Its a late silent night, the moon is full and the old mansion like estate building of some aristocratic family seems more empty that sleepy. Jet, a steps of a female boots with a heel stomping the pavement floor, echoing through certain walk hall, as this person heading from one part of the mansion to another. Those are not a steps of a princes in fluffy cake dress elegantly lady-walking on her night stroll, but a steady, strong steps of female warrior, guardian, duelist, avenger on a mission. Or,-- on a hunt. There is no need for a candle to light the way, as the corridor is wide enough and path well know. But still, on occasion, when moon light penetrate through the windows, its light up the hallway to the point; that we can see a glimpse of the Victorian like clothing of this noble like combatant, with a cord like sword on one side of her hips and travelers flask like bottle for a (water?) on other side.
There was no need for this female to be sneaky, no need to conceal her presence, because she was already expected to arrive. In some sense, every of her step was like ticking on a mechanical clock, that tick countdown of an end event.
Even if there was some doors in front of her, they obeyed her angry glance, and in respect opened themselves, to let her pass. No one and nothing dared to stand in her way.
.
.
Suddenly she had a flashback on reading some letter.
(...who would have thought that? Yes, of course, the hints were all there. Clues that, if he thought about them, should lead him to the inevitable conclusion that would save his life. But… Who would ignore all those warnings? Well, at least one person done that. But why?
So, when looking at the posthumous smile of the deceased, perhaps the first thing that comes to mind, is love. A stupid love.
How daring.
I mean, it sounds like a textbook case: A guy meets a lonely beauty who stays away from everyone. She hides with a veiled sad face in the shadows of the trees. Who wouldn't be tempted to assume the role of a saint in this story. Maybe it started with just a conversation, then a dinner together, and before long he was carrying flowers. Snow white roses.
And how did he end up?
He lies motionless in the grass, under a that same tree with his dried up face directed towards the tree crown. Pale as a wall with two holes in his neck. The print of a woman's lips can still be seen near the holes. And he only got one of his own roses left near for him as a parting gift. Perfectly red, soaked in his own blood.
Why did he end up like this? He was definitely different from the others. I mean, personality. He also had a different job. Would he make a mistake? The same as its predecessors?
White roses.
Maybe he broke her heart and she could see in him, that he couldn't handle the rejection. Maybe it was a trap from the start and the roses were just the last step to the doom. Maybe she hates white and at least, after he die, she tells him that she actually likes red.
It is certain, that every time at least two flowers were missing from any bouquet she received.
So let him do it for whatever reason. The number of victims would already create a whole bouquet of bloody roses. Maybe she still has those roses with her.
Trophies...?
Whatever. I have more than enough clues. No need to drag it out. So, in conclusion, I will just add a declaration:
Blood rose, your nights are numbered! Light up a romantic candle in your rose room! Put on your last, best dress! Because, I already know your smell, I already on your trail. I'm going to get you! And, forgive me for telling you: You won't be my first.)
In this flashback, her red blood eye pupils shiver while reading this letter with confusion, panic, and fear displayed in her face.
Then as her hands lost the strength to stay up, to hold that letter in front of her, they drop down next to her. We can see that she siting down on a grass field, in front of her, a dead body of a 'hunter' that suddenly attack her blabbing something about a revenge. When she defeated him in a fight to the death, on his last breath he reach into his clotting to pick up a letter from pocket inside of his jacket and hand it to her.
Now she staring at the body with sadness in her face. She know, that this was not written by the person in front of her. Nor the events in that letter was accurate record of what happened. Certain someone prepared a stage.
Then her head limb down as her stare pin directly down onto her legs. At first tears were roaming down her cheeks. Then she bared her teeth in uncontrollable anger. At last, when she 'Eaten the Sorrow', and she risen her head; a determination was in her eyes. It was a stare of a Vengeance.
.
.
Now… in the mansion, a double door opened for her and she walked into a ballroom. During peak days of this mansion many balls and events take place in this saloon. Currently this big room was turned into eccentric living room. A personal visiting room filled with works of art from sculptures or paintings, to musical instruments, tolls or toys. It was more like a sick display of trophies that once all belonged to someone who put they love into it.
