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Things happened very quickly. She sublimated through the exterior wall and into the well decorated salon with a SNAP. Some say it's related to a sonic boom. I do not know, but occasionally, when life-eaters suddenly combust into a restricted volume of space that occurs.
A few of the wealthy, self described dilettantes seated about the room gasped. One or two brushed sparks from their clothing. That sometimes happens too. Most responded with wide eyed stares of amazement. For here in their midst was what looked like a fourteen year old girl (waif would be a better term) with delicately pointed ears and a decidedly Gallic fashion sense. She smiled, acknowledged the crowd, then gracefully brushed back her tawny hair......... Roland, her 'best friend,' broke the silence. He said - Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present the Lady Marianne......... Some people actually applauded, but that was completely inappropriate and totally unnecessary........ Uniformed 'servers,' bearing small silver trays laden with cunning, little cordial glasses quickly circulated through the crowd, assuring each 'guest' the proper fortification.
The man with the well trimmed van dyke went first, as always - Let me welcome the beautiful, young lady. We are truly grateful you decided to come........... A woman said - Tell me, darling, what are you?.......... Others whispered for a few heartbeats, as the fine boned invitee took their measure. And then it happened. There,in a cozy salon, cossetted from the world, deep within the privileged warrens of Philadelphia's old, pre-Revolutionary, Society Hill district, the mythological being answered.
I am many things. (her accent, vaguely Flemish, or perhaps Walloon) Some call me demon, others nosferatu. But I am not defined by my enemies. Such is not my way. Please call me Marianne. My mortal father held a Barony, but we will dispense with formalities and forego the 'lady.' Am I a life-eater, what you would call a blood drinker? Yes..... but that is just the beginning. Real life, especially one as long and varied as my own, has many layers. Perhaps, if the ether is right, we'll be able to peel some away........
A well fed, bejeweled glossy skinned she-cat of a certain age said - How old are you....if you don't mind my asking?...
Marianne shifted her position, leaned in toward the woman and said - I believe I am more than three hundred and fifty years old. For the iron cask they sealed me in washed up before the Quakers........And I do not count the twenty, or so years spent drifting along the bottom of the sea...... Yet even that tortuous passage would have been longer, had not the sea-prince found me.........
The dim, fire-lit chamber grew silent. Some people shifted in their seats. A few discreetly adjusted articles of clothing. This was starting to be good...
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A few of the wealthy, self described dilettantes seated about the room gasped. One or two brushed sparks from their clothing. That sometimes happens too. Most responded with wide eyed stares of amazement. For here in their midst was what looked like a fourteen year old girl (waif would be a better term) with delicately pointed ears and a decidedly Gallic fashion sense. She smiled, acknowledged the crowd, then gracefully brushed back her tawny hair......... Roland, her 'best friend,' broke the silence. He said - Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present the Lady Marianne......... Some people actually applauded, but that was completely inappropriate and totally unnecessary........ Uniformed 'servers,' bearing small silver trays laden with cunning, little cordial glasses quickly circulated through the crowd, assuring each 'guest' the proper fortification.
The man with the well trimmed van dyke went first, as always - Let me welcome the beautiful, young lady. We are truly grateful you decided to come........... A woman said - Tell me, darling, what are you?.......... Others whispered for a few heartbeats, as the fine boned invitee took their measure. And then it happened. There,in a cozy salon, cossetted from the world, deep within the privileged warrens of Philadelphia's old, pre-Revolutionary, Society Hill district, the mythological being answered.
I am many things. (her accent, vaguely Flemish, or perhaps Walloon) Some call me demon, others nosferatu. But I am not defined by my enemies. Such is not my way. Please call me Marianne. My mortal father held a Barony, but we will dispense with formalities and forego the 'lady.' Am I a life-eater, what you would call a blood drinker? Yes..... but that is just the beginning. Real life, especially one as long and varied as my own, has many layers. Perhaps, if the ether is right, we'll be able to peel some away........
A well fed, bejeweled glossy skinned she-cat of a certain age said - How old are you....if you don't mind my asking?...
Marianne shifted her position, leaned in toward the woman and said - I believe I am more than three hundred and fifty years old. For the iron cask they sealed me in washed up before the Quakers........And I do not count the twenty, or so years spent drifting along the bottom of the sea...... Yet even that tortuous passage would have been longer, had not the sea-prince found me.........
The dim, fire-lit chamber grew silent. Some people shifted in their seats. A few discreetly adjusted articles of clothing. This was starting to be good...
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
please click on the SHARE button and help the story live. grace us with a COMMENT. thank you for these precious heartbeats of your time.
