My Bonds: Because of Bianca

@BiancaNorthman

The crowd that had gathered was cultured but mundane, just as they always tended to be. A din of mindless chatter echoed through the hall as the humans used small talk as a transparent guise for showing off to one another. They were pathetic and obvious, trite and banal, boring and cliché. No matter how far I traveled, no matter what personality I took on in order to disguise my true nature, I was growing tired of the living. Having left Appius Livius Ocella centuries earlier and having had all my children thus far strike out on their own or meet a second death, I had been alone for some time. I could barely recall companionship.

As I listened to their superficial discussions and ridiculous gloating from an otherwise unoccupied corner of the room, I reminded myself that wasn't such an awful thing.

Of course, if I could admit it to myself, I was lonely. Once I had grown to accept my existence as a vampire, the idea of eternity was nothing short of appealing. Forever wasn't a moment too long. There was nothing I could not do, nothing I could not see. The world was mine to experience at my leisure. I had criss-crossed Asia, I had explored the Middle East. I had ventured to Africa and had seen things and creatures my wildest imagination could not have thought up on their own. I had left no stone unturned in Europe, experiencing the culture of countries I had never even reached in my raiding days.

And oh, how I had experienced the women each civilization had offered in such great quantity...

So how had I found myself in a stuffy hall on an island, unaccompanied and uninterested? Even my own mind struggled to understand it. In the back of my mind, I knew, but the truth left me feeling uncertain and confused. An existence spent in the darkness, constantly moving, forming no ties, and leaving no piece of myself behind was trying. No one I crossed paths with could recall my name, nor any events we perhaps had shared. It was the way things had to be. I was nothing more than a ghost, a pale figure who was out of place everywhere and with everyone.

While they could not recall me, I could not forget a single one of them. The absence each had left- the absence I had created myself out of necessity- was encompassing. I needed something solid, a foundation of sorts if only for my own sanity. It was ridiculous and I knew such. Even when I had been alive, I had traveled the world, my roots always at a distance so I could provide for my family and do what was expected of me. Yet here, after six hundred years, I desired some form of grounding. It was risky and I knew that, but it was what I had convinced myself I needed.

And so I had gone to England. Cities were still a relatively new thing. London was populous and flourishing, even after the sun set daily. My English at the time left much to be desired, but I could communicate well enough to hold conversation and provide myself with what I needed. I had been fortunate to find an elderly woman alone in the world shortly after my arrival to the city. It had been easy enough to end her suffering and take her place in society for myself, telling all curious parties I was the last of her relatives, a distant nephew who had traveled to England in order to attend to his beloved aunt's holdings after her unfortunate passing.

Humans are the real suckers.

It had been easy enough to secure one of the rooms in the house from light for my uses. The nosy neighbors quickly pretended I didn't exist outwardly because of my "scandalous" behavior. I was a "young" man, uninterested in courting any of the young women recommended to me, rejecting invitations for lunches and afternoon tea, coming and going all hours of the night... I was quite the topic of gossip when I wasn't being tossed judgmental expressions of complete disapproval.

If only they knew what I was up to all hours of the night...

I can recall those very thoughts going through my mind the moment she entered the room. The din that had encompassed the hall quieted for a moment as every set of eyes turned to the door, taking in the beauty that had passed through the threshold unaccompanied. My eyes were on her too, raking over every delicious curve of her body, only further accentuated in the corseted dress she wore that presented her to my lusty gaze like a buffet to a starving man. I had to will my fangs to keep from descending at the very sight of her. If I had been any younger, I doubt I would have succeeded.

Her name played through my ears, spoken by a shrill girl in a gaudy dress a color that made her look sickly. Clara. I repeated it silently in my mind while forcing myself to listen from across the room to their private words. The shrill girl was attempting to draw even more attention to this radiant specimen of humanity, belittling her for being without an escort to the evening's play. Clara laughed the words off, though a slight flush rose in her cheeks. Without hesitation, I was across the hall, thankful that for once, no one was looking at me to catch the unnatural speed I traveled with. Before the inane girl could even finish her next sentence, I was at Clara's elbow, offering her my arm and apologizing for my inexcusable tardiness.

There was a long moment's pause as Clara first looked to me, her face fluttering from annoyance to surprise to intrigue. I could feel the smirk tugging at my lips as yet another blush passed over her perfect features and she took my arm, playing along with my farce as if it were the truth the onlookers took it to be. I chanced a brief glance at the shrill girl as we passed her and could see the lust and jealousy in her eyes as she looked between Clara and I, and only found myself further amused.

I could tell the same was true for Clara.

As we settled into our seats for the performance- The Taming of the Shrew- my eyes refused to leave Clara. It was as if I was compelled to stare. I studied her face, memorizing her features. I studied her neck, my mouth nearly watering as I imagined sinking my fangs through the tender soft flesh of it. I studied the deep cut of her dress, shamelessly soaking up the ample cleavage on display without regard for how inappropriate such a thing was, especially at that time.