In addition to the moonlight, the playful fire from the local fireplace, feeded by a tree trunk cast a playful light on everything in the salon. So, when their light trembled, regardless of whether it was from the sky, when a cloud bit into the moon, or from the charcoal jumping from the fireplace, there was a theatrical performance of a shadow play. It was so convincing that one would claim to have arrived at a ball where the guests are dancing and having fun. The fireplace plays melody with its flame and the owl in the tree occasionally sings vocals. This ball was nothing like the cheerful ones that used to be here, because for now this place had the aura of a crypt.
We shall don't forget about the big vase and massive bucket of white roses soaked in blood to the point that they are all bright red. But something is off, the blood on them dint die, wittered, turned blue and then black. Some power preserved that unnatural state they were in. Some people will get stomach sick just by looking at them.
.
Her steps lead her directly towards that fireplace. Actually, she aimed for the person in a clothing of a mansion lord, who was sitting in the comfy armchair a little bit in front of the fireplace. As always, he was reading some book on alone. On the round table next to the armchair was only a lighted candlestick, a wine bottle and a half-empty crystal glass with liquid of a ruby color. She stops a five meters away from him and with her last step she stomp the floor so loudly that it created a thunder like sound that angrily echoed over entire ball hall.
Only then, did he deign to react to this woman presence. He folded the book and put it on the side of the armchair. He slowly got up and only then looked at her with an interested look. He was in no hurry, because there was nowhere to hurry. The 'thing' will end tonight.
Those two stood in a darkened hall, in the middle of a ball of shadows, facing each other with a determined expressions on a faces that will make many fall in love with the person wearing it. With perfect bodies that everyone would envy. In tailor-made clothes, before which some fashion designer would turn pale with envy. You wouldn't find a single flaw in theirs hairstyles. And yet, they just stood there facing each other in a scene you'd only see in to much romanticized vampire stories for ladies.
(Vampires…) What a joke concept, fully fabricated and imprinted into a tales of normies to call certain clan like that. But those two weren't vampires. They don't need to drink blood to survive. They don't suffer under the smell of garlic, and holly singing, or wither into a dust under direct sun light. Although, working with blood is they specialty. They are not some super beings that normies might think them to be. They are not even geniuses, just idiots like everyone else. It's just,-- thanks to they abilities, they were capable to live longer and during that time they have honed skills, personal traits and abilities beyond the limits that ordinary people have rarely reached in terms of human history. And yet, an envy and hatred was saw into normies hearts, calling them vampires. A former famous clan dethroned from its grace, is now hunted like a monsters.
.
That man smiled at her death stare toward him, just to annoy her. This outrageously large mansion was shamelessly too big for him alone, jet his presence here was the most annoying thing for her. Provocative, he took the crystal glass into his hand and took a sip from the crimson liquid in it. When he had finished enjoining the drink, he reached out his hand to the bottle and turned its label in her direction.
There was only one inscription on nicely decorated label, carefully written by hand. It was a name... A human name.
Her eyes widened in a shock, because she recognized that name of a person she dear a lot. So she clenched her fists angrily and gritted her teeth with wrath. Her hand move along the side of her clothes until she reached the bottle on her hips and undo the lit.
.
A short flash back remind her that fallen 'hunter' on the grass field and how she stand up from his drain body with traveler flask bottle in her hand.
Then she remembered at the customs of her clan. Gestures,-- poses,-- appropriate clothes for this or that event,-- traditions. It upset her stomach seeing how that man pretended to following them all. As a long-lived society, theirs ancestors came to the conclusion that sometimes, words are seriously not enough to tell the story. Sometimes a little help in the form of a hint is needed so that a sentence, thought, or intention reaches its final destination in the correct wording. They were taught in this spirit, and in this sense, their clan was the true nobility among the common people.
She herself never cared much for gestures and traditions. The whole thing always seemed to her like an embarrassing spectacle. But when she maddened to the point of insanity, a theatrical cliche of a scene situation, says more than any words can. Even on this night, her appearance had a specific meaning, as it will be the last time she following the customs of her clan. It was a costume for a battle, and expected funeral.
.
As she reach for the handle of her cord, and draw it, she take control over the content of the flask on the other side of her hip. A crimson red liquid leak out like a snake. She commanded the blood of the fallen hunter to form an extra layer around her rapier, turning it into more sword like version of enchanted weapon.
He reach his hand toward the armchair and a sword hidden in a blind spot bucket, flow directly to his palm. Already prepared in his blood enchanted version. He must do that the moment he sensed her presence in the mansion. Such a daring pretense from him.
