The Night Eternal

The canvas was stained in crimson, the spill of color brushed through to blemish the pure reign of stretched cream. A design of the spoiled temper and ravenous nature of chaos was the evidence left behind on such what was once untainted. Was it a scar, an imperfection that was revealed to be taken into consideration or something more achingly obvious. A story. A history. A lifetime of path marks.



An Artist could be known to pour their heart, their soul, and sometimes even their very life blood into their work. Art and blood. It fit so well the very notion for were not paintings and sculptures the very revelation and product of emotions left bleeding before the eyes of all?



A step back could offer a more landscape born observation of the canvas, the finished product a painting still dripping wet. The Artist herself refrained from the desire to touch the slick temptation that was spilled paint pooling from the edges of the canvas. How she yearned to touch the painting if only to feel once more all that had been lost.



The brush was dismissed to the pot of tainted, paint smeared water, a brush forgotten until the time she would take it with the pot to purify once more the tools of her trade. It seemed strange to her even now to still use paint as her voice, to use a canvas as a weapon, but this was all she had.



Paintings and memories.



Cheryth knew well it was not the emotional rawness of the painting that drew the longing to touch but the revelation of those portrayed. A man who?s face seemed now a shadow, a blur of memories and the Artist herself. The Artist and the one who made her all that she was, all she had become.



The centuries had passed so easily, like pages easily ripped away and tossed aside from a sketch pad, that Cheryth had assumed that his face should have been a shadow, a blur, a haze within her memory.



Yet she possessed the memory of an Artist and he had a face she could never forget. No matter how hard she tried, the memory of a man haunted her. The memory of her Maker.



Hands stained red with oil paint lifted, flawless porcelain beauty of an ever exquisitely living corpse stained with a totem mark of all that she was. Cheryth perhaps would leave herself branded as if she was meant even now to be caught red handed.



Those elegant hands sculpted with the grace of antiquity?s passion rose not tonight in prayer but instead in freedom. The caged possession of her hair left freed to spill all the natural glory of blood and fire never contained. She changed silently from the accessories of the Artist to the desirable material of the Huntress.



The messy richness of lush scarlet waves were brushed and pinned if only for Cheryth?s eyes to be veiled by the jeweled latticework of the hat worn. The Artist was a superstitious source and it was never well in her opinion to offer a true vision within the blue fire windows of her own soul.



A polite cough into her lace gloved palm as she stepped outside brought a worrisome frown. No matter the time that had passed she found herself still thinking upon the once past and the dangerous promise of the end of life.



How silly it was to think of that now as she entered the shadows. No longer was she left to worry over the risks of fragility of life?



After all, he had made certain of that, hadn?t he?



Because of him like every other night before this one and every night to follow, Cheryth would always be one left to enter the night eternal.

Time passes.

Sev knew this well, and he had seen many things come and go. The triumph of men, how easily they were impressed with themselves. The wars, even he watched with interest at times. The way they tore at one another with bombs, with chemical, but how even their mighty warriors would cry as babes when he would show up to take them to the gates of hell.

There were women, there had always been women. They came into his life, after his wife and child were taken from him, after he accepted what he had been made into. He had tried to hold another, after losing his wife... swearing that he would not turn her into what he had become. Even after explaining to her what he was, she chose to stay, to live her life, in love with a man who would never give her a child, a man that would not be able to see her unless the rooms of their home were completely dark, a man that would watch her go to the gates of death with a smile on her lips, grateful of the life she lived with what many considered a monster. With the death of his second wife, he vowed never to watch another waste away while he remained eternal.

The club reminded her of better times. Nights when she was not plagued with the reminders of how much things had changed, and how much other things remained the same. Cheryth could not escape her past, she had learned that well enough. The years that had passed continued to remind her that no matter where the thread of her life had become knotted or unraveled she had remained alone.

Year after year. From time to time she had taken on a pomme du sang but eventually Cheryth had tired of even those apples, no matter how sweet... or bitter... they tasted.

It was not the same.

The darkness of the club reminded her of velvet, the sleek, pristine individuals gathered within made her think of those long forgotten. These were not the same gatherings as those of her past. The women before were far more polite but just as polished. They were reserved but just as ravenous for affection.

