I would like to thank my dear friend Chrisa not only for all the

amazing work she did by bringing this story to life, but as well for
the endless support and faith she had in me and the entire project
all throughout. Amongst all, I want to thank from the bottom of my
heart all of you readers, who waited patiently for me to make this
happen and encouraged me every step of the way without fail.
Hope you enjoy the ride~

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Do not copy or reproduce part of or the work in its entirety
without permission of the author.
 Elisabeth J. Beaufort
Alias: Lisa, Lady Beaufort
Date of birth: 10th of February
Species: (formerly) Human, Vampire
Gender: Female
Height: 170 cm (5’7”)
Residence: Beaufort Manor
Occupation: Fencing instructor, musician
Previous occupation: Baroness of Exeter

Elisabeth is a middle-aged woman

with dark blond hair and grey eyes.
She is reputed to have retained the beauty of her youth,
and she is well toned due to her intense physical training.
Elisabeth often wears ornate dresses with shoulder pads,
earrings and beaded necklaces.
She is a proud, austere individual who exhibits decorum
and a candid critic of those who do not. Yields exceptional power
and skill as a swordswoman, and moreover has vast musical
knowledge, including playing the piano and harp.

Spotify playlist
 Angelica
Alias: -
Date of birth: 9th of June
Species: Human
Gender: Female
Height: 165 cm (5’5”)
Residence: (formerly) Exeter Cathedral, Beaufort Manor
Occupation: Student
Previous occupation: Not specified

Angelica is a young woman with light blue eyes and

white-lavender hair. During her earlier years she was often seen
wearing plain, unembellished clothing due to her status,
but ever since she moved in with Elisabeth she developed a
fondness for sumptuous gowns and dresses, jewellery
and a variety of headbands adorned with flowers or ribbons.
She is a strong willed, chaotic individual with an unquenchable
thirst for knowledge and morbid curiosity. Never taking her
inferior position as an orphan in the church into account,
she always managed to make things work in her favor, with
complete disregard of potential consequences.

Spotify playlist
 Nekhbet
Alias: -
Date of birth: 16th of December
Species: Witch
Gender: Female
Height: 172 cm (5’8”)
Residence: (formerly) Exeter, Memphis-Egypt
Occupation: Occultist, priestess, herbalist
Previous occupation: all the above

Nekhbet is a woman of Egyptian descent

with long, white hair worn in dreadlocks and gold eyes.
As a noble, she often wears elaborate dresses
with embroidered details and a mass of golden jewellery.
She is a kind, patient and unpretentious individual.
She cares deeply about Elisabeth, which is demonstrated
by how much their parting hurt her, and how she chose
to protect her despite all odds.
She has great respect towards her practice and coven.

Spotify playlist
 Part I
Endings & Beginnings
It is a cold winter morning. The mist entwines with the petals of the expansive
garden’s flora, refusing them the chance to leave its grasp. Elisabeth walks into the
living room, a steaming mug and a notebook held close, before settling into her usual
armchair near the window. It may have been old, but the familiar comfort along with
the lingering scent of the previous night’s coal and smoke from the adjacent fireplace
was enough to content her.
Setting her tea on the small table next to the windowsill, she allows the pillows to
welcome her for the hundredth time: a rare moment of serenity among her chaos-
stricken mind. She opens the notebook on her lap and
reaches out towards the nearby table, retrieving her
fountain pen from the velvet case where it rested.
It has remained open since last night when
she showed it to Angelica- the young
woman had been as restless as ever,
and Lisa had wished to divert her
attention towards whatever
else she could. As such, she had
requested her assistance in
cleaning and refilling the ink
of said pen as they enjoyed
the evening together near
the fireplace.
The fountain pen feels
heavier in Elisabeth’s hand
and she simply sighs in
response, knowing well
that the task she set out
for herself is the culprit.
Writing, journaling,
whatever one may choose
to call it, has always made
her feel lighter;
 Paper and ink bring her a unique sense of clarity
that she now cannot help but to hunger for.
Although she knows how writing it all down will
soothe her, she still feels a strange gravity pulling
her towards doing anything else.
Focusing her senses on the room around her,
she takes a deep breath. The comforting aroma
of her slowly-cooking tea, the murky scent of
the coals, the warmth of the (nowadays rare
but much appreciated) silence, such calming
sentiments put her mind at ease, if only for a
moment. With this, she takes the cap off, taking
a minute to admire the gold-plated metal nib,
covered in engravings made for her eyes only.
She knows them by heart, yet is still uncertain of
their meaning, being left to wonder if the person
who gifted her the fountain pen would someday
come back to explain it all.
Holding that pen in her hand, finally ready to start emptying her mind of all
the chaos that had resided there for far too long, Elisabeth takes the liberty
to begin it all by describing her life from when she was with that very
person. Nekhbet was there for every beginning and almost every ending, so
it only seemed fitting. The least Elisabeth can do is give her the courtesy of
being one more beginning. She hesitates before writing the date, choosing
to discard such a notion as time matters little to her now. Memories,
instead, are her way of somehow counting her existence.

