Kaló Pás'ha, Ethan

At the moment of sunset, Ethan had Brit quickly dress before making their way through the city to where the men with the skiff waited. “Are we leaving again?” Brit asked as Ethan pulled his cloak around her to keep her warm from the sea breeze and cool night air. The skiff pulled silently from the shore.

“Only for this evening,” Ethan responded. Truth be told, Ethan had not wished to leave the city, but he did not hear of any appropriate ceremonies to take place through Holy Week and had wanted Brit to experience some of Easter’s traditions since he had ensured that she kept to her fast during Lent.

Once on the mainland, they arrived to the church along with the rest in time for the evening ceremony. Ethan was too busy explaining the symbolism of some of the traditions to notice the odd glances they received from the other parishioners. Even in the darkness, he could clearly see Brit as she pressed against him in the crowded church. He whispered translations to her as the priest guided the faithful through the service, including what she was to say when time came for the crowd to answer, and he grinned slightly as she whispered correct responses while struggling to process everything.

Brit was enthralled as light spread throughout the church while each person lit a candle chasing the darkness from the room. The light cast shadows over the icons and walls. Mingled with the joyous responses of Alithós Anésti and Alithinós O Kírios, the end of the service took a more festive feel as the people poured from the doors carrying the lit candles to their homes and, for those transients, into the restaurants in the community.

Entering one of the restaurants, Ethan and Brit were escorted to a side area where both could view the rest of the room. Ethan carefully explained the reason behind so many of the traditions. Taking a red, hard-cooked egg, he gave it to Brit and took another for himself. Ethan explained that cracking the eggs against each other symbolized Christ breaking from the Tomb. He added that the person whose egg lasted the longest without cracking would have good luck the rest of the year.

After Brit’s third cracked egg, smoked salted pork and cheese were served along with assorted special breads and the Magiritsa, which was a creamy soup with a lemony flavor made from lamb sweetmeats. Music started and dancing began. Of course, wine and ouzo poured freely.

Brit nibbled the soup along with some cheese, and dipped bits of bread into it as she watched the dancers. She sipped wine finding the ouzo far too strong for her liking. Ethan enjoyed watching the crowd while telling her the history behind different parts of the meal and the dancing that occurred. He also explained what the people could expect to do on the following day.

As the night continued, Ethan pulled her to him and noticed that she was decidedly glazed from the wine. They had to meet the men with the skiff to return, so Ethan escorted her after paying and walked her toward the docks. Behind them, music grew fainter as they met their transport back to the city. Brit was chatty and feeling no pain. She was also less than steady on her feet, so Ethan picked her up to carry her. Once on the skiff, he settled her on his lap and covered her for the trip back.

As the skiff glided through the water, Brit continued to chatter about the good fortune Ethan would enjoy for the upcoming year having the egg that never cracked. She had fallen asleep by the time they arrived to the city, so Ethan carried his sleeping wife back to his resting place. She was chattered more as she woke when he was undressing her for rest. Her blood laced with the alcohol was not unpleasing to him, and both rested peacefully from sunrise to sunset.

Upon waking, Brit sought the picture of them when carnival had started prior to Lent. Finding it, she turned to Ethan who leaned on an elbow to watch her. She repeated back the events over the last few weeks as they lead to Easter. Ethan took the picture and smiled seeing their carnival masks and clothing. Brit continued to chatter excitedly about his good luck for the next year. He then heard her exclaim, “Ethan. Did you know that your lucky egg was made of wood?” She held it out for him to examine.

Reaching to her, he chuckled as he pulled her to him and took the egg from her without a glance. Placing it to the side along with the photograph, he replied, “Indeed? What a surprise. Regardless…the tradition stands even if someone was kind enough to insure that my luck stays true.”

The Great Exhibition

Ethan scowled while listening to others in the diner gossip. An odd airplane had crashed upon the beach. An odd creature seems to be terrorizing the city, but one noted that the creature did not seem to be willing to kill others for now. Brit seemed calm and oblivious to the gossip as she picked at her meal which fit all of the requirements of a strict fast.

Tonight, Annika had served Brit a large bowl of lentils and rice. Ethan found the scent of the food pleasing since the diner’s cook had left out the garlic. Brit ate small rounded bites of the brown lentils mixed with vegetable broth, rice, grated carrot, a bit of onion, and unseasoned tomato paste. He also caught the unmistaken smells of oregano, rosemary, and a bit of black pepper with sea salt. “I thought this dish had olive oil,” said Ethan to Annika. She shook her head and explained that she had left it out along with the garlic in order to meet his requirements. Nodding, he said to Brit, “Better than baked French fries?”

Brit nodded with a giggle, “But not better than fried ones.”

