Amelia's Journal

The wind howled around the Welsh cottage, a haunting symphony that echoed through the empty rooms. The storm had locked all life out, leaving me in the chilling embrace of isolation. It wasn’t much, my home on that lonely hill, but it was enough to shelter the falling snow. It was 1851, and the weight of solitude pressed heavily on my chest, just as it does now. Once, I had been a domestic servant married to a sailor, whose drunkenness consumed him as surely as the sea. His returns were fleeting, his pockets empty after indulging in the wild hounds that roamed the streets of England. His death had brought no tears, only the stark reality of my new existence as a penniless widow. Then, he appeared at my door—the vampire.

I believed he was a phantom; I wasn’t wrong. There was an undeniable oddness about him, a sense of ancient power. I do not remember exactly how he stepped foot into my home, but I remember his plea. “Let me in, I am so cold.” His excuse? A nobleman’s son, whose carriage broke down in the snow. The horses? Scared off. His coachman? Dead from the cold. Promised he would pay handsomely, 10 pounds, for refuge during the blizzard. As the wind howled outside, rattling the windows, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. I hesitated at the threshold, the darkness of the night pressing in around me like a shroud. The man’s blue eyes glimmered with an intensity that felt otherworldly, and his voice? Smooth yet chilling, it still echoes in my mind. “Please,” he implored, his breath visible like a ghost in the frigid air. “I swear to you, I mean no harm.” But how could I trust a stranger? The cold seeped into my bones, and I found myself drawn to that almost magnetic presence. What if he were truly in need? But then, what if he were something far more sinister? Perhaps–I needed him far more than he needed me, which was a thought that still scares me.

I gripped the silver cross around my neck, a constant reminder of my faith, and braced myself. I had always been religious and rarely set foot outside without it. My diary was filled with saints' names and fervent prayers. He smiled, a smile that was both charming and disquieting. “Oh, a little sign of faith to protect you, is it not?” The silence that followed hung in the air like a thick fog, only to be broken by his beguiling voice. “It’s beautiful, your talisman.” Had he not admired it, perhaps I would have locked the door and closed myself off from this strange presence. But my heart ached for understanding, drawing me closer like a moth to a flame. Foolish.

“It’s my Mother’s, she passed in the winter of last year.” And equally fast, he responded, “I am sorry for your loss — it must be difficult with memories of her still lingering,” His tone full of an unsettling sympathy. “Your husband is he–” I stopped him before he could continue, “Also passed”. There were no claims of sympathy this time, though; this was all a play to him. A script he had recited over and over. An uncomfortable silence hung over us, and I could feel a shift in the air as if he had changed course. The voice outside the door was calm, but there was an undercurrent of tension that made my heart race. “Please let me in, Miss…” The soft insistence felt like a thread pulling at my resolve. I glanced back at the darkness behind me, weighing the risks. I knew this wasn’t just a simple request. The predator was cunning in his approach, exploiting every ounce of my empathy. He knew that once I sampled kindness, I would crave more—more understanding, more connection. And so, I let him in.

The moment he crossed the threshold into my home, an unsettling heaviness enveloped me. It’s a sensation difficult to articulate, akin to the unnerving moment when your foot slips on a slick surface. His skin was eerily pale, almost ghostly, as if the snow outside was casting its cold reflection upon him. I brought him to sit in front of the hearth with a quilt blanket. When I felt his forehead to check for fever, the cold nearly burned my touch, but he merely laughed. “Generosity is a fire almost as beautiful as its keeper.” I thanked him for his compliment, but his eyes never left the silver chain around my neck, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

With a quilt blanket wrapped tightly around him, he looked almost too serene, laughter still lingering in his voice. I stole a glance outside; the night was thick and suffocating, the snow still trickling down like jewels. “What do you think happens after generosity?” He asked, eyes glinting like coals, obscured in half-light. The question unnerved me, but I remained silent. “Are you ready to see your room?” I asked, my voice trembling, but he shook his head, “Perhaps I have come here for more than just your fire’s warmth.” He replied, his deep voice resonating like a clap of distant thunder. His long, pale fingers reached for mine. I pulled away, I refused to let him have a hold over me, aware that some darkness is best left untouched.

A sly smile twisted his lips, exposing the glint of his sharp canines. His gaze lingered on the silver chain that adorned my neck.

The air grew thick with tension, the promise of secrets waiting to be unearthed, buried deep within the shadows that surrounded us. In that moment, I realized it was not merely the cold that held us captive, but the very darkness that clung to him like a second skin. The darkness unsettled me so deeply, I rose as if there was a fire lit under me.

