Arh....You are here.

The cold and damp air filled her nostrils. She found she surrounded by the mist of fog. The soft glow of lights did not offer her any comfort, instead it gave her a certain chill. No matter how hard she stretched her senses, she could not tell where she was. Well, she was certainly not outdoors, that much was for certain. As for the rest, she was completely clueless.

She rolled and unrolled her fists, walking along the corridor that seemed stretched miles and miles.

“‘Lo?” Clearing her throat, she called out tentatively.

She got no respond.

she tried again, and again all she heard was her own voice echoe down the long hallway.

Bewildered and now a little on edge, she walked a little faster, hoping she could find some kind of door, or exit to figure out where this damnable place was.

It was when she heard the giggle. Then another. And another.

“Traitor,” One of the girlish voice broke through the maze: “traitor is here.”

“She’s here to see her friend!” Another young man’s voice burst out, laughing this time.

“The friend who’s job is to kill our us!”

“Yet she stand by them!” Another voice shreked: “TRAITOR!”

“What?” Nijah gasped, pausing in her track. They did not mean: “W-who are you!?”

“Oh she asked us!” The voices started to laugh.

“Tsk-tsk, she does not know who we are!”

“So much so for the lover of Armand!”

“I am no longer the lover of Armand!It had not been so for some months!” She snapped, yelling out: “Reveal yourselves! Your lack of information is laughable!”

“Laughable, she said!” More sneering.

“We know more than you think, foolish one.”

“Oh, oui, we always know!”

“Shut your mouth!” The vampire snapped: “Show yourself and tell me why you have entrapped me here!”

“We had not entrapped you, Nijah!” The voices laughed, so loud Nijah had to cover her ears: “It is you who entrapped yourself!”

“Rubbish!” The vampire hissed, her fangs showing: “Enough words. What is this place?”

“She doesn’t know!” The girlish voice burst out laughing.

“Oh, my, but you should have, we are rather famous!” The male voice sneered.

“Enough talk!” Another one of the voice pipped up: “Show her, oh, show her what we did to her friend! I bet she would adore it!”

“Yes!” The other voices concurred. She swore she even heard the sound of clapping.

The fog began to grow thinner.

It was when she saw it. A female, slim build and with long wavy hair, was chained on a large stone bolder. She was stark naked. White as sheet, her whole body was cover with bit marks. The woman barely had a breath left. Hearing the sound of movement, she looked up and their gaze locked. A hint of recognition flickered in the deep of her eyes.

Nijah gasped. She knew this woman. A hunter, who she only met over a week previously.

Anita.

The hunter opened her mouth and her throat made the almost inaudible rattling noise: “H………help m….me…”

The young vampire started to scream, scream and scream and scream. Until Krull’s large hand wrapped around her, until her whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

Now this was scary.

Instinctively she was trying to blink, but her logic warned her not. Whatever clustered before them were not ordinary creatures. Actually she wasn’t sure if she should call them ‘creatures’, because in theory, they should not.

“Nijah,” Jacob, the Grimm who stood next to her, his body was as stiff as hers were, swallowed: “whatever you do, don’t blink. Those are…”

“I am perfectly well aware that what we are facing,” She snapped, growling impatiently. How in the world did they got themselves in this situation in the first place? Right, he was hunting some humanoid creature named Jack and she was, armh, reading. She learned a few days ago a certain basement contained the most interesting archives of books and tonight she finally managed to spare some time to come after her own hunt. The aisles and aisles of book made her almost screaming with delight. She had picked up the first book and began to read. The next thing she knew, she was standing next to the hunter and surrounded by statues she was not even aware of when she entered the room: “Weeping Angels.”

“And we are in a basement with no windows.” He groaned.

“Yes, I am aware of that, too.” She cast a feeling glance toward the top of the shelve. How fast could those thing move?

“Well, I am not sure about you, vampire, but I have no intention to visit the past.” Jacob grated.

“Neither am I,” She murmured: “Where is your Jack, by and by?”

“Presumably somewhere in the past now.” Her friend replied.

“Okay, now we need to leave,” She mentally measured the distance between each shelve and the exist. If she crawled along the ceiling fast enough she should be able to…..

“Got any brilliant ideas?”

