Page 70 of Fragile Wicked Things
"Yes."
"With servants?"
"Yes."
"Do you love me, my Lord?" she said.
"I have witnessed no woman with a greater beauty. Your song enchanted me that first night and I have never needed anyone the way I need you now. Yes, my dear Blanche, I love you."
"You do promise to be kind to me forever? To never become angry like my father once had when I brought him a dead bird. It was small in my hand and I was afraid of it escaping, that I held on too tightly." She squeezed her hands together.
"An accident," I said.
"My father did not like it. Often, he is angry with me. Then he sent me here, away from his wrath."
"Surely, there is no wrath from the nuns."
"The nuns?" She turned to me as if she knew not what I was speaking of. "Oh yes, the nuns. They are not always kind. My answer is yes and I shall embrace any life you bring to me."
"Come here, then," I said, drawing her closer. She fit into the curve of my body, joining with me as if we were one. I kissed her on the cheek, nose, and lips, caressing her face the entire time.
"My love," I whispered into her ear.
I kissed her neck, followed by a nibble, and finally, I bit her, gentle at first, but then I went in deeper. She let out a whimpering cry and fell into my arms, whispered for more, begged me not to stop and she writhed in ecstasy. There was a sweetness to her, a delectable smell—but pure she was not, which surprised me. Having sampled Miriam, I knew what purity tasted like. I felt the life drain from her body and she went limp in my arms. For hours, I sat by the pond, cradling her and rocking her lifeless body back and forth.
Twenty-Two
Blanche was made into a creature of the night by my hands, conditioned never to leave my side, a companion for life. Still, bliss was not to be mine. My nightingale ceased to sing. My angel struggled with the darkness, with the hunger, and each night, she lay in our bed chamber doubled over and shrieking in excruciating pain. She had become ghastly to me and no longer the face of an angel, but a savage. Blanche would roll back her blue eyes exposing the white of her eyes, her lips swelled and darkened. Oh, great foul. What had I done?
The servants kept away, leaving food and drink outside our door while I cared for Blanche. It was not difficult to have them believe a scourge was to blame for Blanche's suffering and they stayed away out of fear of catching the affliction. Nights, I scoured the grounds in search of forest animals and offered them to Blanche in an attempt to weaken her passion for human blood with their blood, but she would have none of them. The hunger was too strong and I feared that should I offer her one of the servants, she would suck their life dry.
I could not comfort her. Finally, she rested in the day when exhaustion overcame her frail frame. During the night, she grew worse, and the quiet in the castle gave way to her screams, the horrendous sounds frightening the servants. To calm her, I held her in my arms and whispered love poems into her ear, but she pushed me away—me who was her Creator, her Salvation. She looked at me with such hatred and sorrow.
"I want to die!" she said.
How could I deny her when I myself had begged for deliverance? What I had created, I could destroy, but I rebuffed the thought believing she would overcome this darkness, one I believed could not be as strong as that which lives inside of me since she had never taken a life.
One night, I traveled again in search of more animals to offer my angel. I knew the outcome would be the same and she would not feed, but I was obligated to try. Hunting had become easy by then and I would wait for the moment to pounce and if they fled, I could travel as swiftly as any animal. The forest was my kingdom, and I had no fear or reason to hide my true self. Alone, I would run through the woods as fast as I could, leap up high to touch branches and feed whenever the urge overcame me. That night, I spent a long time outside the castle and traveled far.
Later when I returned, I did not find Blanche in our bed chamber where she had been bedridden for weeks. I threw open the window, peering to the grounds below, but nothing had been disturbed. Quickly, I ran down to the lower level, searching from room to room, shouting Blanche's name and slamming doors. I was about to wake the servants when I saw a figure sitting at the table by the unlit hearth. I slid into the darkened room and my eyes pierced through the blackness towards Blanche. Color was again on her cheeks and lips, her hair had regained its brilliance and there was an energy to her I had not seen since before I had turned her. My angel had come back to me. I ran to her, threw myself down at her feet, kissed her hands which I held in my own.
"My darling, you are well. The sickness has passed."
"Strength has returned to me, my Lord. I see now the life which you have given me," she said.
"Do you hate me?"
"How can I hate you for lifting me out of the hellish despair I was in? I am free now."
She captivated me with her resonating light, a glow that cascaded from her smiling face. I was so enraptured that, at first, I did not notice Miriam's wash lay twisted and soggy in a basket near the hearth. Nor did I realize, given the fuss I had made searching for Blanche, that not one servant stirred. The castle was still.
"My Lord, there is a strange look to you."
"Where are the servants? Miriam?" I asked in a whisper.
"They are around here somewhere. I saw them earlier." Her eyes flitted away from me.
"Shall I get Miriam to fill a tub for you?" I said.
