Soft footsteps fall on the seemingly desecrated ground, disturbing the softly layer of dirt that had lay dormant along the floor. Each sharp click of heel on the marble was like another strike against her heart, painful and reverberating through the cold and empty spaces that had grown with seeming abandon lately.
The only whisper of sound was the inevitable sigh that fell from her lips as she surveyed her only home, lost amongst shadows and half hearted dreams.
There was no trace of him here, not as though she had expected there to be any. Three excruciating weeks had drug by since he had proclaimed her First. And as quickly as he had made her completely his, he had forsaken her and everyone who depended on his vision. Now the vision clung to the darkened corners of the Manse like a forlorn soul of the damned, covered in soot and dirt and broken promises.
It was as if the sun had conspired with Valen on this day, casting feeble yellow pools of light along the floor. She approaches the winding banister, once a glorious, glossy white trimmed with in a pale gold. Now in the light, the wood appeared a sickly brown, as if it were shriveling up in communion with the vision. She stops a moment, laying a single hand on it, as if remembering the countless times she had climbed it to her Lord’s room, or even her own. Her blue eyes shift to her hand lying there, and for a brief moment the grief and madness cross them, her one betrayal of the emotions threatening to wrench her in two. She refocuses, slowly ascending the stairs, hands hanging low at her sides.
She pauses at the top of the stairs and looks back at the foyer; a clear path of her footsteps can be seen from the ornate entrance doors all the way up the stairs. The realization sinks in direly at that moment; she stumbles and catches her breath, suppressing everything that would betray her. A moment passes, then another. Her pale face, framed so elegantly by her red tresses, falls once again to a stone wall, eyes as icy cold as an Antarctic ice flow.
The heavy doors of her Lordship’s bedroom fall open easily at her slightest touch. His study looms before her, more thickly covered in dirt than the rest of the home. Every footstep that falls causes the dust to burble and cloud around her, stifling her air, but not her determination. Another set of doors bar her way, but bolstered by her already satisfied courage, she pushes them open just as easily. She stops a moment, in the entryway, as the memories flood forth.
So many happy memories had been made here. All crushed into the fine dust of oblivion by a single action of a desperate vampire.
She steadies herself, breathing the sour air deeply. No one had touched this room since the last time he had been seen, and it certainly showed. Clothing lay strewn about, mildewed towels made little mountains of stiff material here and there; the opulent bed remained made in those satin blue sheets he had so largely prized. It was this that she approached warily, her last act before…She didn’t think about it.
Her palms began to bead with sweat, dampening the envelope in her hand. She hardly notices as she tries to breathe between the knots in her stomach and the lumps in her throat; she manages short, stuttering gasps hissing between her clenched teeth. Eons and seconds later she reaches the foot of the bed, and she sways on her feet, still unsure of what to do.
Again her eyes betray her for a fleeting moment. But it is only fleeting. She had to do this.
She leans over, placing the neat, white envelop on the center of the bed. She shifts it first left, then right, unsure of the placement. Sticky black calligraphy adorns the face of the envelope, the words “Lord Valen” can be made out after a moment. She straightens, remembering with a vivid ferocity the words set inside the pages within:
Dearest Lord Valen,
You have gone away for a long enough while that I must consider if you are ever coming back to my arms. I am myself most saddened at you sudden departure, and eagerly await your triumphant return. But I am a realist, and must therefore prepare myself for the fact that you may never be coming home.
What we shared was as brilliant a flickering candle burning strong and true. But for you, the wick’s run out while my wax still is melting.
I will cherish the love we shared forever more, and tuck it in to the secret places of mine heart. I will always be yours, Lord Valen, and all you must do is call for me, and I will come. But for now, I must venture on own, to find my small niche in life where I will be truly happy.
Do not worry for the material things, they are already being cared for. As long as breath fills my lungs, you shall never have to worry about the Manse. I keep it in the hopes that you will soon return to populate it again.
My final gift to you, Lord Valen, is that which I trapped myself with. It contains a piece of me that could never exist elsewhere; I wish you to have, if only to remember the vows and promises I made you.
I will always love you
Everlastingly Yours,
Satine
Only now does a tear trail down her cheek as her fingers work deftly at the clasp. A click, a slide, and it comes free, cold metal heavy in her hands. She places her collar to encircle the letter, gazing at the symbolic significance of this tiny action. For a moment, she reaches out along the connection he had forged between them, desperate for even the tiniest trace he is still alive. Her answer is a high pitched static, whether from a heavily shielded mind or a dead spirit, she can’t tell. She spins on heel, careful to close the doors behind her, and leaves yet another sad chapter of her life behind.