Bot of the duelist had the same thing and yet, they personalities reflected in how the controlled blood changed the shape of the blade. Those who dared to think that blood-based weapons are just a party trick, they learned the hard way, that those blades were capable of cutting through flesh as well as stone or iron. A simple shields were useless.
.
There was no more reason to wait. So she leap forward, swing her blade at him. Like sword masters, they began to cross they weapons, joining the ballet of shadows in the ballroom. No sparks flew and no steel clung, during the hits. As they circled in a deathly dance, only dull thuds rang out from the weapons, amid moans and battle shouts from fighters.
But still, a wind slashes flow around, while missing the duelist, the surrounding art objects turned into rubble of wood and stone as they the two danced among them. Those blood-blades were so sharp, that only when they met, pieces flew out of them, which turned into drops of blood.
One can wonder, why they just don't mess with the blood of the other one directly? But taking control over blood that has still a will in it, is not an easy task. Especially during a fight where the other can defend against it, or miss-use it. They weapons were coated in such concentrated blood, under they will, that by the time the fight progressed into the late stages the ballroom was saturated with the smell of bloody death. A blood stains here, there and over there, can confuse future explorers to think that a bloody massacre occurred here.
As the battle continue, lunge and cover, over and over again; neither of them gained enough of an advantage over the other, to land a serious hit. That's how good they were when it came to fighting. Otherwise they clan will not survive long enough to become that important in first place.
.
But she wasn't so stupid as to wait for the revelation or his mistake and she decided to sacrifice the last memory for the reason why she came here. The fight moved to the table in front of the fireplace. She assaulted that table in a way, that the bottle on it rose into the air and threatened to break by falling onto the floor.
He was so petty, that he subconsciously reached for the bottle to save the triumph, that can be used for torturing her, again and again. Except,-- he realized too late, that he had exposed himself. He could only watch as her blade cut off a hand that grabbed that vine bottle.
However, the pain he felt, was not great enough to prevent him to cover against her immediate second lunge. They swords crossed in a lock-down and as she pushed at him to throw him out of balance, he manage to stamp the floor to hold its position against her. In that moment, if it was a fight between normies, it shall be clear; who will die from who hand.
.
Yet again, nothing was set in stone, when it was a battle between blood users, especially when one of them had more strength that the other one. It happened so quickly,-- he managed to use his abilities and caught the still flying off hand gripping the bottle, with his own blood that flow out from the wound. A connection was established and the blood string began to pull his hand back to where it belongs.
No matter how much she will practice, he was better at this and they both knew it, he acted as if the victory was already his. But… Her eyes told, that she bet her victory on that bottle. She reached for it too and in an instant the content inside, flow into her palm, forming into a simple clumsy crude-nail.
.
He only had the time to change his expression until a weapon made of the same blood as the person he murdered stabbed into his neck. He winced in pain and she snapped out of her deathly stupor, but even so he immediately break control of her makeshift second weapon and it turned liquid. No, he kills that blood, making it uncontrollable by blood-bending.
That blood was all that was left of that person she valued, but she decided to sacrifice it. She took advantage of the time he was using his powers to do three things at once. Grasping her blade with both hands, she broke free of his pressure by bending low enough that he was forced to swung his blade over her head. That created a moment of exposed place.
.
The attack was merciless. She swung at his stomach with all her strength. A sound of clothing ripping and a lot of blood staining the floor echoed in the ballroom.
However, even now it was not over yet. Since he was not so foolish to not prepared against her, her swing that tore his clotting from side to side, reveal a second skin made of collected blood, used as sacrifice pawn. That hidden body armor absorbed so much from that strike that shall slice him in half, that only a light wound spread across his stomach. This armor was like still alive slave, a ace in sleeve, and he sacrificed it to protect himself from critical damage.
.
His face expression tell, that her savageness annoy him to point where he stop pretend to be nice. He let go of last piece his armor letting it finally die. He stopped caring about the wound on his neck, and didn't care at all about his fully exposed stomach. He focused everything he had on his blade. His intention was clearly to cut her in two with a single wide swing.
But she was not done yet either. Her intention was to use the inertia of her previous lunge, turn around her boot hell in 360 degrees, and from the spin stab him whit a rapier style strike. Even if he pulls out another armor like trick, this attack shall pierce anything.
.
