The twilight hours graced Whitethorn Hollow town with their enchanting allure. Young Isolde, her raven-black ringlets dancing in the breeze, scampered along the cobbled street, her eyes alight with curiosity as she peered into the ornate shop windows that adorned the avenue. Clutched tightly against her chest, a colossal teddy bear became her cherished companion on this splendid spring day.
As Isolde traversed the thoroughfare, a gentle wind whispered through the ancient trees, its soothing melody serenading the surroundings. The branches swayed in graceful arcs, creating a tranquil rhythm to which Isolde's heart danced. The caress of the wind against her cheeks brought her boundless joy, fueling her youthful exuberance.
"Isolde, mind your step," her mother admonished, her voice tinged with maternal concern.
"You could easily tumble and hurt yourself. For a twelve years old you sure do act like tender five years old, my dear," her father chimed in, hastening to her side. He extended his hand, intending to relieve her of the teddy bear's weight. Yet, Isolde, with a pout, clung to her newfound treasure.
The embrace of the teddy bear had cocooned her in comfort, making her momentarily forget its heft.
"And now it seems too weighty for me," she sighed dramatically, reluctantly surrendering it to her father, whose palm awaited. He then gently scooped her into his protective arms, ensuring her safety.
As Isolde nestled in her father's embrace, she cast an adoring gaze upward at his visage. He possessed true handsomeness, his countenance marked by kindness and gentility. Raven-black locks framed his face in elegant curls that grazed the tops of his ears. His eyes, deep pools of brown with scattered hints of green, held a captivating allure. A sturdy jawline, a slightly upturned nose, and slender lips completed his striking features.
Following closely behind was Isolde's mother, her own beauty a testament to the family's grace. Her ebony tresses cascaded in gentle waves, gracefully skimming her delicate shoulders. Her eyes, an entrancing shade of violet, possessed a magnetic pull, leaving those who met her gaze ensnared by their allure.
"We must make our way home before twilight descends," her mother murmured softly, casting an attentive gaze over her daughter, meticulously inspecting her form for any signs of injury. Isolde, nestling into the comforting embrace of her father's coat, nodded in quiet agreement, her eyes fluttering shut. As long as her family remained close, contentment enveloped her.
Her mother, however, conducted a thorough examination of her daughter's neck and inquired, "Where is the rosary I instructed you to wear everytime?"
Isolde's fingers instinctively brushed her neck, her eyes widening in realization. "Oh, it's not around my neck," she uttered.
A furrowed brow graced her mother's countenance, while her father, with a soft chuckle, tenderly stroked his daughter's hair and commented, "She possesses an innate talent for forgetfulness; it must be at the boutique."
A subtle nudge from her mother prompted her father to shift his demeanor. "Why, my dear, you appear far too composed given the circumstances. We must retrieve it now," her mother declared, her tone resolute and commanding, leaving no room for dissent.
"Hmm? But we're nearly home," Isolde's father protested, his voice carrying a hint of reluctance.
Casting a sidelong glance at his wife, he continued, "Very well, let us go."
"Isolde, you can find your way back home on your own, can't you? We'll be back soon," her mother reassured, placing a tender kiss upon her daughter's brow. Gently, her father set her upon the cobblestone path. Isolde responded with an eager nod, waving goodbye as her parents embarked on their brief journey.
Upon reaching the threshold of her abode, Isolde dipped her hands into a petite drawstring bag, retrieving a black rosary. Her eyes widened with realization as she beheld the object. 'Ah, it was in my possession all along,' she mused to herself.
Securing it around her neck, Isolde resolved to seek her parents and convey her discovery.
Isolde's frantic footsteps echoed through the gaslit streets as she reached the boutique, only to find its time-honored doors firmly shut, a sentinel against the encroaching night. The dark canvas of the sky above served as an ominous reminder of the perils lurking in the nocturnal realm.
"Nocturnal dangers be damned, I must find my parents," she murmured, her voice but a breathy whisper carried away by the night.
As she scoured the vicinity for any sign of her missing loved ones, a haunting symphony of muffled cries serenaded her senses, an eerie undertone in the nocturnal silence. With cautious curiosity, Isolde inched closer, drawn to the dimly lit alleyway like a moth to the beckoning shadows.
Within that forsaken alley, the somber tableau unfolded before her, casting her heart into a despairing abyss. Her father grappled with a shadowy assailant, while the lifeless form of her mother lay in tragic repose, a dark pool of crimson painting a macabre masterpiece around her mother's body.
In a chilling crescendo, the enigmatic figure turned, revealing its malevolent visage to Isolde. Crimson eyes, akin to rubies gleaming in the moon's pallid light, framed by fangs as sharp as the darkest secrets of the night, met her trembling gaze. An icy grip of terror seized her heart, compelling her to retreat from this nightmare made flesh.
Retreating through winding streets, the echoes of her desperate footsteps mirrored the racing cadence of her heart. Fear clung to her like a relentless specter.
***
Isolde's eyes fluttered open, her consciousness slowly reassembling within the cocoon of her bed. Tentative and cautious, she sought to rise, only to be met with a symphony of aches and pains, each note playing a haunting refrain of her nightmarish journey.
With painstaking effort, Isolde elevated herself, her body a canvas painted with the harsh brushstrokes of pain. As she gingerly explored her sore backside, the wince that marred her visage conveyed the lingering anguish of her ordeal.