Nekhbet was there for me since I dare, care, or want to remember. She was
my guide, my anchor and my partner- I write this with all the weight that
word can carry. She shaped me as a woman, not by dictating my
every move, but by silently watching and helping me without
my own realisation of how much I needed it. Beside her, I
discovered a safe place to truly find myself, and once I was
sure of my preferences, I embraced this safety inside her,
as she did the same with me. All those years I was lucky-
no- blessed enough- to spend next to Nekhbet, I will
cherish forevermore, longer if I may.
They say ‘time flies when one is enjoying themselves’,
this much I know to be true, and with that meant the
day when I had to be married off came far too quickly.
It was not my choice nor could I do anything to be
heard. I was certain I could climb atop our manor
and scream my lungs out, exercising my every
defiance of the concept, and still my parents
would continue with such proceedings.
 With seemingly no way to
escape, I exchanged the ever-
so-dreadful ‘I do’ despite my
reservations and, begrudgingly,
gave in to become a proper
wife- just like they had desired
for me.
Nekhbet was not there to see
me, and I’m inclined to believe
it was for the best- for as soon
as I broke the news to her, she
already seemed set to leave. A
few days before my wedding,
Nekhbet sat me down, looking
at me with an expression of
utmost seriousness- one which I
had not seen adorn her beautiful face before. She told me that she had to leave for Egypt,
for one of the High Priestesses was dead. She expressed that she had to- truly had to, I
was promised as much- attend the ceremony no matter what. I knew a lot of things about
Nekhbet- personal details that she wouldn’t share with just anyone; such things only
divulged to those she would trust her life with- but before I could form a reply, she began
to talk once more.

“There are more creatures out there, Lisa.” She told me, her eyes refusing to leave mine as
if she were transfixed, willing me to stay, to focus, to understand. “Not only witches, but
vampires too, and-”

“Why are you telling me this now?” I stopped her, not fond of where this was going.
Such words- they did not quite fit the typical ‘I’ll see you again’, instead bearing closer
resemblance to a true farewell. With this realisation, I could feel how the aching pain in
my chest- one which had been boring through my soul ever since the threat of matrimony
had ensnared my mind- grew tenfold.
She put her hand on my cheek, gently, reassuringly, and encouraged me to look at her again.
“Because… I need to know that you’ll be safe.” She told me, her voice affectionate
yet firm. “You must not trust anyone, do you understand? I may be good to you,
admittedly due to certain circumstances, however not every witch will treat you
the same. Not every creature either.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else to treat me the way you do.” I quietly replied,
willing my response to be enough to reassure her, to convince her of my
understanding, and even more than that, to express how truly opposed I was to
my impending marriage. I couldn’t bear the thought of her departure when my
heart already felt so fragile.
She smiled faintly and pulled me closer, whispering a few words in a language I still
do not understand. My worries were silenced for a moment, yet only a moment, as
she pressed her lips on mine. Air grew still and time seemed to slow, or perhaps even
stop. The quiet ambiance became muffled, as if underwater, as if every sense of
mine were fiercely inclined to detect the kiss and that only. It became my sole focus,
embracing the comfort it brought, but as they say, ‘time flies’, and before I knew it,
the moment was over.
Nekhbet hesitantly drew back, more relaxed than before yet still giving me a look
of inquisition. She wanted something, that much I could tell, even through my
dumbfounded haze.
“Do promise me,” she began, ever so slowly, as if each word was picked with care,
“that you will be careful.”
“I do.” Finally allowing myself to smile, I could not help but feel almost proud that
she was the one to experience my first genuine use of the phrase. “I promise.”

It was a moment I treasured, one that I would give anything to relive again, even
just once, but the sands of time have no care for sentiments. Nekhbet too soon left
for Egypt, returning to her birthplace and to the witches that raised her; following
those who had called her away from me. I considered it almost ironic, in returning
to her home, I felt as if I had lost my own.

After that, time seemed to pass too fast, or perhaps it was far too slow. My life
became simple, boring even, but despite such monotony I comforted myself with the
notion that it was normal, safe, that which Nekhbet would have wanted. I was a
good wife to my husband- I always tried to look the part, at least in front of others-
and he was good to me until the very end. Well, that is to say, his ‘end’.

And then I was left alone. It was the first instance in my life where I was left without
any family members living nearby; I had become the sole occupant of our manor.
For quite some time I felt alone- not lonely as such, but the solitude was still too
prevalent to be ignored. As much as I wished to be devastated by his death, I had
already said my most difficult goodbye years ago; the latest farewell had felt like
a burden being lifted, if I’m being honest. As such, when the house felt too empty-
every room seemingly too small, too restricted for a restless mind- I would opt to
wander among the manor gardens, the delicate blossoms more than willing to listen
to my sorrows. Although, there was someone other than the flora who had brought
me peace of mind during such times: my ever-reliable confidant, my gardener.
He was always remarkably meticulous when it came to caring for the numerous
flowers- often resorting to lying down in order to ensure they were handled correctly-
and yet despite this, I had never failed to spot him. He had always been a part of my
life, present in the earliest memories I could uncover. I considered it comforting to have
at least one stable thing to depend on in life: that he’d always be there, ready to greet
me with the usual welcoming smile and a deep nod of his head.