Cheryth could understand the ravenous cravings but she craved for something far more lasting then affection. Warriors and Makers walked away but their blood... well that... would linger to preserve her.

She didn't need their presence, the memory of the sweet metallic taste of their blood was enough. It was always enough.

At least that was what she tricked herself into believing.

When she approached the bar she greeted the tender with a gentile bow of head. The tender knew her well enough if not by name then at least by her drink. Words these days were no longer needed. Cheryth didn't even need to begin a countdown before the first lunge of a hunter's attack came for her. It was fortunate for Cheryth that her presumed attacker sought not for her throat but instead something below the neck.

To think... she hadn't even had time to remove her coat.

Cheryth easily loosened the binds of her jacket leaving the material to pool to her chair and leaving the paleness of her arms exposed to the dim lighting. She remembered well enough her manners. She had been trained so well in the art of conversation in the venue of socialites.

Small talk was made even as she masked her disgust for her bar companion. Dog. The scent permeated her senses making the Artist fend off the utmost desire to wrinkle her nose. She was doing so well until the nameless man continued his bragging rights and claimed himself a lone wolf.

"Lone wolf you say?"

Cheryth could sense the man's eagerness, even a dog exuded pheromones after all. She could tell how easily pleased he was at her seeming sudden interest in him. It had to be his good fortune. She would leave him to believe this as he continued his over zealous explanation about his nature as a lone wolf.

"That is... charming and quite brave of you, considering the nature of a wolf is to exist with a pack. The nature of a wolf from what I had the impression is to stay loyal to those of his pack. To consider yourself as a lone wolf would leave one to assume you have abandoned these very theories. How very... brave... of you."

Her voice was a hushed lyric even as one perfectly sculpted brow arched in question. She watched him with a calm fascination as it was so easy to see him processing her exquisite insult. Of course he would not realize it for what it was, just as he had no realization of her true nature. Fool.

He recovered so quickly running away with his words and lingering on the fact she had claimed him brave. Typical. Eventually even Cheryth would tire of the deceit in the company of this fool.

"I believe it is time that we get something clear between us if we are to continue this ridiculous conversation. I have no interest in one that would name himself as a lone wolf. When I think of a lone wolf I do not think of true wolves. What instead comes to mind is mongrels and mutts. Weak beaten dogs that at the first morsel of affection and attention will slobber all over those who lavish such upon them."

A sigh was exhaled as the azure flame of her eyes blazed intently as she looked the man directly in the eyes.

"I apologize for the use of such a harsh tongue but I care nothing for lone wolves for they are nothing more then slobbering, weak dogs. You are nothing more then a weak dog and your mere presence disgusts me. I cannot offer any small morsel of what you seek for your presence alone repels me. Now if you will excuse me, good dog, I must be on my way."

He was dismissed without a thought as she murmured a quiet offering of thanks to the tender and paid her dues for the evening. She retreated instead to the solace of an abandoned booth cloaked in the club's shadows as she closed her eyes and pressed her paint stained fingers to her temples.

Manners.

She always had kept her manners. At least was that one thing he had taught her that she would always hold on to.

Now it was only a matter of time before the dog showed his bark was stronger then his bite.

Once more Cheryth began the silent countdown in her mind as her fingers began the delicate art of ripping each and every sugar packet to shreds.

The days flowed into months. Months into years. Years into decades. All the while, Sev remained. He was used to being the center of attention when at a party. A new man of wealth and taste he quickly became the object of many a woman’s desire, married or not. He made the circles, Governor’s parties, Presidential inaugurations, even having a hand in swaying some elections in favor of those that he’d grown fond of as Gentlemen. But, when the glitz and glamor died of the high life, he always found himself back to his roots in the lower sides of towns and cities.

