Post by ACHILLES DE PROVENCE on Jan 1, 2010 11:08:41 GMT -8
He was sitting atop a building, an apartment probably, although he hadn’t paid much attention to what it looked like as he was climbing it. Achilles didn’t know why he had chosen this particular place to sit – after all, he couldn’t see the river, nor could he really see anything other than grey. Grey buildings, grey stone everywhere. It was like the place was dead. And it probably was, too.
Achilles didn’t mind, though, for with death, there was always silence. And silence was what he had come seeking. It was easy to command silence from his coven, order them not to speak in his presence for a while – or not to disturb him altogether – but that just wasn’t the same. This was real silence. Unforced. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of air. It tasted still as it slid past his tongue and down his windpipe to two-hundred-year-old lungs. Yes, the area was degenerating day after day, the elements wearing away at the buildings that had been constructed out of stone and support beams by weakling humans.
It was at times like these that he felt the twinge in his heart - glad to be a vampire, a superior creature, but still hating every moment of it. He was a monster wasn't he? A monster of superior experience, intellect, strength and overall power, yes, but a monster nonetheless. But sitting atop the building, he probably looked exceedingly normal. With his sharp silver eyes closed and no reason for his fangs to be out, Achilles could have passed for human. Almost. He was holding himself with an ageless grace that could only be achieved by someone who had lived long after he was expected to die.
He opened his eyes again and looked down to the palm of his hand, wherein rested a delicate gold locket. It was closed, but Achilles had seen it enough to have memorized the face beneath it. Even so, he could not help but click it open to reveal the shining face of his darling little sister, Elise. She was long dead now, as the correspondence between Vincent, Achilles predecessor and former mentor, and an unnamed vampire had evidenced, but every time Achilles saw that tiny, perfect painting of his Elise, his heart shattered.
Sometimes, he wished he could have made Vincent suffer more. Achilles had enjoyed killing the much older vampire, revelling in the way the skin tore so easily from the flesh, but it had taken no more than two hours, and Vincent hadn’t been in torment long. He had finally avenged his dear sister, though, and that was what truly mattered. If only it could have brought her back, too. But no. The only other things Vincent’s death had served to do were make Achilles even more feared and respected than before, as well as elevating him to Elder status. But he would throw it all away just to have one more day with his sweet sister…No. What was he thinking? The dead, once dead – and really, truly dead – could no longer be the living. And Elise must have died so many years ago that her corpse was probably no more than pale
Tears were pricking at the corner of his vision, and the cool air that was sweeping over the Parisian rooftops did nothing to dry them. He sat, perfectly still, legs dangling over the edge of the building, as a tear hesitantly made its way down to just below his cheekbone. A low, mournful sigh escaped his lips. Then another sound.
Achilles was on his feet and in a combative stance within seconds of hearing the disturbance. Every muscle in his body was screaming with its alertness. Achilles was prepared for anything, as the Elder vampire of the Calistrarius Coven. And, as the Elder of his coven, he simply couldn’t be found crying.
Achilles didn’t mind, though, for with death, there was always silence. And silence was what he had come seeking. It was easy to command silence from his coven, order them not to speak in his presence for a while – or not to disturb him altogether – but that just wasn’t the same. This was real silence. Unforced. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of air. It tasted still as it slid past his tongue and down his windpipe to two-hundred-year-old lungs. Yes, the area was degenerating day after day, the elements wearing away at the buildings that had been constructed out of stone and support beams by weakling humans.
It was at times like these that he felt the twinge in his heart - glad to be a vampire, a superior creature, but still hating every moment of it. He was a monster wasn't he? A monster of superior experience, intellect, strength and overall power, yes, but a monster nonetheless. But sitting atop the building, he probably looked exceedingly normal. With his sharp silver eyes closed and no reason for his fangs to be out, Achilles could have passed for human. Almost. He was holding himself with an ageless grace that could only be achieved by someone who had lived long after he was expected to die.
He opened his eyes again and looked down to the palm of his hand, wherein rested a delicate gold locket. It was closed, but Achilles had seen it enough to have memorized the face beneath it. Even so, he could not help but click it open to reveal the shining face of his darling little sister, Elise. She was long dead now, as the correspondence between Vincent, Achilles predecessor and former mentor, and an unnamed vampire had evidenced, but every time Achilles saw that tiny, perfect painting of his Elise, his heart shattered.
Sometimes, he wished he could have made Vincent suffer more. Achilles had enjoyed killing the much older vampire, revelling in the way the skin tore so easily from the flesh, but it had taken no more than two hours, and Vincent hadn’t been in torment long. He had finally avenged his dear sister, though, and that was what truly mattered. If only it could have brought her back, too. But no. The only other things Vincent’s death had served to do were make Achilles even more feared and respected than before, as well as elevating him to Elder status. But he would throw it all away just to have one more day with his sweet sister…No. What was he thinking? The dead, once dead – and really, truly dead – could no longer be the living. And Elise must have died so many years ago that her corpse was probably no more than pale
Tears were pricking at the corner of his vision, and the cool air that was sweeping over the Parisian rooftops did nothing to dry them. He sat, perfectly still, legs dangling over the edge of the building, as a tear hesitantly made its way down to just below his cheekbone. A low, mournful sigh escaped his lips. Then another sound.
Achilles was on his feet and in a combative stance within seconds of hearing the disturbance. Every muscle in his body was screaming with its alertness. Achilles was prepared for anything, as the Elder vampire of the Calistrarius Coven. And, as the Elder of his coven, he simply couldn’t be found crying.