It looked- and felt- like the most respectful bow made for royalty; respect for that of
a Queen. His skin tone was a deep golden tan, giving off warmth in such a way that
even during the dead of winter, I would feel content and safe next to him. When I was
young, I developed a habit of asking him for favours. Merely childish things of course,
hiding a spider within a bouquet for my mother to scare her was one that I recall, but
that habit of seeking him out for help didn’t change even as my problems did.
Nonetheless, there I was, on one of the most dreadful days of my life, rushing
through the pathways of the garden in search of him. My fists were clenched, the
crumpled letter which bore the burden of such a dire situation held tightly. I found
him kneeling in front of a bush, seemingly taking a moment to admire the beauty
of the cerise-tinted hydrangeas which had bloomed so perfectly under his care. I
was too frustrated to pay attention to his work, simply stopping next to him and
extending the paper.
He turned towards me, smiled and nodded deeply in the usual motions, before
standing to take the note. After skimming through a few short sentences, he stopped
short, deciding that the rest could be inferred merely from my pained expression. He
sighed, tossing it aside to its rightful place among some discarded roots and soil.

“I have decided that I shall deal with him. I will hire a man to make him disappear.”
I told him. After a silent response, a slight nod and none of the expected protest, I
continued. “Aren’t you going to say anything? To try and talk me out of it?”
“Would any of my words make any difference? Would I even be able to plant a seed
of reconsideration in your mind if I begged you to ignore that priest’s claims and
threats?”

“He’s not just any priest. He’s the High Priest and he’s trying to illegally take everything
I own.” I corrected, my voice getting a bit higher than I would have preferred. “This
newfound absence of my late husband leaves me no choice but to deal with his debts-
however I can.”

“Even when there’s no real claim? What proof does that man hold against you? I
haven’t seen any lawyers, no evidence save for those lie-strewn pieces of paper-”
“I am going to end it.” I cut him off firmly, turning around and briskly strolling back
to the manor before I could see the defeat in his eyes. Promptly collecting my things-
and more importantly, the money- I allowed myself merely a moment to breathe.

I knew if I had waited he might have persuaded me against it, and I could not afford
that to happen. It was my problem, I had already made my decision to handle it, but
despite that I just needed him to know- the reason for which I still don’t understand.
It may be that I secretly longed for reassurance that my choice was correct, as foolish
as that may seem.
My solution was simple. I would find the man, a professional hitman who dwelled
in a part of the town I had been personally forbidden by Nekhbet to ever set foot
upon, give him any details- and of course monetary compensation- he would need,
then set the long-awaited date for the deed. I wanted it to be soon, to be dealt with
as quickly as possible, so that I may have a chance to live the rest of my life freely. It
would be easier said than done, that is what I believed, after all the taking of one’s
life is no meagre matter.

However, when the time came, I found this not to be true. The date was set, sooner
than I could’ve expected, and the desire to leave this all behind became almost
unbearable. Perhaps it could detect how close I was to achieving it- clouding my
senses so that I didn’t even spare a thought for the peculiar eagerness of my newly
hired ‘acquaintance’.

Such desire had become agonising, excruciating even, as the fated night drew closer.
On that day I found myself hesitant to step out of the manor at all- the reason
being simple to infer. An attempt
to avoid seeing my gardener- the
one who had been successful in
planting a seed of doubt, a deep-
rooted concern which threatened
to interfere with that which I had
longed for if I gave it the chance
to grow. There was no time to be
lost, after all, I had been biding
mine for long enough. Allowing
my doubts to be brushed aside, I
reassured myself- I had to do this;
There was no turning back now.
 The journey towards that
godforsaken church was
accompanied by a distinct
feeling- one of unease, or
perhaps anticipation. I found
it difficult to believe that a real
God would let one of his own,
much less a High Priest, act in
such a way towards a grieving
widow- or anyone for that
matter. Such impossibility was
but a reassurance that divine
repercussion would not befall
me.
Taking a step into the half-lit
alley, the cathedral’s looming
silhouette visible over the
surrounding buildings, I
instantly felt goosebumps flicker
over every inch of my skin. As I waited, I never could seem to shake the unnerving notion
that a presence lurked nearby, obscuring themselves within the blankets of shadow that
the waning light failed to hold back. Nekhbet’s warning echoed in my mind, my nerves
heightening at any trace of life, but I knew it would be merely a little longer; There was
no option to turn back. A noise rang through the alley: quiet yet sharp footsteps making
their way across the cobbles. It is rare for one to be enthusiastic at another’s presence
in a place such as this, and yet I distinctly remember my eagerness rising as soon as
I saw him- the one I was here to meet. He had a dark aura I had not noticed before;
the shadows seemed to cling to him for a moment too long, illumination seemingly
having little effect on its dispersal. Perhaps it was desperation, for I didn’t consider
the implications. More of a concern, for me at least, was his unpunctuality- something
which I firmly intended to mention if not for my admittedly delayed acknowledgement
of his unsettling physical state.
His pupils seemed darker than the night above, and yet his skin was more akin
to the paleness of the moon, with prominent veins visible from beneath. I took
a step back. He was sweating, eyes wide and lips trembling like that of a manic
creature; He was akin to a man gone hungry, poised to strike. Another step. I felt
his gaze fixated on my neck and yet my arms seemed heavy, weighed down by his
imposing gaze, unable to protect it. I was not able to manage a third.

He lunged towards me with surprising speed, reminiscent of a wild predator.

His teeth dug into my neck, skin tearing like parchment as I let out a sudden
scream of agony and shock. Pain seared through my throat and another choked
yell struggled to form, but all further attempts were harshly silenced by his hand
clasped over my mouth so tightly that I bit my tongue from the impact. I could feel
my senses fading: the metallic taste of blood, the strained whimpers and sobs that
managed to escape, the horrifying sight of his crazed face- it all seemed to dim
even as my stomach began to turn.