“Tea?” I asked, knowing nobles enjoyed acts of service. He smiled, a grin that revealed too many secrets. “Tea would suffice, but know this, dear Amelia: sometimes, the warmth we seek is not simply found in a cup.” I placed a kettle over the fire, making a steam rise in the air. “Such grief-sharpened beauty, did it not?” He asked, referring to the cross I still wore. I could sense that there was more he wanted to say, something important teetering on the edge of his lips. He swept his finger through his blonde hair as if the rising heat discomforted him. As the kettle whistled, the sound startled me, breaking the heavy silence enveloping us. I poured the tea, my hands steady but heart pounding, acutely aware of every subtle movement he made. Why was he here, really? There was a secret between us, one that hung like a fragile thread, ready to snap at any moment. I continued the dance, ‘What of your home?” The question hung in the air unanswered until he smiled again and lay back in the chair. “My homeland…Would I give to return to its warm embrace, but duty calls.” I sipped my tea with a new curiosity that had taken hold. “Duty?” I believe this is when I caught him in a lie, as he didn’t have an answer prepared. “A duty of the most delicate matter- one that requires discretion.” I leaned forward, curious yet cautious. “Discretion? What sort of duty demands such secrecy?” He paused, his gaze drifting to the window, as if the answer lay hidden in the shadows outside. “Let’s just say,” he said at last, his voice low, “that not all stories should be told.” I felt the weight of those words settle between us, a warning.

My mind raced—what could be so important that he would obscure the truth? As his eyes met mine, I noticed a flicker of something deeper. A flash of red in his pale blue eyes. I was about to speak when he spoke once more- “A bold woman, aren’t you?” He rose from his chair, his tall figure casting a looming shadow over mine, a dark silhouette against the flickering candlelight. “The world is full of shadows,” he continued, his voice low and intoxicating, “but few are as fascinating as yours.” He cleared his throat, the sound echoing like the hollow tolling of a bell, feigned. “Perhaps,” he leaned closer, his breath cool against my skin, “We might find some common ground.” My answer? Too innocent. “Have we not already?” I had dared to ask, my voice steady despite the unease creeping into my heart. “You have your lodging, and I have much-needed company.” A low chuckle escaped his lips, reverberating through the stillness of the dimly lit room. “Company? Indeed.” He moved slowly, circling my chair like a predator eyeing its prey. Each step was deliberate, measured. “Tell me, do you fear the night? The shadows from the moon?” The flames danced behind him as he loomed over me, and in the fleeting light, I could see the sharpness of his bite. I stiffened, “I have lived long enough to see that monsters often walk in broad daylight.” He leaned back slightly, allowing a bit more breathing room. “Wisdom beyond your years. Though I wonder how many monsters you faced to come to such a grim conclusion.”

I swallowed hard, weighing his words. I knew acutely that this conversation could tip into violence with just a single misstep. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his frigid breath against my ear, “Perhaps, we can discover them together–You and I.” I pulled back with a jolt. “A man has soiled me before…” He laughed again, but it sounded more musical than a mocking screech. “Soiled!?” His voice lowered, “Such a crude term for the thrall of passion.” His fingers brushed my skin once again, a slow and deliberate movement that sent a wave of warmth across my cheek. “Have you ever felt true pleasure?” This time I had a prepared answer, one I have told myself many a time. “Pleasure is arbitrary.” He smiled as if that were his trap all along. “Then dance with me, let's discover if it is as arbitrary as you claim.” His smile was disarming, yet there was a predatory glint in his eyes that made my instincts flare. With his hand extended, there was only one choice that lay before me. Still, I pulled on the thread, “I am afraid I am a domestic servant, not a lady of poise and grace.” But he had already had me in his grip, and our shadow had become one. “Grace- is a liar’s gilding.” I knew I should be cautious, but the allure of his invitation was undeniable. “Dance with me,” he repeated, his voice smooth and inviting. His spin moved with such fluidity and grace that it made me dizzy. I was being spun like a spider spins its web around an insect.

The music of the night swelled, its haunting melody weaving through the silence, wrapping around us like a silken thread. The music? The howl of the wind, the strumming of my heart, and the gentle crackle of the fire. Every heartbeat echoed louder than the last, a relentless drum urging me forward. “Are you frightened?” He murmured, his breath brushing against my ear, igniting a strange mix of curiosity and dread. “No,” I managed to reply, though my voice trembled. He was a lifeline against the abyss that threatened to swallow me whole. My calloused fingers gripped his more firmly, and with every spin, I felt I must duck to prepare myself for a strike. I had never known gentleness from a man, only the harsh drunken beatings of my deceased husband. Then he halted, silent, and leaned in close to my ear. “Survivors recognize another’s face.” His arm gripped my waist iron-clad. “Let me show you gentleness.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he reached out to stroke a strand of hair behind my ear. Icy fingers brushed against my skin, and a shiver ran down my spine. His touch sent a curious flutter through me, but it was the faint heat radiating from the cross around my neck that truly captivated my attention. It felt alive, pulsing gently. It is now that I know if I had not worn it that night, I would have surely been dead. A look of brief frustration crossed his face, which quickly settled into his composed smile. I pulled back, and it seemed he had no choice but to release me, but I could feel a reluctance. “Are you ready for your bed? It is past midnight.” I walked him to the cot, but he didn’t venture further.

