By Vanessa

1

It was the early 1700’s, just before the French revolution, in Avignon, France. The Palais du Papes, a city-sized castle, was in a state of disrepair, already 400 years old. It sheltered fifty-three acres of buried catacombs and vaulted stone ceilings -- plenty of hiding places and dark shadows -- the perfect lair for a Vampyre such as myself. The irony of my chosen home did not go unappreciated –- I was living in the original Palace of the Popes before they fled to Rome; I, an immortal, living off of the blood of others, feeding under the very noses of the seat of the Catholic Church.

The shadows of dusk allowed me to watch the waning throngs of peasants from a darkening doorway just off the Palais Neuf, the newer half of the palace. It didn’t take long for me to notice a solitary young lady on her way across the grounds, humming softly to herself as she walked. She caught my eye at once, short, dark-haired, and pretty in a nondescript way. But she was alive, not just breathing, in a way that gave her a … glow. It only took a moment for her to be the only person there who mattered, as the background noise of the castle faded away and she became my raison-d’etre for that evening.

Her path took her near enough for me to catch her eye. She glanced up under her brow, held my look for a moment, grinned a lop-sided half-smile, and continued on her way. Her eyes were the most captivating blue I had ever seen, the color of a winter morning, and they lit a few of the dark corners of my own undead soul, which I had almost forgotten I had.

As I stepped out of the doorway to follow her, the hunt was on, although I would later learn that the role of hunter and hunted would become tangled and eventually reversed.

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