A familiar sensation overtook me- weightlessness as if underwater. It drew me

back to before, to when Nekhbet kissed me, warned me, and left far too
soon. The shadows of the alley clouded my vision, slowly claiming
my consciousness, but all I could focus on was the one I
cared for the most. And with that, as my body hit
the ground, her face became the last thing I
would see.

Mere moments passed before I awoke,

although I would have believed it was
closer to a lifetime if I was told as such.
Sound was the first to return, highlighted
by the shallow breaths, not my own, that
cut through the otherwise eerie silence
enveloping my surroundings.
That creature from before, it seemed winded- breathing fast and heavy. I dared a
glance in its direction- able to pinpoint it exactly with senses that seemed all too
heightened for one in a state such as myself- and held my breath as I noticed it
crouching towards the wall, seemingly unaware of my regained consciousness.

Stinging pain shot through my neck, a sharp reminder of the wound that
confirmed my suspicions. I knew then, with a clarity beyond question, that which
had transpired.

The hitman, the one I now knew to be a creature reminiscent of Nekhbet’s

warnings, turned in response to my sudden movement with a peculiar expression
fixed upon its face. A vampire, there was no doubt. In the same vein, I was certain
that the blood which continued to fall from his parted lips was that of my own.
The sight scorched my throat; Fiery coals settled within my stomach which burned
with a vindictive desire, one that may only be quenched by retributory blood.

The world seemed to lose its colour for a moment, surroundings dulling and
becoming blurred as I focused on the only thing that mattered to me: revenge.
I flew towards him with an unnatural speed, allowing my emotions to consume
me; My actions and thoughts surrendering under the reign of my soul’s desire
for vengeance. His throat ripped open, blood pouring as the awoken beast inside
me hungered for more. Thinking was unnecessary; I simply acted on impulse,
my newborn body knowing exactly what it was capable of. I threw him down,
ripping his head from his torso and tossing it among the trash- a fitting end- before
proceeding to tear him apart with an animalistic fervour. Finally, I stood.

My heavy breathing- too reminiscent of the creature’s own- urged me to calm

myself, to surrender this feverish madness and return to my more-human state-
however, I refused. That creature had been human once too, had it not? It didn’t feel
like normal breathing, more like a reflex- a leftover part of my humanity trying to
call me back.

“Not yet,” I muttered, sounding harsher than intended as I strode through the blood
pooling within the cobbled crevices, “there is still one more person I need to see.”
My pace quickened, eagerness and anticipation stoking the flames as I made my
way to the church, intent on paying the High Priest a long-overdue visit.
A sudden sensation breaks Elisabeth from her stupor: her hair shifting
in response to the disturbance beside her as the faint scent of freshly-
harvested fruits fills the air. Taking note of the journal’s sudden
disappearance from her lap, she lifts her eyes to Angelica’s, finding the
young woman to be skimming through the aforementioned pages with
noticeable ardour.

She flips through the memoir, a speed seemingly too fast to read with,
if not for the earnest shine in her eyes saying otherwise. Elisabeth has
seen such a look before: one present only when Angelica was truly
interested in something. Such passion for History, for mystery and
the unknown, was unexpected to Elisabeth- surprising, but endearing
nonetheless.

Angelica lifts one of her eyebrows, smirking as she cheerfully exclaims,

“My turn!”

Grabbing the fountain pen from Elisabeth’s hand, she sets herself by the
unlit fireplace and turns to a blank page. Elisabeth opens her mouth in
response, intending to protest, before letting go of her breath without
a word. Once an idea was stuck in Angelica’s mind, there would be no
changing it, she knew that well. Instead, she gives in, relaxing into the
armchair and taking a long-awaited sip from her mug while Angelica
begins her writing.
I feel like this is the perfect time for me to introduce myself. Honestly, I
couldn’t have timed it better, even if I knew that Elisabeth was writing her-
no- our story. I’m glad I decided not to let her have her moment of peace this
morning, how else would I have found out? It’s almost like I knew I should
join her- drawn in for some unknown reason… Regardless of the why, here’s
the how of it: how it all began- and ended- for me, before beginning again.

My parents abandoned me at a very young age and left me at a cathedral-

the same that Elisabeth mentioned right above this, in fact. If you’d ask me
now, I’d call it luck. I don’t remember my parents and don’t really care to
either- I never looked for them even at one of my lowest and darkest points.

We’ll get to that soon, don’t worry, but know that it would be a lie to say that
I didn’t miss them in those first few weeks alone. All that’s left now is the
memory of those feelings and even that is disappearing day by day. On the
other hand, if you’d ask me back then, I’d call it pure unfairness.

Ironically to my new home, I was never religious even back then. I can only
guess that my brief time with my parents didn’t teach me anything about
faith or belief, but as soon as I got the hang of living in that cathedral my
mind was set against it wholeheartedly.

Against it all: religion, belief, fitting in… I was getting in all sorts of trouble
as I kept seeking the only thing that piqued my interest- knowledge. Much to
my annoyance, the High Priest kept it all to himself.
In that beautiful cathedral- my dislike for religion didn’t forbid me from
appreciating architecture!- there was a small library, holding so many
different and fascinating books that even the thought of them kept me up
at night. The High Priest held the key that opened such an enticing lock,
kept on a big ring hanging from his waist almost all the time. It seemed
impossible, I wasn’t so naive as to ignore that, but I was set to find a way to
steal it without him noticing and it wasn’t long before I found a way to do
just that.

