Age at Death: 21
Born in 1160 in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, I was a slave to a merchant and caught in the cross fire during the Crusade. I nearly died, but an mysterious stranger saved me by giving me the Dark Gift. I had traveled throughout Europe since than. Currently reside in London as a modiste.
(NSFW. This is an independent rp account, I am not Nijah, nor Alexandra Daddario)
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.
Nijah knew she was about to die.
The arrows that pierced through her body, as well as the deep cuts caused by scimitar, had made her laid one the field for quite some time, long after the first wave of Crusaders. Beneath her, a pool of blood was quick forming. She moved slightly and felt the stickiness at her fingertips. Above her, the pale blue sky, turning slightly red along the edge of the horizon, for it was near sunset, was clear of cloud. There were bodies, thousands of them, scattered across the battlefield. Some were no longer moving and some were crying in agony. Somewhere out of her sight, she could hear vultures circling, summoning the others for foods below.
She panted and opened her mouth, trying to gasp more air. It had became harder and harder to breath.
No, she did not want to die.
The master had escaped the Kingdom of Jerusalem days ago, when hearing the Crusaders marching toward them. He had a estate in the County of Tripoli, where he decided it was save to stay until the war is over. He had left in the dead of the night, with only his immediate family members and a handful of personal servants, and abandoned the rest. Her family, which at the time consisted only her mother, herself and one of her younger brother, was left behind in their own devices. They decided to travel to a smaller city nearby to avoid the conflict. Bad mistake. Because it was there the two armies, one Crusaders and one Muslims, clashed.
They were crossing a patch of dryland when they saw a small loose groups of armies were fighting against each other. They tried to avoid it, but it was too late. Soon they were all down in the shallow valley between the hills. Her mother, sister and brother were all dead.
And soon she would be joined them.
Then it was when she heard the footsteps. Assuring and calm, as if the person was in no hurry to go anywhere else. She frowned, for such a person should not exist in a place like this. She turned her gaze from the fading sky above to the sound of soft boot pressed against the soft sand and rocks.
“Qu’est-ce une chose assez peu que nous avons ici.” The person drawled. His figures was hard for Nijah to see for it was against the sun: “Un lieu insolite pour être quelqu’un comme vous, non?”
The young slave opened her mouth, split and stained with dried blood, trying to make a sound. But nothing came out.
“Il n’y avait pas beaucoup sur vous qui me reste à un festin, pour être honnête.” The person continued to talk: “mais je vous le souhaitez. Dites ce que vous, je vais vous donner un cadeau. Quelque chose … quelque chose que je crois que vous chérir pour l’éternité.”
What? Nijah frowned. Before she was even realise what happen, the person pressed something against her mouth.
“Buvez,” The mysterious stranger said: “Buvez le lot … si vous voulez vivre.”
And she did. Something warm and salty surged past her mouth and straight to the back of her throat. Like holding onto a lifeline, she drank it. She felt her body started to grow cold, and tired. She was so, very tired…..
They were blood!
“C’est vrai, il boit, mon enfant.” The stranger cooed: “Et vous aurez un sommeil très longtemps. Quand vous vous réveillez, tout va devenir …. très différente.”
Before her heavy eyes fully closed, Nijah saw the person gave her a gentle stroke on the side of her cheek, stood up, and walked away.
Nijah emerged from the cool water of the pond and approached the edge, grew with soft grass and smelt of lavender. She leaned against the small rock perched at the side of the tranquil waters, resting her head to a side on her left lower arm. Her senses told her it was close to midnight.
Swimming did calm her down a little. Yet the burning rage that threatened to burst inside her over the last few days still refused to subsided. Something wasn’t right here, for she had not felt like this for at least 500 years. Not since the time when she was a young blood drinkers.
That, and the memories of her past, the times when she was a mortal, kept creeping up on her. Those distance days when she was helpless against those around her.
In the distance, a child cry. The baby’s unique squeak broke the silence of the night.
Nijah was 15. She had been sicked for days, throwing up everything that she ate. She even managed to do that in her master’s bedroom, much to her inward delight. The master sent her straight home, order her no to return until she became better. She had no complaint on that account. Let the others in the harem served him.
Now she was more horrified this sickness would never left her.
She was bending ofer to her chamber pot, doing what she felt like emptying all her internal organs out, when her mother walk in. The old woman took one look on her and her face went white. She rushed over, grabbed Nijah by the upper arm and dragged her out of the room.
