." I sunk my fangs into her chest, tearing my way to her heart's blood, most of my repast wasted to an unquenchable spite. She died in agony unknown to any of my previous victims. Food, I reminded myself, They're just food. I dropped the lifeless husk to the ground. It was then that I realized the daughter had watched, dispassionately, as I slaughtered her family. I was sure she knew her time had come, and it appeared as though she had made peace with what was to happen. I crept more than stalked toward her, unsure of the echoes of regret I was feeling. I resolved I would not take her as I had taken her mother and father. As I came within reach, she closed her eyes. "This will not end here."
Her words struck me as surely as if she had raised a hand in anger. Something changed. Her eyes opened and she met mine with a glare of absolute hatred, any trace of terror unknown to this girl. I feigned a sigh before I used my power to crush her will. "No, dear. This does end here. Bend knee." At my command, she took to her knees before me. "Turn your head and present yourself to me." Her head inclined slightly, and turned as she gazed to her right. I took her gently. The more romantically inclined may even say it was sensual, possibly even loving. I used my command over her to force her to enjoy it as I drained the life from her. I could feel the eyes of my maker, my sire, upon me. Her smile shone down upon me with fell delight. As I dropped the corpse of the daughter to the floor, she was at my side. "I was going to tell you we don't have time for this, but after seeing such a splendid performance, I--"
I walked away from her. "Where are you going?! We have to leave, childe!" Her voice followed me as I made my way through the labyrinthine tunnels of the catacombs and up to the portico that dominated the bailey. The night air felt refreshing to my dead flesh and I took in a great breath. Though I can only imagine, it must have felt as though I were clearing my lungs for the first time. Fitting, as this was a kind of rebirth. Twice-dead, twice-damned. Jennivere rushed upon me, a sense of panic detectable amongst her veneer of casual indifference. "We must gather some things and make preparations to leave." I stopped, turning my eyes upon my sire with a malignant listlessness, "When last I suggested this, you dismissed me outright. What has changed since then?" I could see her weighing the option of chastising me for my insubordinate demeanor or simply telling me the truth.
"Hunters, Ried. There are hunters about." I looked at her and laughed, dismissively. "You told me hunters were bumbling idiots; superstitious humans more apt to strike at their own shadow than lay low even the weakest darkling." I could hear her teeth grit and a low growl in her throat, "These hunters are different. They are true believers. The various churches make use of them as they answer some supposed call from whichever god they bow to." I continued on about my business, waving off this explanation. "If they come, I shall simply send them away. Leave me to my custom, milady: my durance vile has left me unseemly." She threw herself in my path, "Attend to your vanity later, childe! We must go!" Ever had my pride been contingent upon my appearance; coupled with having been locked in the coffin for such a time, I can only speculate this allowed me to ignore her attempts to compel me.
I brushed by her and made my way into the main hall, to what was my room when I slept in a bed instead of a coffin. She followed behind in a fit. “Confound your ignorance! I shall take you from this place by the ear!” She rushed me. She was inhumanly fast, and any other night, she would have been faster than I. But something odd had occurred as I was locked in that dank cellar, inside that oaken box. Something had changed in me...I reach for a hairbrush on my vanity, my fingers daftly snapping the brush end like a dry twig. I was moving at a speed previously unknown, even among my initial test of the dark gift. I easily slammed the splintered end of my yew-hewn brush just beneath the left breast and into the black heart of Jennivere. My would-be master came to an abrupt halt, all of the momentum of her rush spent. I caught her slowly slacking form and laid her on the floor.
“Oh dear.” I said down to her. “Now I've ruined my favorite brush. A pity.” She watched me, unblinking, from the floor as I continued. Though I had no reflection, years of practice had given me intimate knowledge of applying myself by memory alone. I didn't waste any time, but I did carefully attend to my hair and my face, rubbing the oils and creams bought for the dark-skinned traders to the east. My comeliness thus attended, it was time to make haste. I hefted Jennivere's prone form and carried her to my father's study. “I just want you to know that I appreciate all you have done for me, milady.” I laid her down upon the massive table in the study. “You've helped me learn much during these months of transition I will treasure the memory of this, always.” I walked over to my father's liquor cabinet and claimed the strongest of the spirits from within. I doused the room, the rug, the table, and trailed a line into the hall.
Standing outside, looking at the frozen form of Jennivere sprawled out upon the table. I experienced an echo of guilt. I remembered a time when I had broken my mother's favorite chalice and she had raged upon me, but wept in secret after she thought I had left. I watched a single crimson tear run down Jennivere's cheek. “Sleep now, milady. I release thee.” I gathered a match from within a drawer pedestal outside. I flicked the match and tossed it. When the hunters had arrived to speak to the head of the house, they found my family's home engulfed in a great conflagration. I had taken my coffin, stuffed it with valuables, and commissioned a local caravan driver to take me to another province. I used my gift to compel his obedience that I might slumber unmolested through the day, with my “horde” beneath me like the dragons of legend. For the first time in my unlife, I began to dream.
We crossed into a land on gray-skied morning that called to me in my dreams. The land promised me things; greatness, truth, and love. I had never felt such a calling before, in my breathing days nor in the state which I currently existed. When the sun had set, we were still upon that land and I exited my coffin. “Driver, what land is this?” I asked. He looked at me, boredom evident. “Tenaria, sir.” I smiled and broke my fast upon his life's blood. “Tenaria, hmm?” I said, using a handkerchief to wipe away the remaining blood from the lower half of my face. I grabbed my coffin full of baubles and any other useful thing I could scavenge from the wagon. I drank the blood of the horses that had bore us here and went about the business of finding a new residence. It didn't take me long to find an Old Manse that had been purposefully desecrated. It was almost as if the land willed it to be found. I thought back to my dream.
In the first week, I happened upon a tavern that seemed to be operating way beyond the hours that are normally permissible. The tavern was simply called “Our Tavern,” but what got me was the picture painted next to the words. It was a profile of a humanoid with porcelain skin, amber eyes, and what appeared to be fangs. Could this actually be a gathering place for others like myself? I went to knock on the door, but found it to be open. So I walked in, uninvited.