In a moment that felt both tender and charged, his hand found mine, lifting it to his lips where he pressed a soft kiss — “The night offers other chambers. Does passion require instruction?” The way he said it sent a thrill up my spine, leaving me torn between caution and the tantalizing allure of the unknown. My heart thumped loudly with a ferocity I had never known before. It was hard to believe a noble would be smitten by a domestic servant like me. Which is why when his hands guided me back to my bedroom, there was no struggle, only willingness. His gentle pressure against my back urged me onward, and in that moment, I surrendered to the chaos of desire. In the darkness of my room, I could see nothing but feel the icy breath against my neck and ear. “I sense you want more than a gentleman's touch… allow me to indulge our desires.” He whispered, his voice smooth as silk and rich with temptation, wrapping around me like an embrace. The cross, which had been warm on my neck till now, turned cold, and I could almost feel his breath hitch in anticipation. “Now–I will show you the cost of desire.” And perhaps it was that misstep that snapped me out of my trance. I became aware of what I was doing, what I almost allowed- No- Wanted a stranger to do. I pulled away, and I could feel the warm pulse of the cross return. “What are you frightened of?” His voice was low, almost teasing, yet laced with an edge that sent shivers down my spine. He hissed, “Your silence speaks louder than your words of protest.” His fingers traced my collarbone, trying to lure me back in with his ambrosia. “Allow me to answer your hesitation- your fear is of being wanted.”An internal battle raged within me. Could I trust him? My instincts told me to retreat, to shield my heart from the potential chaos of such reckless abandon. His accusation was not incorrect. “I am a simple woman, I have nothing to offer you.” I had hoped he would be reminded of his noble status and cease, but status was never on the menu. “Simplicity? Simplicity is a lie told by the unremarkable.” The vampire then changed his approach; he lured me over to my bedroom chair and had me sit. He brushed a finger over my lips. “But you-you burn brighter than a thousand suns. Allow me to worship you properly.” His touch turned tender as he brushed my hair back, his fingers lingering against my scalp, soothing yet arousing. ‘Your virtue is strong. Your honor is more of a temptress than your body. Guard it well, Amelia.” He brushed his hand against mine.

Though I could not see. I felt his eyes bore into mine, and I felt both exposed and cherished under his gaze. “Let us discuss- Regrets.” The word hung in the air, heavy with implication, inviting me to explore the depths of my fears and desires as well as those that lay behind his enigmatic facade. The boundaries between caution and craving blurred, and I found myself at the precipice of something life-altering. He continued his soothing motions, “What binds you here?” I hesitated before confiding to him, more of a desperate plea from my soul. “There is nothing left for me but this.” Something I said must have struck a chord within him because he stopped his gentle stroking. “A cage of your craftsmanship.” He took a breath as if considering something greatly. He stepped away from me, and I could hear his footsteps echoing around me as he paced. “A widow is dust…until a flame reignites her.” The air thickened as I processed his words. My heartbeat, a rhythmic drum echoing in my ears. The room felt smaller, the shadows creeping closer as if they were waiting to pounce. “I am afraid I do not have enough within me to even spark a cinder.” I cast my head in shame, but with a gloved hand, he raised it. “You misjudge your embers.” He whispered softly into my ear. “Even ash can swallow an empire.” He wrapped his arms around me, and for the first time, I felt cradled. “Amelia…” He said my name like a prayer, “trust in me, let me comfort you and show you what power awaits in my embrace.” I leaned my head on him, a sigh of contentment escaping my once hesitant lips. I wish I could say I was too naïve, that I would have turned him away if I knew what he was. But those would be mortal comforts and lies; in earnest, I knew he wasn’t a natural man and still embraced him. His embrace? Too cold. And his eyes? A blazing inferno red. Faith always knows the heart. Darkness enraptured me both as a lover and a lost friend. The protection of my cross faded once more, but this time not of desire, but because I trusted the darkness more than my faith. The truth was, I wanted Marcus von Ascania just as much as he desired me.