The blood is the life.
And as hers drained from her body, rushing out of her veins to feed his hunger and his lust, she could not conjure any anger or fear. They were joined now. She was tied to him more deeply and more intimately than she had ever imagined could be possible. And he to her. His power sustained her, but it was her very life that sustained him. One could not live, or breath, without the other.
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The sun was up, shining a warm kind of light on the rustic buildings that were scattered across the hillside. Trees wove in and around the town, the leaves bright and green in the peak of summer. It was a soft sort of day, the kind of day that made village life seem cozy and slow. Idyllic and simple. But despite the brightness of the day and the good natured warmth from the sun, there was a heaviness that hung over the town's people.
A little ways out from the main bustle of the town, amidst the trees in a forested glen, two young girls paused. One of them leaned over the side of a stone well, while the other busied herself turning a wooden crank to pull the ropes upwards. There was a creaking sound as the contraption worked; likely it would need some work done on it soon before it began to wear with time. The first girl reached down to catch the bucket as it rose towards her.
"Don't you think it's strange, Lenore?"
The words were blurted out, the crank stilling in the second girl's hand as she spoke. It cut through the anxious silence that had hung between the two of them, both of them avoiding the subject like a lingering secret. Lenore's eyes turned up to her friend as she wrestled with the bucket in hand, straining to lift its weight out of the well. Symi rushed to aid her, hands gripping the opposite side of the bucket and carefully the pair of them brought it up and out. Setting it down on the grass for a moment, the girls looked at each other. There was apprehension in Symi's eyes as she waited for her friend to respond.
"You mean Aunt Liza's... passing." The words were a statement rather than a question. It was more than clear what was troubling the younger girl; it had been weighing on her own mind as well. She brushed a stubborn and unruly lock of dark hair out of her face before she stooped to get a grip once more on the bucket. Hoisting it up until it could rest on her hip, she started walking. The younger fell in step beside her, insistent eyes watching her.
"She's the second in a month! People... people don't just.. die!" Symi's voice was laced with a tone of anxiety, and Lenore could sympathize. She wasn't the only one who was rattled by recent events.
"People die. Elders die." She gently reminded her friend, keeping her eyes on the path ahead of them. It was a windy pathway, and tripping on a wayward stone or bramble would mean starting their task over again. The long braid behind her back swayed as she walked, the warmth of the summer air making it frizz around the edges.
"Well, yes, Elders die." Symi considered, tilting her head and looked up at the sky. The day was bright, the sun warm on their skin. "But Elders get taken away to die in peace and comfort... we never see people die. Especially not younger people! The last time I saw anyone under 60 die was when I was a child! And that was a carpentry accident... not... this. This seems strangely like an.. an illness." Her voice got quieter here as she asked in hushed tones, "You don't think its.. a plague, do you?"
Lenore watched her out of the corner of her eye as they moved through the wooded area before briefly shaking her head. She paused to lift her skirts as they came to a particularly muddy portion of the forest pathway. Symi did the same.
"Don't be ridiculous. It's impossible, plagues were wiped out centuries ago. They're the stuff of legends. I'm sure it's just a freak coincidence, that's all. Nothing will come of it." Her friend seemed unconvinced at that. Finally their feet came to land on more regular gravel, and the pair looked out into the village centre.
"Alright..." Lenore put a hand on her friends shoulder gently. "Enough speculation. It's only going to worry you and upset your stomach. Run along, I know your mother has more than enough chores to keep you busy for the rest of the day. And I have to get this water away. " As the girl turned to go she called after her, her voice softer now. "And don't worry. It's all going to be alright."
She sighed to herself as she watched her friend go. In truth, she didn't know that it was going to be alright. Everyone in the village was shaken by the recent deaths. Both were eerily similar in nature, and Symi wasn't the only one fearfully whispering of plagues and illnesses. Lenore was unconvinced that it was an illness, but she too felt a gnawing fear in the pit of her stomach. It was extremely rare for someone to die before they reached that age when they were taken away to live at the Manor for the duration of their old age. As she moved through the village her eyes went to that strange old building, far away from the town on the hillside, as they often had throughout her life.