The woman did not reply. She kept on walking, taking her daughter with her, to the stables where her father had been working over the last couple of week. They stopped in front of her father and she pushed the young woman in front of the old man.
“Quel est le problème?” Asked her father.
“Regardez-la! Elle a été malade! Regardez-la!” Her mother’s body began to shake.
The old man’s dark eyes was puzzled for a minute before widened in shock, and pain: “Non.”
“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?” Nijah was terrified. Her parents seem to know the reason of her sickness but she did not: “Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas? Quelqu’un me dit quel est le problème!”
“Obtenir son de la tisane.” Said her father.
“Non, il va la tuer!” Her mother protested.
“Mieux que le maître lui jeta dans la rue!” The old man barked back.
To her utter shock and confusion, Nijah’s mother began to sob. She leaded her daughter away from the stables and returned to the shack where her family stay, she went to the kitchen and rummaged for a while, before returning to the front of the hovel and pressed a small bottle into the young girl’s hand.
“Il suffit de faire comme je vous l’ai dit.”
“Mais je ne sais pas encore—”
“Il ne vous tuera pas, ma chère enfant.”
“Ne pas poser la question plus, il suffit de boire.” Her mother’s tear stained face torned her hearts apart.
No more questions, she emptied the bottle, without asking any more question nor protest. Later that night, Nijah woke up and found her bed was soaked in blood. There were so many of them, for a moment, she thought she was going to die.
The vampire elder closed her eyes and allowed her tears of blood to fall.
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:
Your suit had been completed. I trust it will be your liking.
Nijah was on the roof of the clock tower again. She was pacing, with a long section of lit cigarette between her fingers. Her long hair was slightly wet from the drizzling rain, plastered around her back, her neck and her glistering face. Small raindrops hung on her long, curly lashes. The thin fabric of her dark blue dress hung to her skin. Her brows forrowed. She was deep in thought, oblivious to the deep rumble in the distance and the sign of rains was about to pour down even harder.
“Où allons-nous, papa?”
“Chut, tais-toi, mon enfant.” Her father had assured her: “Le maître veut vous voir ce soir.”
Over 800 years ago. She was 8. It was a dark, moonless night. Her father had woke her up from the slumber and piled the nicest clothed in the house for her, urged her out of their small shack, across the courtyard and toward their master’s quater. Her mind was dazed from the sleep and confused why would her master want to see a little girl such as her, let alone this time of night.
She caste a small glance at her father. His expression was tensed and slightly….sad. Her heart lurched. Why would he feel sad? They have been with this master since her grandparents and they had always tried their best to please him. what had been amiss? What was he worry about?
Her father arrived at the heavy door of their master’s chamber. He gave the polished wooden panel a slight knock.
“Je l’ai amenée ici, Maître.” He said.
The door was opened. The master stood behind the panel, wearing only one towel around his waist. He smelt of wine and…something the little Nijah could not identified. His gaze fell upon her, glittering strangely. There was a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth that made her felt very, very uncomfortable.
“Laissez ici.” Their master ordered.
“Maître …. elle est seulement une petite fille ….” Her father started to shake. Nijah puzzled. What’s happening, why was the master want to be in the room alone with her.
“Je l’ai dit la laisser ici.” The tone of their master sounded impatient.
Her father shut his eyes tightly for a second, before bending down to her level and looked straight at her eyes. Deep brown eyes, with lines fanned around them, were filled with pain and sadness.
“Nijah, je dois vous laisser ici.” His hands began to shake: “Juste …. écouter ce maître vous demande, vous comprenez? Je serai avec maman quand il est fini.”
And before she responded, he stood up, gave the Master a stiff bow, slide past the half opened door, and closed it behind her.
“Papa?” Her eyes were widened, still unable to comprehend what had just happened and what was about to happen in the room. She stared after the closed door her father just vanished.
Suddenly, she found she was being lifted up into the air and moved away from the door. The master was carrying her somewhere.
He was carrying her to his bed.
Nijah jerked her memory back to the present, hissing. She dropped the cigarette and buried her fingers into her hair. She slowly slid down onto the slat rooftop. What had happened that night was so painful, so horrifying, it took her centuries to numb the feeling of betrayal, and pain. Yet somehow, it had surfaced again tonight.