There was a time during which a spare was given to the nun that was on
cleaning duty. The High Priest didn’t visit that study often so I figured
I’d have full access to all those books which had been calling me. Just as
expected, I was right!

All I had to do was ask for a few favors from the other girls and pick up
some more chores to do around the cathedral- nothing too difficult, and
I didn’t mind anyway. It would be worth it, and it gave me more time for
myself to think and admire the architecture in peace. Just that, along with
my cleaning duties, and then there I was, holding up the heavy key in
delight. I was so excited that I didn’t even wait for the right time to sneak
into the study and bury myself in one- or maybe a few- of the books within.

Time passed so quickly that I hadn’t even realized I missed dinner until one
girl- a friend, I suppose- found me in the study.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice nothing but a whisper as she
looked behind her like the devil was on her tow.
I was so invested that it took me a while to return to reality from my reading. Now
that I think about it, I suddenly understand that I shouldn’t have startled you,
Elisabeth, by grabbing your diary, and I’m sorry for that. Continuing on- I asked
her the same question. I don’t remember her name anymore, but I do remember
the vibrant brown of her eyes as she stared at both me and the book with a fleeting
glimmer of curiosity.
“Do you want to read with me?” I asked her and she opened her mouth , shaking
her head and looking like I had provoked the devil in front of her.
“That’s forbidden.”
“So what?”
“What’s forbidden, is also a sin. You have to be careful or you’ll go to hell.”
“Aren’t we all going there anyway?” I asked her, trying to make a joke, but when I
saw that she took it very seriously I decided to move on quickly. “Listen, you cannot
tell anyone I’m here.”
“They all know you haven’t done all your chores,” she told me, “and because of that I
should report you to the High Priest. If I don’t, I would be lying and lies are also a-”
“Please!” I cut her off and got up, putting the book right where it was to reassure her
while paying attention not to mess anything up. We walked out of the room together,
her waiting to see me lock it before I got the following to a darker and more hidden
corner of the halls. “If you keep this secret for me, I’ll owe you a big favor.”
She seemed ready to refuse but mercifully ended up changing her mind. “You’ll
change the sheets for a week.” she told me and I struggled to hold back my laughter.
What a joke! What she had asked for was ridiculously easy but I had to contain my
glee- I wasn’t about to dig my own grave now.
“Deal.” I told her and we shook on it, sealing it with a silent vow.
 After that, my life consisted of hours upon hours
of chores followed by whatever time I could
steal away in that study. I had also stolen some
supplies- paper, a quill, and some ink- recently
when I was sent to the market to buy groceries
with the townsfolk’s donations. I tried to
limit how much I used it, I didn’t want to
run out after all, but the more I read, the
more I needed to write, noting down my own
thoughts and ideas on the vast variety
of subjects. I loved reading about
History and Politics, and
tried to give my own answers to any and all problems that rose throughout
time. Each time my mind kept me away from earthly affairs- like dinner or, eugh,
chores- a certain someone came to warn me.