The darker, dirtier places were full of people no one would miss. Abusive husbands, drunkards, and women of...looser morals. People that he’d grown up around in the small township of his birth in Germany. Sometimes his curse allowed him to be a hero, a husband would never touch his wife again and she would be better for it. A body if found would be so decayed, identification would be impossible in that day and age. Across town, a new widow would wake up to a leather purse full of coin, with a note reading “Never again, ~S”

He started in Boston 1773, witnessing the destruction of the tea. Then in 1775, the Americans fought for their war of Independence. Sev watched as war ravaged the colonies, and found disgust that even amidst wars, there were still parties of the rich, while the poor fought their wars, and their families fought starvation.

From Boston he moved down the seaboard to settle into New York, and found the night life more to his liking. The Gas-Light streets provided dark and deep shadows in the alley ways of tall buildings, and the newspapers were full of the missing of all sorts. It was in those shadows, Sev spent most of his time in the Americas. A beautiful home was acquired, and there he stayed until people began to question some of the missing that he had no hand in, and why he would turn down their invitations until long after sun down. He stayed nearly too long as the home he had stayed in, and had shared with many different women from all walks of life caught fire, with him inside. A suspicious blaze he barely walked away from, toward the next great adventure.

~18th Century London~

The whispers of the women from the town crept and curled around her as she passed by the gathering. It seemed evident that despite all of her attempts, the fact that Cheryth lived alone without a male companion had finally got out. England did not smile too fondly upon the notion of a woman of good breeding to be left in such circumstances and the townspeople were ever so willing to abide by the nature and laws of England.



Cheryth ruled it down to sheer jealousy of the other women in the town. They were jealous that she had lived and survived this long on her own without the assistance or guidance of a man. They were jealous of her unruly, outspoken nature. A willful soul they called her. No matter the reason of their jealousy Cheryth knew the beginning of their blame and the absolute root cause of such loathing came from him. His arrival had ruined everything.



Her pale blue eyes narrowed as one blood red brow arched in challenge to the women that stared at her in shocked disapproval. Was it the paint smeared upon her hands and caked beneath her fingernails or the unbound loosened plaits of her red hair left to the wind that gave her such glances? Cheryth never knew, she only understood that for some reason the women of the town had turned against her since the day the new gentleman had come into their town. She had never even spared him a passing glance or even a gracious word and yet the women acted as if she was a witch cursing them all.



She knew he was attractive and well in his finances. Such was obvious for if such was not the case the women of the town would not have gossiped so over him. How in vain they seemed to strive for his attention in hopes for perhaps a marriage proposal or at the very least a kind word.



The Artist had no interest in marriage proposals. In fact she wished nothing more than to remain in the living circumstance and arrangement that she had been in since her father passed away. Very much alone.



Yet that was not the fate for her now was it. He had made certain of that. In one passing on the street upon another raining day on the outskirts of London he had ruined her life and turned the town against her. A mere touch of her hand, a turning of her palm to expose the paint stains and the azure blue vein that pulsed beneath.



A touch had changed everything.



The revelation and realization of such had her eyes snapping to meet his own before she managed to rip her hand away from his own to find its freedom again. Horrified and stunned she had taken off running down the streets ignoring her parchments and the painting supplies so recently purchased.



She ignored the fact that the telltale beating of her heart proved she was no better and no different from the other towns women. The desires and wishes of the women in the town resonated within the dark hidden places of her own spirit. She wished the same. Damn him but she wished the same.



It was the day that she found her painting supplies and other packages gathered at her door step that the women voiced their decision. Cheryth should no longer be left to her own devices. It was unreasonable for a woman of her … gifts… to be left alone.



She was left to be dutifully delivered to the doorstep of not the man she could not rid her thoughts of, but instead to the doorstep of Edmund Winters. A strict Elder of the town and also a widow with two unruly children that were too self-righteous and spoiled to be educated in any mere school.



Cheryth was to be their governess, imprisoned in a fortress she was meant to claim now as her home under the watchful gaze of Mr. Winters who’s gaze upon her was always far from that of a gentleman. The women of the town had got exactly as they wished… Cheryth had been sent to hell.

The darkened confines of the booth she occupied no longer provided her with the solace she sought leaving her with no other choice than to entire the faint light in the nightclub. It was a vain attempt Cheryth knew to try and run away from her own thoughts and memories, but still she tried.