“Montague mentioned vaguely he was martially trained,” She returned her gaze back to the statues again, which were all frozen at the snarling pose: “I presumed so were you?”

“But of course,” He responded: “Cut to the chase, will you? I do not enjoy being surrounded by those damnable creatures.”

“They are not creatures,” She chuckled wryly: “They are aliens. But anyway, I want you to hop to the nearest shelve and move at the count of three. No, don’t worry about me, I can crawl on the ceilings while keeping an eye on those…whatever.”

“Sounds good.”

“Right,” The vampire reached out her hand and gave the Grimm a tight and brief squeeze: “On the count to three: one, two….”

Three.

The midnight breezed clambered down from the treetop, brushed past the rosemary hedge she had planted against the fences in her back garden and stirred the sage in the vegetable patch. The silver wafer of the moon hook in the dark velvet night sky above her. Its milky white light beamed through the dark lace on the cloth line, imprinted lozenges of dots on her alabaster skin. She tilted her face up, enjoyed the softness of the moonlight on her face, before raising her long fingers and touching the hand knitted craft gingerly. The wind lifted the dyed fabric, flapping the drape feathery against her, tickling her skin.

she giggled.

Those were for her consignments. She had always enjoyed the process of making garments. They gave her tremendous satisfaction and pride when seeing a beautiful craftsmanship slowly taking shape. She had told the others it was probably the only thing she was good at, and for a long time, it was her only hobby. A past she carried over from her mortal past. Regardless what state of her mind was, doing them always calmed her, soothing her soul, should she had one. It was only fate had given her the fortunes that the others liked what she made and paid her to make more.

The back garden gate squeaked. Without turned and looked over her shoulders, she knew someone was coming. Her supernatural senses picked up the scent, as well as skimmer of thoughts that flickered through her mind.

“Good evening,” She paused her caresses of the dyed lace and greeted the comer quietly.

Nijah had been curled up in the stone floor of the balcony for the best part of the evening, watching the dark cloud surged up in the velvet night sky, followed by the silver lightening struck across the horizon, and then the crackling thunder. The rain came next. She remained where she was, allowed the drops socked her to the bones. Her long ebony hair plastered against her alabaster oval face. Her breath formed a mist as she exhaled.

She found out she did not mind. The vampire seldomly sick, not with the slight rain such as this. She extended her hand, stared with some child-like curiosity on her long wrinkled fingers.

“Wash everything off, start anew?” She murmured to herself.

Nijah’s eyes fluttered open.

For a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. It was a side effect after constant traveling over the last two weeks. It took her only a short time to realise she was back in London, in the house the Marquis and the Countess shared. She was in his lordship’s quarter, laying next to him. 

And it was midday.

She wasn’t sure what woke her. The room was quiet enough, despise the bird tweeted outside the window and the gentle breeze rattled the heavy velvet curtains slightly, everything was in peaceful silence. Strips of golden ray of the Sun peeked through the gaps between the drapes of the windows. Her hands reached up and removed a few loose strands of dark hair from her face, before looking around the room with a frown.

No, it wasn’t a dream that caused her to wake up, she was certain of it. Actually she could not remember the dream. It was not unusual, for her memory was never astute enough when she was in slumber. However, it was the first time she woke up and found out she was in complete peace. The overwhelming sadness that had been tailing her over the past months was no longer lingered in her heart. It was still there, hidden somewhere in the corners. But it could no longer effect her. Well, not as much as it used to two to three weeks ago.

She sighed, and could not help herself but allowed small smile hung at the corner of her mouth.

It felt rather good.

She laid back to the crook of the Marquis arms, snuggled against the hallow of his neck, and drifted back to sleep.

Nijah tilted her head and stared at the lump of body before her feet with a slight smirk on her face. The famous Canadian serial killer, the one who killed his lovers, cut them into pieces and courier them all over Canada, was now lying on the cold cellar floor, with his neck broken, and grasping for air. He could no longer talked, nor made any coherent sound. The only sound that was distinguishable in the quiet cellar was the rattling noise from the deep of his throat.His eyes, bulged and bloodshot and filled with fear, were looking at her, bagging for her to spare him, begging for his life. His body was naked and had cross marks all over, as if it had been tied in the fishnet and sliced it with knife.