She shut her eyes tightly. Her hands began to tug her hair violently.
She started to scream.
He was going to spike my drink.
It took Nijah only one glace at the man next to her to read his intention. What was with the men these days, that it needed them to drug a woman to get them to bed? She regarded the man through her half hooded eyes. He wasn’t even bad looking. Gosh, in his immaculate Armani, he did not look too bad at all. Tsk.
She looked over her shoulder. Claudia and the rest of the hunting party had already found their target. She knew for a fact that most of them were already half full by the time they reached this bar.
Well, suppose there was no harm to have one more.
Sensing her gaze The man adverted his eyes, as if feeling guilty. She tilted her head and studied him closely. This wasn’t the first time he did this.
Nijah finished her drink, pretended to oblivious it had been tempered with, gave the man a wink and walked off the bar.
I will see you guys later, She sent the others a mental signal as she pushed the heavy door open.
The crisp of night air filled her lung. Nijah dashed toward the shadows of the building. It did not take her long to wait for the man to emerge from the bar and scanned the area for her. She watched him hesitated, turned and headed toward her direction. She launched onto the man as soon as he was near her.
“Bonsoir, cheri.”She murmured seductively as she grabbed her lapels and pushed him against the wall. Her nose nuzzled against his jaw: “Why, you look downright appetizing.”
Her fangs were out and sunk deep into his throat before he could exchange a breath. Blood of burgundy colour soon dribbled down his neck and soaked through his collar. He made a few small gurgle sound as she feast upon him, totally submersed herself in the thrill of blood soared through every part of her body. She reached her climax the moment she drained the last drop of his blood. Sated, she finally loosen her grip and allowed the man to fall onto the her feet,before calmly tidied herself up before walked into the streetlight just a few feet away.
She strolled down the street. A convertible went past her with the stereo tuned to the maximum level. Nijah found herself humming with the tune.
Nijah skirted across the cobblestone in the dimly lit alleyway. Her long sleeve ebony silk evening dress was embroidered with intricate patterns of foliage. She left the hem of the skirt and held it in one hand so she could walk faster. Her alabaster skin glow in faint silvery hue even in the shadows. Her piercing blue eyes glittered with strange excitement.
She looked over her shoulders to check if she was still being followed.
He was still there.
Nijah grinned wickedly, remembered seeing him in her modiste shop, accompanied his wife to try out several new dresses. Very handsome man. Such a shame his wandering eyes kept drifting toward her decollage, revealed as she bend over to show his wife the silk sample. His eyes were filled with desire and hunger.
Not a very loyal husband, aye?
The corner of her full lips curled up. It had been a while since her last feed.
Tonight, she had tracked him down, following his scent. She found him inside a well known bordello, his face half buried between one of the girls breasts.
Before they even went upstairs.
Anger flared within her. Disloyal and pursuit lightskirts in such an public manner, just like her master. Dark memory, memory of her past that she locked deep inside her flashed past before her. Oh, how she distaste those men. She was so going to feast on him.
The alley came to a dead end. She feigned a trip and fell onto the ground. The man behind her caught up. His eyes were glittered with lust and greed.
He licked his lips and watched her slowly got back to her feet. Nijah let him believe he had cornered her. He approached her slowly, closing their distance. His gazed traced her the contour of her body.
His small smile broke into a wolfish grin.
She bit her lower lip slightly, enjoying the suspence.
Minutes trickled past.
Nijah gasped when he suddenly leaped forward, crushing her against the wall. His eager hands ripped her dress and bodice apart, revealing the full rounds of her breasts. He dipped his head and began to suck on her nipple hungrily. His hand lifted hers skirt and roughly caressed the top of her thigh. She felt the urge to feast within her threatened to burst.
Almost there. Just a little longer.
Hurrily the man undone his pantaloons and pull it down to his knee. He left her legs up, put it around her waist and moaned as he enter her. Waves upon waves of pleasure surged through her as he began his rhythmic move. She could not held on any longer.
As the man reached his climax, she dug her fangs into his throat, letting the sweet taste of his warm blood soared through her vein.
He did not even know what hit him.
She gingerly wiped the bloodstain from the corner of her mouth as the man fell onto the ground near her feet. She picked up her coat and wrapped it around her now battered dress before she walked away, disappeared into the night.
Arh, it was a good night.