She smiled and waved at people as she made her way through the town centre. It was midday, and the village was bustling with people going about here and there, running their errands and getting things done. Everyone was steadfastly ignoring the fear that had coloured their lives recently, putting a brave face on it and making the best of it. As she reached the communal water supply she took a moment to steady herself. For a moment, she considered she should have asked Symi to stay with her long enough to help her lift and dump the water, but it was too late now. She hadn't wanted to converse on the topic Symi was so keen on, and besides, she knew she could do it herself. It was difficult, but not impossible.
With a deep breath she lifted the large bucket and managed the task, water splashing into the villages main supply, the bucket suddenly becoming lighter in her grasp. When it was done she fell back from it in relief, the bucket falling to the ground with a thud as she leaned against the wall beside her, wiping her brow from the strain. Deep hearty laughter made her turn her head to see the local blacksmith watching her as he passed by. His big arms were crossed across his chest, an expression of amusement upon his face.
"You know I know it's your turn on water duty today, but you can ask for help if its too heavy. Lots of the girls work in pairs for it." She smiled and shook her head, straightening herself as she placed the bucket back in its resting place.
"You know I'm fine. I got a handle on this." She patted her bicep, flexing to make it bulge slightly. "See? You're not the only one with pipes around here mister." He only laughed again, shaking his head as he continued on his way.
She had plenty more to do today, but she could not help her mind continuing to return to the hillside. As she paused in her walk she once again looked out towards it, taking in the view of it. Nobody knew much about the Manor, save that in it lived the Lord, supposedly, who owned the land the village rested on, and that from it came emissaries only when Elders were taken away to live out their final years. Nobody in the village had ever actually been to the Manor, although sometimes children would get bold and attempt to make the trip. She remembered such games and dares well from her own childhood, but for some mysterious reason nobody could ever make it there. She had tried once, herself, only to find herself wandering, confused, and eventually finding herself back in the village, as though she had somehow temporarily lost all sense of direction and time.
For all it was a mysterious fixture at the edges of their lives, it was always spoken of in good cheer.
The Manor was a nice place, they said, and it was kind of the Lord to allow the Elders a sort of retirement, a resting place to be at peace for the final years of their lives. Only one person in her lifetime had ever had a negative picture in their mind of what the Manor might be like. But Old Johnathan was quite senile, people said. Lenore was the only one who paid his crazed stories any mind. Whenever the subject of the Manor was brought up he became quite agitated, and started talking about strange creatures of the night, creatures that looked human but would hunt you down with intent to eat your flesh and drink your blood.
The stories tended to frighten the younger children, and on more than one occasion parents had given him a stern talking to about minding his words. But Lenore had always been fascinated by them. Of course, she never gave them any ounce of credence... not until the day came for Old Johnathan to be taken to the Manor himself.
When the emissaries came with their horse drawn carriage and the Departure Ceremony began, he had been gripped with a sudden fear that had shaken her to her core to watch. The hooded figures with their violet eyes had always struck her as somber sorts, but this time they seemed almost menacing in light of the man's reaction and unwillingness to depart with them. He had been physically dragged off with them, the usual farewell ceremony quite interrupted, and people had chuckled at his stubbornness and senile fears. "Doesn't know what's good for him!" they had said with a laugh. "Old Johnathan... we'll miss the crazy old guy... hope he gets to rest some, he deserves it."
That was the first time she had begun to suspect that there was more to his ravings than people thought. And now, even as she reassured her friend that all was well, and waved away suspicions and fears of plague sicknesses as the terrors of a bygone age, she had a more sinister thought brewing in her mind. Old Johnathan had talked of victims, drained of their blood, finally dying from lack of it, falling prey to the man shaped predators of the night.
And both Aunt Liza and Simon, the earlier death this month, had died in weakened states in their beds. And they both had what looked very strangely like bite marks on their necks.