She noticed, but didn't stop me. Instead she only enticed me further with that blush of hers, an act that seemed to beg me to make her mine.

And that was certainly plan.

She was talkative. Despite the fact that I was a complete stranger to me, she spoke at once, explaining her history with the shrill girl, as well as other young women both present and absent that night. Confidence radiated off of her as she spoke of their jealousy and she could only be described as proud as she spoke of rejecting her suitors. She spoke of her own impeccable beauty, her education, her rebellious nature, and even returned my flirtatious, inappropriate words with ones of her own. Clara York was no normal human. I had never come across one quite like her before. She reminded me faintly of someone I knew extremely well.

She reminded me of myself.

While I was more than accustomed to casting a spell on humans, I was unfamiliar with the opposite being true. I paid no attention to the performance being acted out only a short distance away, I could only focus on the woman beside me. As the audience hushed to watch the actors recite their lines, I listened to her heartbeat in the quiet. It soothed me, it thrilled me. It mesmerized me, it tortured me.

I contemplated ending that beautiful sound.

As the audience erupted in applause, I lost it's rhythm, but I had not lost Clara's attentions. I knew the invitation was inappropriate, but I couldn't resist inviting her back to my dwelling. My intentions were clear, but instead of rejecting them as I had expected, she accepted with a telling smile on her lips. I was both surprised and further intrigued. It took a great deal of willpower to walk her to my home without stopping in the middle of the street in order to simply have her immediately. From the beating of her heart and the telling blush in her cheek as we practically ran up the steps to my door, she was as anxious as I was.

And nearly as soon as we were through the door and had it closed behind us, we were on one another. She was unquestionably a touch tentative and frightened, completely unfamiliar with everything she desired to surrender to me, but willing to learn. We tumbled into my bed and though she was a novice, she was a quick study. We worked together, we worked against one another, we refused to quit. We moaned, we cried out, we bled...

And as she rested, her breath short and labored, her warm body curled against my own refusing to release her fragile hold on me, I realized I had been thinking of "we" for most of our night together.

We. I am selfish and I am proud. Even then it was completely true. Thinking of another in such a way was nearly equating them to me. I could barely believe my own thoughts. I laid on my side, studying her, wondering if she would ever accept the thoughts that played through my mind. I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, her eyelids fluttering as she fought exhaustion from ending our night together. Without a word spoken aloud, I was on her once more, but this time would be different. I did not fight my nature this time, not at all. My fangs sank through her skin and I drank. I drank as if I were a starved newborn who had never fed before. I drank quickly and greedily, without restraint. Her body weakened beneath me and her heartbeat quieted to dangerous levels.

Before I could even consider the ramifications of my actions, I was tearing into my own wrist and clamping it to her lips, forcing my blood into her mouth. She drank weakly, in a dazed confusion and stupor and I fed her until her body went limp and her heartbeat, the heartbeat that had enchanted me throughout the night, silenced eternally.

I laid beside her lifeless form as I healed, thinking over what I had just done. I had gone to London to ground myself, only to make another, something that would gain attention with impossible speed. Clara would be unpredictable upon rising and difficult to control. She had family nearby in the country, she had spoken of them during the play, and many had recognized her at the hall. Had I made an error? I didn't even truly consider such a thing. Clara felt right, she felt good.

And just like that, I wondered when I had begun feeling anything at all again.

I cleaned the blood from her face and body before covering her with the blankets of my bed. Dawn was quickly approaching, but I dressed and left my dwelling, traveling by only recalling vague descriptions and directions Clara had given earlier. I found the country home belonging to her grandparents and was unsurprised to find the aging couple awake, concern for their only granddaughter displacing any exhaustion they may have otherwise felt. I hadn't decided what I would say before I reached them. Truth be told, I intended on glamoring them until thoughts of Clara were nothing but a jumbled mess in their minds, but as they looked at me with both fear and hope unanticipated words came pouring from my mouth.

I told them I had met and fell in love completely with their granddaughter that very night, and she had fell in love with me. From the hall, we had run away and married, unwilling to let anyone stand in the way of our love. Clara was worried they would disapprove of her actions and couldn't bare to disappoint them as she was sure she had, but wanted them to know she was safe, and I wanted them to know she was safe, and that I would take care of her and care for her always.

I didn't know what love was. I could no longer recall the way it felt, or even be certain I had ever felt such a thing when alive, but the words flowed naturally from me, and as I looked at the aging couple, they appeared something equally unfamiliar to me.

They looked happy.

Not for the loss of their granddaughter. It was obvious to me they cared for her deeply, but they seemed relieved Clara had found someone to love and be loved by. In my head, I knew such was not the truth. She had foolishly submitted herself to a night of unbridled passion with a being of myth that had killed her and taken her away from everything she had ever known. She had been entranced by everything I was and am and had fallen into my trap just as a fly finds itself the prey of the spider. There is no spider as deadly as I am, however, and I had made her just as dangerous as me.