The brown-eyed girl from before, the one that was growing and maturing
alongside me, had basically become my partner in crime despite how she almost
snitched on me before. Not that I held any grudges, obviously. I always asked her
to stay a bit and read with me, but she refused every time without fail. Always,
except for once. It was my fifteenth- or maybe sixteenth- birthday and as a gift,
she finally accepted- standing next to me while I was flipping through a romance
book. I found it in the ‘banned section’- that’s what I called the part of the library
which had gathered the most dust- and
I had already read some parts repeatedly which
made me feel strange. Weird and… How can I
put this?
I felt… Not enough, I guess. I felt like I wasn’t
enough to ever be in such a normal-looking,
loving, and romantic relationship. I couldn’t
help it though- the more I thought about it,
the more I craved it.
“What’s it about?” she asked me and when I answered her, she stayed quiet, waiting
for me to go on.
“I know I will never be lucky enough to feel like this, but…” I quickly stopped that
though before embarrassing myself more. “Anyway- at least I can daydream about it
when I’m doing chores.”
She moved closer to me and smiled kindly. “It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be sad.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.” I told her as I closed the book.
“Well… I think that you’re wrong.” She replied, leaning over me as she did, “You
don’t need luck to feel what those characters are feeling.”
“I don’t?”
“No, now,” I turned towards her as she continued, “Happy birthday.”
She lifted my chin and pressed her lips on mine. We kissed for just a few heartbeats
before she backed away, breaking it without another word. We didn’t make eye
contact again- not as I stood up to put the book back in its place, not when I then
followed her out of the room, and not upon taking different ways to get back to our
beds. The next day we didn’t talk either, and I almost began to worry, but that night
she came to find me just like always and we kissed again. It started a pattern, a
sequence of days of not-talking and nights of kissing.
That is, until the day I didn’t see her after I woke up nor did she visit me that night
in the study. I had to ask the girls from my dorm if they knew anything about her and
only then was I informed that she was called upon by the High Priest. From then on I
had no choice. I forced myself to stop thinking about her, stop waking up ready to see
her, stop waiting for her to visit me at the study. I had to pretend we weren’t friends,
we never were.
Knowledge was what had claimed the biggest part of me, so eventually I did end up
forgetting to wait for her. Instead, I started wanting to explore the need to be around
more women than the books suggested. There’s no need to go into much detail of how
I managed it- of course, I’d be happy to tell you everything later, Elisabeth, if you’d
be interested- but I ended up getting into a relationship with a nun, among all the
other girls. She was the one that taught me a lot of things: that which I didn’t know
about myself, my desires… but I never could see past the nauseous feeling I got every
time she prayed after she bedded me. Considering the next part of this sob story,
maybe I should have followed her example.
So, one day, the inevitable happened- the High Priest found out about me. I don’t
think He knew who else was
involved with me- or if he even
cared, for that matter- because
He had me, at last. I’ve always
known that He wanted me, just
like He wanted all the other
girls living under His roof, and
every single girl that went to his
room either disappeared forever
or became like a ghost of her
former self despite still living
with us.
I would never choose that life
for myself but in this case I
didn’t really have any choice.
He wanted to excommunicate me; to leave me out on the street with nothing.
I’ve seen what happened to people living like that and I refused to let that
happen to me.
“Maybe being the High Priest’s favourite for a while wouldn’t be that bad
for me,” I had thought, “maybe he would forget about me if something else
happened. Just maybe…”
He made me swear to God that I would be obedient to him and to him only, I
would follow his rules and I would speak of my time with him to no one. After
that, he sent me to his room, instructed me to wait for him so he could deal with
me “the way I deserved to be treated”. I was shocked, horrified, unable to think
of any way to escape as I drew closer to that dreaded room. I suppose it was a
waste of thought, for after the door was locked behind me, it was too late.
Angelica takes a deep breath and blinks several times, like trying to break
herself from a trance. She instinctively turns her head towards Elisabeth and
sees her looking out the window, not what she was hoping for. She frowns,
feeling attention deprived, and promptly decides to shoot her hands up
while dramatically yawning, making a spectacle of herself.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Elisabeth turn to focus on her.
Satisfied, yet continuing on with her act, she lets her body fall back on the
lush carpet, arms are still being held loosely in the air.
“Your turn!”
Elisabeth chuckles softly and rises from the armchair. “Already?”
“I’m a fast writer, you know,” she says, handing Lisa the journal and pen,
“just tell me when it’s my turn again.” Elisabeth sighs, rubbing her temples
in feigned irritation.
“Do remind me, when did we agree upon this arrangement? It’s my journal,
Angelica. If you would like your own to write in-”
“It’s your diary but it’s our story, Lisa” she whines, cutting her off before
curling up on the carpet, much like a cat. Ignoring the crumpling of her
dress, she continues, “Have someone light the fireplace. I’m cold.”
“Angelica…”
“Please.” she pleads, her voice suddenly doused in sweetness along with tiny
hints of fatigue. Her eyes were closing as she spoke, allowing herself to fully
relax in the softness below as her breaths deepen and slow.
 Elisabeth sighs in defeat, taking care
of the fireplace like requested before
returning to the armchair, making
sure to avoid disturbing the young
woman now heavily asleep on the floor.
A new cup of tea is steaming on the small table,
courtesy of the maid who had lit the fire, and after taking a sip,
she settles down to read Angelica’s addition. In spite of the young woman’s
rather unique manners, or lack thereof, the inclusion of her story in the
journal simply seems right. She feels a sense of eager anticipation, a welcome
one for sure, and allows her mind to disperse the chaos once more as she
begins to read.

There I was, moments after being turned into a vampire, my humanity ripped
away as a new power ran through my veins, standing in front of the church. My
blood was pumping fast, louder than ever before, constructing a frantic rhythm
that my body was all too eager to follow. Deep crimson spots stained the sides of
my vision, as if my very mind had been tainted by my hunger for revenge, painting
it the most perfect colour. Red dripped from my chin and fingers, but worries of a
trace were far from my mind, instead focused on the singular brightened window
before me.
The candle flame beckoned forth a
shadow, the image dancing in the
flickering light. It was small, thin, and
fragile- so painfully fragile. Moments
later, a second one appeared, standing
in front of it. It was taller, broader,
so much more threatening. Somehow
at that moment, I knew that I was
supposed to be there.
In mere seconds, I had completely
ripped through the cathedral’s door,
unhinging it with extreme strength.

Such force invoked more of a

disturbance than expected, causing
people- too many people- to spill
into the hallways, curiosity and fear
bubbling among them. It was merely
human instinct, for them to seek out
answers in confusing situations, but in response… I killed them. I killed them all.

It was like before, my body being taken over by an unconscious desire to push
forward, to continue towards that room, thinking was left aside as my body
slashed and tore through the crowd of its own accord. So many innocent souls
lost;

So many people that didn’t deserve to die- but I didn’t care. I didn’t deserve to die
either, and yet there I was, the most unholy of creatures ripping through a house
most sacred, and no one was there to stop me.
I smashed the door, honing in on my target. In but a blink of an eye, I had
passed in front of the High Priest, slashing his throat in the process with
ease. My fingers felt sharper than my dear gardener’s pruning shears, tearing
through his flesh like warm butter. His body crumpled to the floor, life snared
so quickly that he failed to process what had befallen him.

I watched him, observed his death, slow and painful as he drowned in the
pool of blood building up his throat. I had a spiteful urge to spit on him, a
triumphant final parting shot, as his body spasmed.