As she entered the ladies room her sapphire eyes gave a passing once over of the girls gathered there. One look gave her enough information to acknowledge no matter how much time had passed some things never changed. The women would still judge her and give their sniffs of disdain and dismissal. It was the typical look a group of women or even a woman alone would give to another woman that seemed ignorant of her beauty.



Cheryth chose to ignore their looks, grateful at least this was an era where a woman could be independent and free without the possessive ownership or guidance of a man to give her a name or a place in the world. The art business was thriving and the galleries were devouring her pieces, so it would seem.



For a moment she found herself shutting her eyes to temporarily blind herself to her own reflection as her fingers curled around the porcelain siding of the sink. A deep breath was drawn in as she shook her head in dismissal of what she was now. Would he consider his creation a priceless Masterpiece now?



She had been a natural beauty in life, she realized that now. As for now…. Now… oh now… she was Art perfected. The azure fire of her eyes opened to focus intently upon her reflection and she found her reflection smiling bitterly at her. The face staring back at her had the flawless sculpting and hue that so many women of her time had strived for. Even though it had been the consumption that brought the moon soft paleness of her features to exist, women were literally dying to have it. Those that hadn’t died or been taken by the disease had mimed that they were infected, powdering their faces into a blissful white paleness.



No matter how they tried though none could match Cheryth’s natural complexion. The disease had made that certain and He had assured the porcelain flawlessness of her complexion would be remain for all eternity. Masterpiece.



A Masterpiece.



The simple dull auburn of hair had been bathed in the life blood of the immortal to become the shades of blood, of fire, of rubies and garnets and other priceless bloody jewels. A brilliant spark of blue eyes had become azure flames ignited in unholy existence ever set in the completion of that moon pale porcelain of her lovely features.



Cheryth loathed and was transfixed by the vision set before her. She had enough control and the proper aging in her mannerisms and etiquette to not scream out the emotions threatening to bubble over and spill from her lips but the rage , the confusion, the anguish, and yes even the despairing loneliness could not be ignored.



She waited until she was absolutely certain she was alone before her fist raised to shatter her reflection into a thousand shining silver stars and blades painted in the glistening shade of her own unbreakable eternity.



Shaking and startled she gasped at the display of shattered glass gathered around her feet, suddenly so shaky and weak she began to shudder. Cheryth couldn’t tell what was a stronger sensation she felt in that moment… her fierce craving to feed or the heavy weight of her shame for feeling such despair.



The Artist was ignorant of the blood that streaked from her eyes to fall in streams of tears down her face as she clutched at her bleeding fingers. She was too weak and too hungry now even to heal. What a fool she had been to hold off for so long from feeding.



The sound of the door opening in the ladies room had the blaze of her azure eyes burning to life as she controlled the utmost desire to show her teeth. No one should ever see her in this state, no one…

The woman that entered was a nobody. A forgotten and lost soul. Cheryth knew this well enough for she had watched the woman in the club so many nights. The woman was always alone and always yearning.

"Oh...oh my... are you alright?"
"Fine, I am just... clumsy."

A resigned murmur as her shoulders slumped in her own acceptance of defeat as the other woman moved to assist her to her feet. She had become a weak thing. The realization disgusted her even as she allowed for the other woman to clean her hands and face of the blood. Her own shame left Cheryth oblivious of her own blood cravings and for that moment she was grateful.

"There now, better hmm?"
"Yes. Might I speak freely, lass?"

The doe brown eyes of the other lady blinked up in wide eyed surprise at the redhead's question. No one ever spoke like that and it brought the brunette to smile.

"Of course."

Cheryth gestured to the door beyond them even as she stared glumly at the pattern of blood stained glass around her feet.

"Why do you seek this place for the solace of your heart and a warming stone for your hearth?"

Weary exhaustion made Cheryth forget herself and the game she played to fit into society and this decade. She expected the woman to stare at her peculiarly but instead the brunette only shrugged with a quirking of her own lips in soft self ridicule.

"I'm a fool. That is why. Take care of yourself lady and watch your step."