The vampire clicked her tongue wickedly. She pulled out the small tin box from the pocket of her indoor cloak and opened it. In the small case, there neatly lined a role of slim paper cigarette. She took one out and lit it, watching the small flicker of light drifted in the dim room.

“Now….what shall I do with you?” She let the wafer of smoke emitted from her nose and glared down at him: “I admit I had grown tired of trying those torturing things on you, so had the Marquis, the dear lordship of this household. I suppose….it is time to show you mercy, non?”

The man’s eyes widened even further. The rattling sound from his throat became louder and more rapid. Nijah could read from his mind that he was trying to move, but as his neck was snapped, it was utterly pointless to even try. 

“What’s the matter, cheri?” She knelled down and smirked wickedly at him: “Haven’t you used to this already, all those loved ones you had smiled sweetly at them before ended their lives? What went through their mind as their life slowly slipped away in the palm of your hands? Tsk-tsk, do not tell me now the tables are turn and it is no longer entertaining all of the sudden?”

The vampire laughed, before gently snaked her hand under his neck and lifted him up closer to her. Cradling him in her arms, she purred seductively at him before covered his lips with hers, despite his higher and higher rattling noise. Her fangs were out within seconds and cut through his lips as her tongue trespassed his mouth and played with his. Blood gushed out of his mouth as she began to drink, and slowly trickled down the column of his throat and onto his chest. The sound from his throat gradually grew weaker, before finally stopped to a faint breath when she finally pulled away and released him, letting him slumped back to the cold concrete floor.

“What goes around comes around, non?” She stood up, wiping the blood smears from her mouth and straightened her cloak: “Bonne nuit, cheri.”

Nijah sat before the vertical loom, her first one set up after moving into the Marquis and the Countess’ house, and inspected the half complete weaving with a frown. It was initially situated in her room for her to work on some smaller scale commissions without returning to the workshop at Whitechapel, or as a calming past time when her thoughts were all over the place. After returning from Canada, she decided to move it to a small corner at the cellar, where she could work on her creation in peace. The one she was currently working on was made of Arachne’s silk. It took her sometime to figure out how to strengthen and gathered them into yarns, and longer to work out how to wrap them on the loom before she even started to do anything with them. But now it was almost half way, and she could see the beautiful patterns began to form. Once this was done, all she needed was to find a style suitable for her ladyship to move onto the next step.

“Her ladyship will be pleased,” She murmured to herself as she picked up the shuttle and inserted it in between the interweaving shaft. The sound of the small wooden stick, soft and smooth due to the years of using, passed through the stretch yarns and the music from the small radio she had placed in one of the empty slot of the wine shelf nearby formed a perfect harmony. She took a deep breath and allowed her lips curled into a small smile.

Arachne, who had been watching her work from the bean overhead clicked her pincers in alarm. The large spider was due in any day now. Soon another batch of hatchlings will be out and about on the street of London. The vampire scratched her head, taking a mental note to ask the arachnid about keeping some in the household as part of the assistance to the guards.

Quelqu’un vient? She asked her friend through Mind Gift. One of her hand caught the zooming shuttle as she half turned over her shoulders to see who’s approaching.

Nijah slowly drifted from the dreamless, deathlike slumber back into the realm of the awakening. For a while she laid there, feeling the peace surrounding her and the total relaxation of her mind and her body. Deep down at the back of her head, she knew it would not last. Whatever that had caused her to sleep would eventually return and the pain would once again lingered in her heart.

She slowly sat up and glanced around the room. She was lying in a bed. Which was unusual, for she had never been in a habit of sleeping in one ever since she was a immortal. The fresh bed linen smelt of citrus and forest pine—a familiar smell, making her feeling comfortable. So she was in someone’s house that was not hers, but there was no need to feel on edge as this person was her friend. A trusted one, no doubt. The room was bathed in moonlight, with the french door half-opened on one side. The decoration was simple but practical. Guest bedroom, perhaps?

It was when she noticed the figure curled up in the armchair beside her, fast asleep. At the foot of the chair there were two hounds. One was Fenris, her most trusted husky, and the other….

Kenley.

She was in Mael’s house.

Memories triggered and flooded back, nearly knocking her over.

She buried her face in her hands.