Something stopped me in my tracks, however. I noticed that his belt was

undone, a few buttons of his trousers as well, and then I remembered the
second shadow I had seen..
Finally taking note of another presence in the room, I turned towards her. A
young woman stood before me, clothed in nothing but thin underwear which
had become more red than its original white at this point.

Blood trickled down her face, meeting her parted lips and dripping from her
chin as she stared at me in astonishment. She seemed shocked, taken aback but
not afraid despite the massacre I had just carried out.

She sighed, and her face held an expression I did not expect- relief. I paused,
confused; certain she should be terrified, and in this moment of weakness, she
attacked me. She moved forward with surprising speed, another unexpected
feat, and pressed her bloodied lips on mine.

My unconstrained, vengeful pursuit came to a crashing halt, breath cutting off

sharply as the world seemed to slow.
I stepped back. Merely moments earlier I would have snapped her neck without
a second thought, but what I had just experienced made me pause, reconsider
her fate. Killing this young woman felt wrong, vile even.
She was about to be molested by the same man that was torturing me for such a
long time. No woman deserves such fate. Living in this cathedral meant she was
an orphan or a nun, but either way my mind was made up.

I conceded, opting to give her a harsh glare and hiss- such actions rewarding
me with a few nervous backward steps- before leaving her to deal with the
aftermath of the mess I had made.

Common sense scolded me, telling me I shouldn’t have left any witnesses behind,
but I couldn’t bring myself to turn back and kill her. Feeling exhausted and
nauseous, I just wanted to go home.

It was late, far too late for a widow like me to be out on the streets, and even
though I didn’t have anyone left to answer to, I found myself greeted by my
gardener waiting for me at the front door. If he was shocked after seeing my
bloodied appearance upon trudging in, he did an impressive job of hiding it.
Instead of making a fuss, he helped me get such awful clothes off of me, and
assisted in cleaning my face, neck and hands. The blood seemed endless, coating
every inch of my skin, and soon I couldn’t tell whether the faint patches of red
were fading stains or merely the result of my rough scrubbing.
The gardener waited for me patiently and also kindly sent away others that felt
the need to check on me.
They meant well, and were reassured with the knowledge that my gardener was
there; I was being taken care of.
 He had already lit the fireplace
in my bedroom and two steaming
mugs of what smelled like
chamomile had found themselves
by my bedside before I was done
cleaning myself. He waited,
allowing me to sit down first,
before taking a seat across from
me- the place where Nekhbet had
used to sit.
We sat in silence, sipping slowly
at the tea as I felt the warmth
wash over me, chasing out any
lingering shivers. Finally, the tea
soothing me just enough, I was
ready to talk. He listened to me
silently as I explained- explained
everything to him with more detail
than I thought I could muster.. All
of what had just transpired, those frightful events of the evening, I had only survived it
due to Nekhbet, and I couldn’t be more thankful for that. I had taken my revenge, that
which I had sought, and was back home- safe, free, just like I planned, in a way. The
only issue I now had to face was that of being a vampire..
“I wish Nekhbet was here,” I told him, “now more than ever.”
“I know,” he told me, gracing me with one of his soothing smiles.
Such a simple action, and yet such a strong reassurance. Without another word, I
understood it all: he was still there for me, as he was my whole life. He would help me
work through it all, help me live- no- thrive with my new self, and make it as easy as
he could in the process. One couldn’t ask for a more reliable and comforting source
of support. In fact, sometimes when I was with him, I almost felt like I didn’t miss
Nekhbet that much, as if a part of her shone through my gardener, in the way he took
care of me. Only almost, for most of the time, I missed her so much it hurt.
The next few days held a new type of hurt for me. Something deeper, more unpleasant
and demanding. It was a ravenous hunger, a newfound lust for blood that almost drove
me crazy. In my worst states, I was glad Nekhbet was not there to witness me, sweating
and fiddling, walking up and down in the house until it was finally late enough to
hunt. The sun wasn’t a problem, burning my skin no more than the average human,
but with light came people, witnesses, prying eyes too numerous for me to tear through
without raising suspicion. I grew accustomed to sourcing food with ease. It was never
particularly difficult to find a few men desperate and dumb enough to follow me into
some shady alley, and once they were isolated, I could feed on them as I saw fit, leaving
them drained, useless. Men, I found, were always such pathetically easy prey.

Day by day, I grew more comfortable in my new form, even deciding to try and hone
my heightened senses and abilities. I was faster, stronger, sounds were clearer and
smells seemed more distinct. I could pick up my gardener’s whistling through my
bedroom; I could smell the last breaths of a fire before it was completely snuffed out.
I knew there had to be more, of course I did, but if I’m being honest, I had become
rather overwhelmed with it all. I was beginning to feel content with how I was at that
moment, damned unbearable hunger notwithstanding, and the control I had gained
over myself was only more of a reassurance.
That was, until the morning that my gardener informed me of something. Terrible
news had been passing around town: a public execution was due to take
place soon, that very morning in fact, and I didn’t have
much time to prepare if I wished to attend.
“And why would I want to do that?” I asked him,
puzzled by the suggestion. I was never one to
be entertained by such brutality.
“They’re executing a young girl. A witch,
they say.”
“Good for them,” I say. “maybe she got
what she deserved.” I added, trying
to feign indifference, to push
the subject aside.
I felt as if he was hinting at something, a matter I didn’t want to discuss.
Unfortunately, my gardener was never the type to let serious matters be left
untouched.
“The same one that killed all those poor people in the cathedral.” He refrained from
looking at me, focusing on his pruning. “She was always a troublemaker, that one.
Even the good people of the church, the good High Priest,” he said, emphasising his
last words, “were not able to uproot the evil within her.”
“I’d much rather you say exactly what you mean” I told him, all too aware of his
implication, but all I got in return was a simple, albeit rather beautiful, daisy. He
had already said all he had wanted to, and now he would let it sink in, giving me
the freedom to choose my own actions.