A private, shared joke brought a flint of a smile to spark upon Cheryth's lips even as a soft laugh escaped her. Perhaps this era was not so unbearable but even still it would never make her forget. She could not forget.

No matter how much she tried.

With a resigned sigh of realization she gave her reflection one last fleeting glance before exiting the restroom to enter the club's embrace once more. It was not the retreat of the dark booth she sought. Instead she would become bold again.

She entered the thriving ebb and flow of that sea of flesh upon the dance floor. For at least tonight she would pretend to be free of her past and the memories that haunted her.

She lost herself in the music as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back to wash her face in the surreal glow of the club lights. It was an unusual sensation to lose herself in dance and music. Cheryth near felt as if she was cheating on a lover. Art. Painting and Sculpting, even sketches and drawing were her beloved. This seemed like a sin.

Her Beloved. Yes that was her passion, her talent, her gift. Her Beloved was Art. It was in her blood as if she was predestined for such greatness.

The vampire opened her eyes as the realization sank into her. How long had she been lying to herself?

Forever and a Day.

She kept on telling herself that she knew that Art was her Beloved but it was not so. Her Beloved lived, Her Beloved was Alive and real... as Alive as she was at least.

It seemed like only yesterday...

Cheryth had become adjusted to being a governess. Despite her yearning for freedom and single solidarity she became fond of the children. It didn't mean that Cheryth was seeking a respite to plan a future into motherhood. The children were a sign of life, and even in Cheryth's graceful aging past maidenhood she found such something to treasure. No one could live forever.

"You do well with them. I was worried when they suggested you as a governess but I see they made the right choice. So beautiful..."
"Pardon me sir, yet I believe my looks are not of a benefit to my skills with the children."
"Oh but they are... in my eyes."

Horrified she took a step back and another until she hit the wall. In a corner. Cornered like an animal. Cheryth would not give the man the pleasure of letting him see her fear. Not even when he cuffed her across the face when she struggled and fought. Her nails had scratched his flesh but it was not enough to fend off the man's advances.

A struggle as fabric tore. So this was how it was going to be. How it would end. As any young woman she had daydreamed of sweeter loses of maidenhood. A close of eyes and she prayed.

The pounding on the door and a clearing of throat sounded like salvation.

"Sir..."
"What is it Thomas?!? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Thomas flickered a sympathethic glance to Cheryth but said nothing. He wasn't allowed. They both were silenced.

"Forgive me sir. There is a young gentleman at the door asking for you."
"Tell him I'm Busy!!! I don't have the time for this nonsense."
"He refuses to leave..."

Cheryth knew by the frustrated sound that she was safe. For the time being. She waited until he left before moving to the window. A press of palm to the window before bringing it open to reach out into the night. Giving in to the Darkness as she gazed within its dark confines.

Looking down in that sweet dark she saw the man standing upon the front step. Before Thomas could escort him inside she saw the man look up and meet her gaze. A knowing smile on his lips as he tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Her Salvation. He would save her from this place... maybe not tonight, but soon. She knew it to be true, she believed it. Thus it would be. He was her Salvation...

He was her Beloved.

Cheryth pushed her way through the crowd to escape the club. She sought the comfort found only within the embrace of Darkness. She walked with grace and beauty now as she lost herself again to the night.

Despite the lies she told herself, she sought him. As she always had. As she always would. Thus it would be.

Pale, but strong fingers held the crystal glass by the delicate stem. The motif of melody in two ascending half tones, with an incorporated and very sorrowful diminished third which continued it’s opus from the beginning in many variations filled the room. Sev remembered seeing the mass, conducted by Anton?n Dvoř?k the very first night it was performed in Birmingham, England.

The lightning flashed outside of the penthouse that was home for now. He’d spent a small fortune being certain the windows were dark enough during the days to walk through his home, and clear enough at night that he could watch over the city below.

The soprano started to sing over the haunted melody, and he remembered the first time he met the artist. Frail, scared, and when she saw him from the window above, hopeful. She was beautiful even then, just as she was when she walked out the door the last time he had seen her. Even when she changed, she had ways of making him feel alive... a feeling that he’d not known before meeting her for nearly a century, and since she left. Time passed in the blink of an eye when he felt alive. But, when he was just living, it seemed to pass with the slowest of minutes.