Nijah stood in front of her London house. The old Regency style tile house still looked the same in the familiar mist that hung around the street this time of the night. In the distance, she could hear the sound of mortal moving about, rushing home after a whole day’s work. The street was rather quiet, just like it always had in her memory. She was certain those Vampire Hunters were still around somewhere, lurking in the shadows and watching her. Somehow she no longer cared.

The vampire sighed and unlocked the door with her Mind Gift. She entered the house and headed straight upstairs. She found her room, still immaculate and tidy as if she had only left yesterday. No doubt Ina had come and attended it from time to time. Or perhaps Marianne had done that? Well, it did not matter. All she wanted now was…

She threw herself in bed and buried her face against the softness of the pillow, letting her tears flow. She knew it was useless human emotion. But just tonight, she did not want to hold it. Just tonight, she want to let them all go and weep.

nijah:

It was definitely not one of the finer streets in Paris.

Nijah gingerly dodged aside a pile of dog poo and shook her head. The cobblestones we old and cracked, streaked with refuse; the lane itself was narrow and dark, closed-packed with old buildings that faced the world with barred doors and broken, shuttered windows, with walls of peeling, brimy stucco. From behind those walls she could hear the shriek of drunken and foxed laughter, the crashed of glasses, the two barely distinguishable from each other. The smell of rotting vegetables, vomits, and urine hung heavy in the still night air. It was after midnight, but she knew it would be little different midday.

The street was far from Champs-Élysées, or even from the apartment Armand owned. This was another world entirely, one kept far from the tourists, the wealthy. Yet this was the only place where she could find what she was after.

Evildoers.

She smirked and paused, her dark Khaki long coat blending with the shadows as she studied the dwelling opposite. It appeared to be deserted, a dilapidated structure, yet it had to be one she sought tonight. The thoughts she sensed from within had indicated so.

She moved across the lane and made his way around the house to its back door. It faced on to an alleyway even narrower than the front street, barely wide enough for one person to walk down. More junk was piled in the doorway, but as she had suspected, it was not locked.
The old vampire chuckled.

Oh, yes. What a nice night tonight.

Nijah stared at the intricately carved wooden door of Armand’s residence with her mind blank. She was wearing a long black Khaki coat, wrapping her deep purple long dress inside. Her long hair was wet and plastered around her face. Her alabaster face was dampened by the rain. She had been standing outside of his house for some time, in the pouring rain, ever since she sensed her lover told her he had decided to go to slumber because of the increasing harassment he had experienced over the last few days. She was aware they had been bothering him for some time, for he had to remove himself from London at the end of every week, but this…this was really bad. She was surprised how he could not tell a soul about it and bear everything by himself.

She sighed, using her Mind Gift to unlock the door. The large mansion was empty. Armand was not in the habit of hiring servants, for he did not believe in he should enslaved the others for something he could well managed by himself. she left the edge of her hem and skirted across the marbled floor, up to the well polished staircase, and came to his bedchamber.

The door was not even locked. It stood slightly ajar, revealing the exquisitely made coffin inside. Oak wood, made from the previous century. She shut her eyes briefly, remembered the last time she was here. Such a sweet memory. Armand had been different and so unlike the others. He was the missing part of her soul. Knowing him now sleeping inside that wooden chest, completely oblivious about what was around him, nearly undid her.

How long would him sleep like this? A few months? A few years? Marius had told her a vampire could easily slumbered a few centuries at a time. It was such a heartbreaking thought, having to go through normal daily activities for such a lengthy time without him.

No.

she was not going to.

She unlidded the coffin effortlessly. Inside, her lover was in his dead-like sleep. His statuesque features was so very beautiful. She tilted her head and looked at Armand for a moment, before lifted her skirt and climbed in, carefully arranged herself lying down beside him.

No, she would not let him cope this on his own. She would be here for him, beside him while he was asleep.

And here the moment he opened his eyes.

Mon amour, mon coeur, mon âme. Je suis ici. Je ne vais pas vous quitter. Vous aurez toujours de moi.

Nijah pressed her forehead against the cold glassed of the wrought iron window. The clock struck midnight. The crescent moon embedded in the deep velvet blue sky outside, drizzled with billions of diamond-like stars. Her long muslin night gown draped over her elegant body, her ebony hair was lose and hung over her shoulders. She was not in the mood to go out hunting tonight. She was no in the mood to go anywhere at all. All she wanted was stay here, in a half hibernated state, waiting for his return.