I returned to my room and went straight to bed, leaving the daisy on my nightstand.
Covering myself underneath the comfortable weight of the blankets, I prayed for
sleep to fetch me as always; to transport me to twilight when I could revel in the
hunt of the night. My pleas were left unheard or perhaps ignored, as I could still
smell the daisy’s scent upon every toss and turn, causing my mind to replay my
gardener’s words once more, leaving me no choice but to give in. I got up, readying
myself so I could attend, or perhaps stop- that aforementioned public execution.

It was my fault, after all. Without me, that poor young woman would not have
been sentenced to death. It was my massacre, my sin, and yet they instead pinned
the blame on their only scapegoat, the perfect sheep for slaughter. She was helpless
to defend herself from those damning accusations- who would believe that a young
orphaned girl could have survived such an attack unless she was the very source? In
fairness, if I heard about it, I wouldn’t have believed her either.
I was certain fate was laughing at me, perhaps it had heard my initial pleas to
bypass the event after all, for once I finally made my way down the street, the
execution was already over. All I found were people milling around, conversing
casually in loud voices, nothing of the somber tone that should have accompanied
a death. The smell of the blood piqued my attention, drawing my eyes towards the
severed head left lying a few paces from her body, tossed aside as if meaningless.
I wanted to run back to the manor, but I resisted, forbidding myself to act like the
spoiled and scared child I could feel within. Instead, I stood there, half-hidden in the
shadows of the square until the crowd had cleared. I walked towards her body, gently
picking up her head and dusting it off with care. The least I could do to atone was to
give her a proper burial. Such an idea dragged me back to the thought of Nekhbet, she
had returned to Egypt for one, had she not? They were crucial events, one to honour
the dead, a celebration of their life, and I intended to give this young woman the
respect she deserved.
I chose a place I had frequented as a child whenever my parents’ guests crowded the
manor. A small cemetery, close enough for my gardener to keep an eye on me, but far
enough for me to stir up whatever trouble and noise I liked without disturbing anyone.
I hadn’t visited for a while, far too long. Having buried an empty coffin instead of my
husband’s body had left me rather shaken, resulting in my distancing from that place
for longer than anticipated.
I passed among the gravestones. Countless names I had read seemingly hundreds-
no- thousands of times before seemed to blur together as I absent-mindedly plucked
some fresh flowers- from those that my gardener had planted to a few unknowns I
had never inquired about. I was sure he wouldn’t mind. I chose a good place, close to
the lake, next to a grave whose name was lost long ago. I set her head on the soft grass
next to me, taking but a moment to glance across the tranquil waters before getting
to work. My fingers moved fast, confident, such actions having been played out many
times in the past, and before too long, I was holding a beautiful flower crown. I made
a soft bed from the leftover petals and then, ever so carefully, I placed her florally-
adorned head atop of it.
I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. I still felt it, like it had left an impression
on my hands, the burden of her death weighing down my heart, my very soul. I
couldn’t bear it, so I left. My steps were slow, unsteady, like my own body
was urging me to stay, to keep her company for only a few more
minutes. I gave in once more that day, following my gut, and
turned to find the flowerbed empty. I looked around
in disbelief, shocked and slightly horrified. I
couldn’t process what was happening-
where had she gone?
Movement caught my attention, and at the same moment I was greeted with the
sound of life. Then I saw her, crouched next to the lake, naked, with the flower
crown still delicately placed upon her head. She was whole. She was alive. It was
as if nothing had ever happened. She stood up, turned to me, and met her gaze
to mine. Her face was gentle, pretty, and more notably clean, much unlike the
bloodied mess I remembered. Past that, she shone with such distinct innocence
that I almost felt myself begin to calm. Her lips parted, a soft look sent my way as
her hand reached out towards me, offering me a flower.
Despite this tender offering, I found myself frozen there for quite some time,
focused solemnly on her lips while the echoes of that night repeated themselves,
refusing to let my mind rest. They became less distinct, merging with my memory
of Nekhbet’s last kiss, but the emotions only grew stronger. What saved me that
night, saved this young woman too; What I am, she is as well- it was all thanks
to Nekhbet. She who was nowhere to be seen; She who might never return to me
again. I dropped my eyes to the flower, and yet, I couldn’t seem to bring it into
focus no matter how hard I tried.
 Opfer

O wie blüht mein Leib aus jeder Ader

duftender, seitdem ich dich erkenn;
sieh, ich gehe schlanker und gerader,
und du wartest nur-: wer bist du denn?

Oh how my body blooms from every vein,

more fragrant, since you came into my ken.
See how I walk, more slender and upright,
and you wait calmly-and who are you, then?

-R.M. Rilke

This is all the missing context from Elisabeth and Angelica’s

story. All in one journal written by the two of them, showing
how the simplest form of magic could bring their worlds
together and effortlessly mend endings with beginnings..

Story created & illustrated by Onita K.

Written by Chrisa Anastasiou
Edited by Alycia Jayne-Lemon