There was a stirring sound and a moan from his bedroom. Then a lamp crashed to the floor. The brass started their low march, just as Sev stood from the chair he had been staring over the city in, and moved toward the room. Without turning on a light, he could see her as she struggled to find her shoes, intent on making an escape. Her words, no matter how softly muttered were heard as if whispered by a lover near his ear.

“Leaving so soon?”
“You stay away from me.” Her voice shook with fear, and Sev found himself smiling as the orchestra started in with the singers, and percussion entered.
“You know I can’t do that, Petit.” He smiled, and felt the points of fangs pressed into his lower lip. “You know too much to walk out of my home.”

He stepped closer and she shrank against the bed.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He knew that she wouldn’t.

She rolled from the other side of the bed, to run for the door. She left her shoes, intent on an attempt to save her life. His smile grew. He loved it when they pleaded, then thought they had a chance to survive.

“I will not be hunted out of my home again.” The words reached her ears about the same time he did.
One arm closed around her middle, the other moved to pull her head to the side, the veins pulsing with every beat of her heart.

She screamed.

He knew no one would hear.

The entire top floor was his.

His fangs sank into her neck as the soprano started to wail in despair, and mourn the death of a lover. Her fingers flexed against his arms, then dropped to her sides. The baritone sang of ascension into the heavens, as Sev wiped his mouth. His eyes flicked to the window, then he stared as he felt something.
She was coming.

The night shadows claimed her, enveloped her like a lover drawing her into an embrace. Her shoulders hunched as if to ward from the cold but Cheryth was wise enough to know the gesture was to ward from her emotions. Remembering the past had drawn upon a weariness within her spirit as easy as a violinist to draw a bow upon strings. Even in the night she could hear music.

It was not so strange to believe that a district of wealth would populate the night with the elegance of sound. A symphony that brought the Artist to pause. A crescendo of desparation and longing that seemed mated not with notes but with a voice. A... scream?

Strangled into silence.

From London to New Orleans, the Artist would not so easily forget the sweet, copper aroma of that which she had denied herself for so long. Head flung back to look toward the night sky she drew in a deep breath and scented the air.

It was a subtle movement as the involuntary shudder of pleasure rippled along her limbs. A parting of lips to exhale a soft sound of desire and longing before she bit her lip, cutting off the sound.

There would be none of that.

She did not move to rush to the defense of a dying harlot. Cheryth was many things but she was not an avenging angel. Never a vigilante for those that had turned from her. Women.

At least in this turn of time some of the women were more reasonable... more...independent.

The azure blue fire of her eyes darted towards a window as the product of an English nobleman and a French harlot looked upon more then the night. The porcelain visage of Cheryth's facade paled even more as it seemed she was being tricked by time itself.

Another step back and the woman stumbled out into the street. Her arms wrapped around her stomach as if to hold herself together. Cheryth had always been a strong woman but this moment felt as if her spirit was being torn to shreds.

"Non... It cannot be..."

Just like the first moment.

Not in the bar when she had first caught a glimpse of him in London. The moment he had ended up on the doorstep of the Elder Edmund Winters. The night when he had stood on the doorstep and become something more to her. He had saved her from a life of enforced servitude as an Elder's wife and prize.

The memories made her sullen and bittersweet with longing as she gazed upon the light burning through the hazy gauze of the curtains. The curtains parted and Cheryth drew in a shaky breath and stood her ground.

Funny the thought.

So long ago it had been him on the doorstep and she at the window. My times had changed.

The thought brought a fragment of a smile upon her lips as the azure blue fire of her eyes gazed from beneath the shimmering black lattice work of her veiled hat. She was grateful for the veil between their eyes. It shaded the regret those blue eyes possessed. Defiance and Independence had made her a fool.

She never should have left his side...

After all this time she would be a fool to believe that they could just return to the way things once were. Cheryth turned away and put her back to the window as she took the first steps to walk away.

Turning her back was the most reasonable way she knew how to hide her tears.