With their well wishes and blessings, along with some belongings of my new "wife," I made my way back to London and to my home as dawn approached. Three days and nights I stayed beside Clara, not leaving to even feed. I sat beside her throughout the night and lay with her during the day. The night she rose, I held her in my arms, attempting to soothe and quiet her mixture of confusion and concern. She adjusted and accepted quickly and really, it was only a matter of moments before I was pinned beneath her, the newborn picking up exactly where we had left off three nights earlier.

And that is only the beginning of our tale.

We moved on quickly. Clara was young and eager to explore her new existence, sometimes at the expense of those she had known and loathed when alive. Relocation to maintain our secret became necessary, and we posed quite naturally as a young married couple, which required her taking on my last name. Unpredictable as always, Clara decided to discard her first name as well to disassociate herself with the human she had been and instead adopted the name of a character in the play we had seen the night she died... Bianca.

Bianca Northman. There was something that seemed impossibly right about that alias.

I taught her everything I knew. We stayed in England for some time while I taught her all she would need to survive and more. I taught her languages I had learned throughout my travels, and when she mastered them, we took off to where they were spoken. Things that were old to me were new with someone at my side to share them with. Night after night we explored the world. She hunted at my side, she fought at my side. We shared lovers, we shared blood. Nights turned into years, years turned into decades, decades turned into centuries.

She met my Maker, she met my children who still existed. She met my children's children and reveled in their histories. She seemed content at my side, as if the fit was natural and meant to be.

And I grew tormented as I anticipated the night it would all end.

Bianca had stayed with me longer than I could have ever imagined the night I turned her. It was not that I wished her away, far from that. If I had, I would have ordered her from my side long before. No, I simply knew it would not last. No child is meant to stay with their Maker for so long. In fact, it is natural for a vampire to grow to loathe the one who brought them into this existence and has such limitless control over them. I had never bonded to another as deeply as I had Bianca. The very idea of feeling the loss I would feel once she struck out on her own was blindingly unsettling.

She seemed as happy as a vampire can ever claim to be. And I was entirely miserable by my own doing.

For a vampire who regrets so very little as I do, I regret the agony Bianca felt in those final years with me. I was restless and nervous. I know when she looked at me, she could only see pain... and I... I couldn't even speak to explain it.

And so, after nearly three hundred years of only a rare night spent apart, she left me.

I waited for her return foolishly for some time. In a way, I am relieved Bianca did not return to me then when I was so lost. She needed to exist on her own, free of me, free of my hold on her, and I needed such a thing for her. She deserved it. The world was hers to seize without the thought of another plaguing her mind, just as it had been mine to seize centuries earlier.

But for me, the loneliness was once more encompassing and more powerful than it had ever been before. A bond like ours... there is no hiding from. I felt her nightly and struggled with her successful existence apart from me. I had to close all connection to her as best I could to give her the freedom she had earned, but though she may have felt nothing from me, I could not shake thoughts of her. I returned to London once more, finding a small amount of solace in the familiar location, even though it was a very different place then. I had not been there for long when I found a human out after dark, attempting to sneak home without her absence being noted. She was easy to overpower and take, and three nights later, I had the ultimate distraction in Pam Ravenscroft.

With a newborn to teach and tame, my mind traveled to Bianca less. She was always there, inescapably so, but it grew easier every passing night. I took Pam to the New World and the unfathomable distance made my connection to Bianca even more difficult to focus on, much to my own relief. By the time Pam struck out on her own, I was the vampire I had been before Bianca had entered my undead existence.

At least, that is what I have always told myself.

I focused on new things. As one of the oldest vampires to have made the journey to the Americas, getting involved in politics was a natural thing for me. I was strong, intelligent, and had proven myself in battle many times over. I had already climbed the ladder of the vampire hierarchy significantly when I felt Bianca in the New World as well. Though I felt her near more than a few times and was certainly tempted, I resisted ever calling her to me. I made more vampire, I focused on making connections to and establishing relationships with other vampires of power. I moved frequently like all of my kind to avoid human suspicions.

I had settled in Louisiana a while before we "left our coffins" to the world at large. After we acknowledged our existence, I had little time to think of Bianca. Between building Fangtasia into a successful business and tending to Area Five matters, I had little time to myself, let alone to get lost in memories no doubt best forgotten. I called Pam back to me for aid, but I knew it was not enough. Responsibilities and obligations began outweighing all else in my existence. Stress was an overpowering, nightly thing. While I was certain my bonds felt such a thing, I never truly expected Bianca to return to me.

I never expected her to want to return to me.

I felt her nearness before she ever arrived, but when she walked through the doors of Fangtasia and looked straight to me, I still found myself unprepared and surprised. Nearly a century and a half later and it was as if no time had passed at all. Once more at my side, once more filling a void I care not to even acknowledge.

And I know she shouldn't be there and shouldn't want to be there and I know I shouldn't want her there. And I know I shouldn't feel what I feel, and I know it's dangerous and will be used against me. And I loathe her at my side, endangering herself needlessly and senselessly because of me, because of what I expose her to every night.

But having her anywhere else kills me.