'It has been two years since their passing,' Isolde thoughts began, the weight of grief pressing upon her heart. The memory of that fateful night was an indelible scar, forever etched into her soul. 'It's all that vampire's fault, vampires! Vampires!' She thought as she clenched her bedsheet. 'I hate them all!'
With trembling fingers, she reached for her neck, half-expecting to discover lingering bite marks, yet her skin remained unblemished. Confusion knitted her brows. 'I know I was bitten last night, so why don't I feel anything?'
As the veil of sleep lifted, Isolde's gaze swept across her surroundings, eventually settling on a woman seated in a stately chair beside her bed. The woman was cloaked in the austere garb of a sister, her attire an embodiment of solemn devotion. A black habit enveloped her form, a flowing gown that concealed her from neck to ankle. A white wimple framed her face and cascaded down to her chest, while a black veil shrouded her brown hair.
In simplicity, she found sanctity; there were no embellishments, no ostentatious adornments. Sensible black shoes completed her unassuming ensemble, and a crucifix, suspended from a humble chain around her neck, testified to her unwavering faith.
"Good morning, Sister Celestia," Isolde murmured, her voice still laced with the remnants of slumber as she sat up more deliberately.
Sister Celestia, her demeanor ever serene, returned Isolde's greeting with a gentle smile. Her melodic voice carried a soothing cadence as she responded, "Good morning, my child. Did you rest well? How are you feeling?"
"Yes, I did, thank you for asking," Isolde replied, her voice tinged with a touch of gratitude.
"That's good. But how did you end up outside? We strictly forbade everyone from venturing out. Vampires often lurk where we least expect them," Sister Celestia inquired, her curiosity piqued as she leaned forward slightly.
Isolde's complexion drained of color as haunting memories of the previous night flooded her mind. Anxiety gripped her heart as she recalled the gruesome scene she had witnessed. The horrors of that night were etched into her memory, a place she wished to avoid revisiting. She shook off those thoughts, attempting to divert Sister Celestia's attention by saying, "I can't seem to remember anything that occurred last night."
However, Sister Celestia remained undeterred. Rising from her seat, she gently took Isolde's hand and guided her out of bed. "Come, my child. Let us make our way to the church. The other children are already gathered there, and we must prepare you for the day."
Isolde obediently followed as they made their way to her closet. Sister Celestia opened it with care, revealing an array of neatly folded dresses and garments. Her fingers moved with grace as she sifted through the clothing, delicately assessing the fabrics. She was meticulous in her search, intent on finding the perfect ensemble for Isolde.
"I've already prepared warm water for your bath. You should freshen up while I select something suitable for you to wear," Sister Celestia explained as she continued her search.
Among the clergy of the orphanage and the other children who called it home, Sister Celestia was the sole individual who dared to approach Isolde. The rest kept their distance, unwilling to cross paths with her, and their hesitance was solely attributed to the black rosary adorning her neck. This rare and potent rosary amulet held the power to control demonic forces. It had been a precious gift bestowed upon Isolde's parents by a revered priest when she was still a child. From that day forward, Isolde wore it with unwavering determination, ensuring it never left her possession.
As Sister Celestia diligently searched for an appropriate dress, Isolde made her way into the bathroom to commence her morning bath. With each passing moment, the warm water and soothing ritual washed away the remnants of sleep.
She came out of her bathroom draped in a towel and watched Sister Celestia's every move.
After a short while, Sister Celestia's discerning eyes fell upon a splendid dark purple dress, adorned with intricate lace details. It boasted long sleeves and a high neckline, exuding an air of modesty and grace. Sister Celestia gingerly extracted it from the closet, holding it up to the gentle morning light streaming through the window. The dress appeared to be the perfect size for Isolde.
With a serene smile gracing her lips, Sister Celestia set the dress aside and continued her quest. She located a pair of black leather shoes, appropriately sized for Isolde, and a simple, unadorned bonnet to complement the ensemble.
Satisfied with her selections, Sister Celestia meticulously folded the dress, placing it neatly on a small wooden table. The shoes and bonnet were arranged alongside it. With an approving glance at the outfit, Sister Celestia gestured for Isolde to approach so she could offer her assistance in dressing.
Isolde complied, stepping toward Sister Celestia, who expertly aided her in donning the garments. Once the task was complete, Sister Celestia turned Isolde around, inspecting the effect with a discerning eye.
A pleased smile graced Sister Celestia's lips as she remarked, "This dress suits you remarkably well, Isolde."
Outside the window, the setting sun cast a warm, golden hue on the leaves of the tree, causing them to dance in the gentle breeze. Isolde's room was bathed in a soft, comforting glow.
Unbeknownst to Isolde, a mysterious boy was perched on a branch just outside her window. His eyes, an unsettling shade of crimson, gleamed in the dimming light. A malicious smile curled on his lips as he muttered to himself, "So her name's Isolde."
Isolde, immersed in her thoughts, couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It was as if an invisible thread had connected her gaze to the boy outside. The world seemed to pause as her eyes met his.
Both Isolde and the boy stared at each other in stunned silence. It was a moment frozen in time, a meeting of two souls on the precipice of a destiny neither of them could yet fathom.