The imp of the perverse [ Eve ]

**urbanchimera** · July 19th, 2008, 04:11 AM

eve julianna burke

I can remember a time when the colors of the world were so bright and new, that it hurt my eyes to look at them. Each day was a wondrous new adventure to take, each new thing a delight to discover. Sometimes I wonder what it'd feel like to experience that again. To wake up with a fluttering anticipation in my chest, of what this new day would bring. It's been so long since that's happened, I can't remember when it did last occur. The other night, as I wandered around my laboratory, I realized that I can't remember my own birth date. As it were, the birth year is a vague mystery, though I know it's around the early 1600's, though no later than 1630.

The world has come a long way since then. From traveling the world via ship, taking months, to flitting across the sky in an airplane-- New York to Los Angeles in five hours. The clothing.. oh, the clothing. Rough hewn dresses and mob-caps to haute couteur fashion borne from silk and linen. Women are allowed actual rights, as opposed to simply being the breeding force behind the husband they were made to marry at the tender ages of twelve and thirteen. It amuses me that over the years, I've had a grand total of twenty of these husbands. Some were the sweetest, dearest men to walk the earth, while others deserved their unfortunate downfalls, so early in their lives. Thomas was the Alpha, and thus far, Alexandra has been the Omega. It's been roughly fifteen years since the last love interest. It's in their better judgements for me not to be on the prowl.

Perhaps it is time for me to begin a memoir of sort. All of these cloudy recollections drift about my brain at the oddest times of the night and day. I feel that I can reach out and touch the memories, only when I try, they dissipate like smoke on the wind, leaving me .. frustrated. Yes, perhaps it's time. Lord knows -- though He's entirely unpleased with me -- the last thing that I need is to forget myself.

**urbanchimera** · July 19th, 2008, 04:12 AM

Let's see what I can remember of the beginning.

Thomas Johansson Burke. The memory of the wedding has faded away thoroughly, but .. yes, how can I forget my dear Thomas. We left London, I think it was.. 1619, though I'm not really sure. From what I gather, there are registries somewhere with all of the passenger ships and their occupants for viewing, though I don't see where it'd do any good. He had given a false last name, in order to get us away from the tyranny that was his parents. I was not listed-- rather, Thomas saw fit to include me as a servant, so as not to seem obvious with what we were doing. All of the months on sea made me realize exactly how much I adored dry land. When we arrived at the Virginia settlement, I was never so happy to put my foot down onto something that would not move.

It was such an odd, primitive place compared to the wonders of London. There was no etiquette to breach, no parties to attend in order to avoid blacklisting. The buildings we were to live in were rough, angular things. Nothing like the lavish decors of the country homes we grew up in. Of course, that was the whole reason of leaving London to our rudders. To step out of the box, so to speak, and prove to ourselves that we did not need our families' influence or approval for anything we were to do. Here, in this .. America, you had to work for what you wanted, and you had to work hard. By the sweat of one's brow, I suppose the saying is now. Tobacco seemed to be the major staple of making one's living here, and the work bypassed hard as we toiled into the summer months. Cotton, soybean, corn. I feared my hands would never cease to be red and chapped. Truth be told, the one blessing of this place was that the winters were nowhere near as harsh as in England. To that, we were both thankful for.

As of this time, I'd not discovered my most unique talent. Of course, I don't think it had quite reached fruition, in my early years. Once the aging process stopped, that was the culmination, though that is a few years away and a different story all together. Thomas, God bless his eternal soul, lasted a full five years in this Virginia. Not only was he one of the most clever when it came to harvesting, our fields -- the ones that joined with three other families' fields -- were of the biggest crop producers of the area. A fact that indeed put us a cut above the rest, by means of monetary status. When he finally departed from this earth, brought on by a case of influenza, the other families had taken it upon themselves to step up to the township council, and declare our lands for their own. This, of course, put me in quite a bind, and I was forced to work as a servant for the Vincenes. A most uncouth family, if there ever has been one.

By this time, the story had finally ventured into the tale that began morphing me into who I am today. And, as that were, I will have to wait until another day to recount that particular tale. This has been trying.

**urbanchimera** · July 19th, 2008, 04:13 AM

By the time the year 1639 came about, my life had already changed in ways that I couldn't understand. Thomas had died, America was no longer the promise land we had first believed it to be, and I realized that it was time to perhaps return to London. A missive had been delivered, a few years ago, stating that Thomas' parents had departed this world, and with my parents already receiving their Divine rewards ( before I was even wed ) .. no one was there to greet me. Or to question me as to why my appearance hadn't changed in all the time away. A question I wouldn't have been able to answer, in any event. This realization had come about roughly the same time I found out about my unique ability.

It seemed such an innocent thing. While clipping the ends of my hair one evening, a curl managed to find its way into a glass of water sitting near me, and it immediately clouded over and took on this strangely yellow tint. Vexing yes, and immediately, I threw on a robe and dispersed myself to the local apothecary, thinking some malady had fallen upon me and I was about to die. After reassuring me that what had happened wouldn't led to my end, four days later, the healer woman approached me with the news. After letting the water evaporate, she'd tested the residue left behind and proclaimed that it was an alkaloid by the name of Gelsemine. How it appeared in the water, simply from my hair falling into it, she couldn't explain and neither could I. Talking with a few of the local botanist, I learned that there was a man in London by the name of John Parkinson, who grew the plant gelsemium, of which produced this particular alkaloid.

My, how London had changed when I returned. Though Mister Parkinson ( Mister, in the way of he held no title of great importance, in the society ) could only tell me the basic facts of the plants and the rhizomes from which the alkaloids were taken ( both, which are highly poisonous ), there was still much that confused me. How was I able to produce it? Why was I able to have these traits within me, and not die of the poisoning that occurred when the gelsemium was ingested? Why did I still hold the appearance I had in my mid-20s? So very much was a question, and no one held the answers.

It was then that I decided; instead of searching for scholarly men and women, in hopes that they'd be able to shed a bit a light onto this mystery, why not study for myself? It was an unheard of thing then, a woman immersing herself into both the botanical and medical subjects, but at this time, there was little to lose. Those that shunned and looked down on me while I scoured the libraries for information, immersing myself into all of the knowledge there to take changed their opinions when the plague took it's hold of London. Having moved around, never associating myself with any of the same cliques ( this due in part to the fact of my appearance, so as not to flare gossip and speculation ), when the plague struck, I was able to witness it's beginning first hand, being that I was living in the poorer sections of the city.

The Inns of Court emptied, churches closed due in part to their clergymen fleeing. Even the College of Surgeons departed from the area, more concerned with saving themselves than even trying to save the people they'd studied to help. It disgusted me in ways that transcend wording. Cats and dogs were killed in alarming numbers, and families were quarantined to their homes if there was even a notion someone there may have contracted the disease. There was little that I could do, to help, other than administer laudanum to help ease the victims' suffering. No, it wasn't done out of compassion or empathy; once they were drugged, the lethargy invoked by the drug allowed me to study these people, to see how the disease itself worked. A few months later, after the peak during the summer, I had the liberty of meeting a most interesting young man. Something about him was familiar, and in turn, he recognized something within me as well. Kindred, perhaps? No, it was the fact that death seemed to be in our natures, though in two very different ways. He was most helpful in the way of explanations.

By the time the Great Fire of London came about, I realized that it was perhaps time to venture to new lands, in search of more prosperous adventures that coincided with what had been bestowed within me. A story for yet another day, I do believe.

Thread: The imp of the perverse [ Eve ]

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