It had been days. Armand had been gone for days. She felt like part of her was gone with him. Everyday it become more and more unbearable. Yet she had to carry on her life as if nothing untoward had happened. It slowly tore her up from the inside.

By Jove, she missed him.

She sighed, watching her breath formed a layer of mist on the glass panel. She raised her hand and pushed her finger around the cold mist, drawing a small heart.

Tu me manques, Armand.

She closed her eyes. Savoring the image in her head.

Outside, in the distance, a dog began to howl.

Nijah emerged for the water in the porcelain bathtub, exquisitely made with four lion paws shape feet as its legs. The temperature was luke warm now, for she had been in there for some time. The moonlight beamed through the wrought iron window panes and splattered onto the polish wooden floor, soak everything in the room in milky white light. Spluttering water out of her mouth, the vampire raised her fingers and gently pushed away the wet hair plastered on her face. Her alabaster skin glowed in the moonlight. Humming, she pressed her hands against the edge of the tub and lifted herself out of the water and walked toward the towel rack, leaving a trail of water splattered on the floor. She picked up a dark blue towel, wrapped it around her slim body and tugged a small wedge between the folds to secure it.

She turned her gaze toward the window.

It was a cloudless night.

She walked toward the windowsill and pushed the panel open, watching the brilliant stars glittered across the dark velvet sky above her. Below, the London city sleep.

The corner of her full lips curled up. She started humming again. 

(Source: nijah)

Nijah inhaled the cigarette in her hand and let out a puff of smoke. She stared at the mannequin in front of her. It was finally done. She had started before the old vampire went to his coffin and sank deep into slumber, pushing all her other jobs aside in order to get this one done first. She had been so looking forward to this moment, the moment the suit was complete, and the moment when she delivered it to Marius in person.

Now she was not so sure. Not after she made a fool of herself in front of him in the slumbering chamber.

She reached out her hand and ran a hand gently through the collar, feeling the superfine under the pad of her fingertips. Since she was a mortal, the myth of Marius de Romanus had always fascinated her. They were very rare, and the story always surrounded by a great veil of elaborated length. But she had adored them nonetheless. Her infatuation grew when she became a blooddrinker and met Bianca, who had loved the vampire, and still did, if her appearance at the chamber had anything to go by. Listened to her talking in length about the man had added her admiration, and to her great dismay, a hint of jealousy.

She had longed to meet him, to know him. And when she finally did, she realised all those vivid stories she heard about him had faded to nothingness compared to the man himself. He had treated her in kindness and respect that she rarly had throughout her life, just like he did to those he considered friends around him. Against her better judgment, her admiration for him increased, as well as the respect for him, and for the first time in her life, she hoped, no matter how slim the possibly that would be, that he would return the feeling.

At least aware of it.

Her fingers stopped. She sighed. She should not let her guards down, to let her feeling shown in that chamber. His tone was surprised and confused, when detecting her emotional thoughts twirling inside her.

No, he did not know.

And her clumsiness in attempting to explain had made it worse.

Nijah shook her head and walked away from the mannequin. She had since sent a note of apology and received a note in return, stating she was forgiven. Yet she still unable to bring herself to see him. She needed time to calm herself down, to keep her emotion at bay.

And to turn her admiration and desire into respect.

She took off the suit, carefully wrapped it with the tissue paper, and placed them gingerly inside a large box.

Two days later, a UBS courier man knocked the heavy wooden door at the Marius house in the early evening. When the door was opened, the owner of the house found he was being delivered a large, flat parcel. When it was opened, he found out it was the suit the dressmaker had promised to make him, as well as a short note:


Marius:
Your suit had been completed. I trust it will be your liking.

Nijah

Nijah sit alone on the wooden bench in the park. Her hands were tucked inside her long navy blue pocket. Her waist length hair, slightly untidy, hung loosely over her shoulder. Her legs stretched out and crossed. It was way past midnight. There was no one around but darkness and thick fog drifting between the trees.

She looked up and stared at the velvet sky above. There was no moon again tonight. But strangely, it suited her mood well.

An owl zoomed past her, disturbing the silence.

Nijah stared at the disappearing bird. Slowly, a small flew to the corner of her mouth.

She started to hum.