He was stronger, he was better in terms of abilities, in terms of everything, but she,-- she was faster. She pierced him… She pushed against him so forcefully that her blade dug into him, all way up to her handle.
On instant he disable, he kill the blood blade enchantment on her rapier, so he prevent her from doing something ridiculous like releasing every drop of blood she control onto a wild slash going in every direction.
.
But that was another split of second of opportunity she exploit for herself as she ram him with her shoulder to throw him out of balance. She clung to him so hard that they chests were touching and she could feel the furious beating of his heart.
He still swung his blade, but she was so close to him that he missed. He missed his finishing swing to kill her. But he wasn't dead yet, he stop the bleeding like if it was putting a cork on a wine bottle. Although, he couldn't take control of her bloodless rapier blade, he could still send her to an eternal sleep with his own. The only thing he needed to do is to make sure he will not miss this time.
.
As they ball dance was reaching the last act: He was about to cut her open from behind while trapping her in his embrace.
But, she push at him with vigor, with all the physical strength she had left, and throw him out of balance. From that moment she pushed and pushed,-- by a step,-- by two,-- by ten… Until they both noticed that they are about to fall into the fireplace.
.
He tried to prevent the fall by summoning his back-up stash of collected blood to create a support structure behind him, so he will finally got an opportunity to slash her. Yet, he was not fast enough… No! The fire burned the blood structure before it can do anything useful. So eventually, he switched the support, into disposable armor, in order to get few more seconds against the savage cat.
With a roar, she pushed him into the fire place, not caring about the flames, until she impaled him on something. No! They loudly crashed down onto the fireplace, onto burning wood from three trunk or something like that.
.
With them stopping moving back, he strongly swing his other arm from side, toward her torso. That blow throw her off him.
As she flow off him she let the handle of her cord.
.
So, in next move; he grabbed the handle of her cord. He tried to pull it out, but realize that the blade is stuck deep and the handle was a solid metal. He was trapped, so in last attempt he tried to use his weapon as a cane to get up from the fireplace even with the burning wood on his back.
Lying on the floor, she saw his attempt. So, she reach out her open palm toward him. She tried to disable the blood he controlled. And she succeed.
.
It was so shock for him, that he lost all control. The flames from fireplace eaten directly onto his body enveloping his senses in a serious pain. He scream, painfully, but in a moment, he stop fighting it. There was silence. The blade fell from his hand and splashed in a pool of blood. His breath was weak and his heart was already leaving the world of living.
Breathless, she looked into his eyes and he smiled at her with a half-empty look. At that moment he breathed his last.
.
The theatrical ball dance performance was over, the music-band stop playing and the actor was relieved from they role.
With a pain in her side she manage to stood up, holding her side having a tired expression in her face. She don't even know how many minutes, she stood there as if spellbound, while looking at his posthumous smile from relatively close, before she dared to move away. Almost like if she don't believed that it's over.
Eventually, she glanced at the massive vase with many, many white rose soaked in blood. The hidden power that sustained they beauty was gone, and the blood was already dying, wittering, turning blue and eventually will turn into black. The vase was destined from start, to hold a bucked of black flowers, especially roses.
Somehow, she got to the armchair in which he was sitting. Despite everything that happened here, it survived unscathed. Tired, she laid down and waited. She noticed the book he was previously reading and took her a few seconds to decide to open it. Placed in a way that it will be found, there was a photo in it. In that photo was her, him, and the person whose name was written on that vine bottle. All three of them together at this armchair. Bored, she closed the book and stared at the fire in front of her.
A part of her clothing was soaking red in her own blood because during they fight, his fist strike actually dint just throw her away from him. The bottle he was holding did break on impact onto fireplace, but what was left of it, he used as a way to stab her. She was the last one standing, but not for so long. Tired, she sighed: "Seriously, this mansion is outrageously large for one." She spoke for the first time during the night, and as the mutterings and daydreams caught on her, she was able to hear a distant voices, joyfully mixing with the symphony of fireplace.
At that slowing moment, another flashback sneak into her mind. No! It was more like a dream, when the massive bucket of blood soaked roses burst into a storm of petals. Statures, artwork and instruments, became alive. They all turned into a person, and they all start to dance on this ball. Between them,-- she noticed herself in a ball dress, with a big smile on her face, as she having fun with her friends.
Sitting in that armchair like a proud grandma she spoke for the last time: "At last,-- you all-- are free…"
End