Chuckling, he said, “Fair enough.” As she nibbled more at the dish, she noticed his thoughts again turned to the conversations around them. Before she could ask, he said, “It seems there is yet more turmoil, Brit.” Seeing that she understood, he added, “Yes…do not stray far from our home or library.” Brit nodded and ate more of the dish silently watching him through the veil or her lashes as she finished enough of the meal to satisfy his wishes that she continue to consume regular foods.

Pushing the bowl away, Brit watched the street. People were huddled on street corners talking quietly amongst themselves while giving cautious glances to their surroundings. “Turmoil,” whispered Brit. Puffing her cheeks slightly, she nuzzled against the crook of Ethan’s arm as they both watched.

Ethan could feel her discomfort and, while he wished to learn more, he did not wish her to worry. “Maybe we should dress up tonight,” he mused while running fingers over her cheek.

Pressing her cheek against his fingers, Brit lisped, “Dress up?” She giggled liking the idea, but went quiet for a moment. “Why should we dress up?” He could see she wanted to dress up and play, but was more concerned about him. “You are worried about what is going on in the city.”

Ethan grinned. “You have grown more in tune with my thoughts, darling.” His fingers continued to trace her face as he whispered, “I enjoy the closeness that our sharing has brought.” Patting her cheek, he added, “Cosmetics have provided a lovely diversion in times of turmoil. I remember several war times when the cities were filled with gaiety and elegance to provide mental diversions from general unhappiness. Besides, coloring is fun, as you have said.”

Giggling, Brit said, “Yah, but you never color on paper. Just on me.”

“Paper is an inferior coloring book. Let’s see if we can find Rosalie,” Ethan said as he stood motioning for her to follow. Seeing her questioning look, he reminded, “The immortal beautician who is never where she should be when we need her.”

Rosalie was, in fact, exactly where one would expect: In the beauty shop. It was the last place they looked. She had cut her long locks into a spiky style and reveled in the fact they would grow again come the following day. “It’s tedious, Ethan, to have to cut my hair each night.” Settling Brit in her chair, she looked to Ethan. “What style is tonight?”

“I think mayhaps something Victorian,” Ethan replied moving Brit’s hair on top of her head as he watched in the mirror. Rosalie arched an eyebrow. Ethan shook his head, “No, I will do her make-up. But Victorian suits my mood.”

“I think sometimes you relive your memories through dress, friend,” said Rosalie as she moved Ethan aside and started to comb out Brit’s hair into sections.

Ethan nodded with a slight shrug, “And so what if I do? It is a way to share with Brit times gone by as well, so I can relive memories with my wife.” The beautician grinned as she pinned the sections out of the way.

Ethan sat back enjoying watching Brit’s transformation as Rosalie chattered, “Get the make up to look more doll-like. Not that ghoulish look of dark circles beneath the eye. That looked dreadful.” The two exchanged a glance as Rosalie went momentarily quiet. “Yes, I know the difference, Ethan. I’m simply pointing out that yesterday was not always better. But the porcelain doll-look was by far the better look. And it has been sought throughout history when your wife has it naturally. Do not ruin that in your trip through time.”

Ethan growled slightly, “Are you questioning my style?”

Rosalie tsked, “Of course not. I’m saying to be wary of recreating yesterday. Like….lead foundation. Dreadful. It poisoned the woman wearing it. Kings! The poor dear’s eyebrows would fall out and they would be forced to recreate them with mouse fur.” Both Brit and Ethan shuddered as Rosalie wrapped Brit’s hair around a shaped sponge-like structure and secured it in place. The lady continued, “How fortunate for the two of us that we were already white as Venetian paste when it was vogue.”

Ethan moved near the window and watched the people on the street. Rosalie worked quietly knowing that he was trying to make rhyme or reason out of the recent events. As Brit’s hair took form, Rosalie described the style as being very new and first seeing it at the Great Exhibition of 1851. “A lady in the Crystal Palace wore it. It caused quite a stir as it was not all up for evening or down. And none could determine whether she was married or non.” Brit giggled at Rosalie’s explanation of hairstyles of the time and the suitability of styles for women in regards to age, station and marital status.

Realizing that no new information was known on the street, Ethan settled in the chair and watched a Rosalie finished Brit’s hair clucking that she generally preferred to do the finishing parts of the hair after make-up was applied. Rather than apply Brit’s make up right away, Ethan asked Rosalie whether she remembered his hair at The Great Exhibition. With a grin, Rosalie said, “But of course…I remember each one of us who attended that night. What we wore…what we saw. It is a good memory, no?”

“Indeed,” replied Ethan. With a glance to Brit, he said, “Arrange my hair like that night.” Rosalie grinned and said, “I think it might be like the powder in the hair, Ethan. Good for then but not so good today, hmm?” Seeing that he was not swayed, she motioned him to turn his chair so she could work. Brit watched as Rosalie pulled and pinned Ethan’s hair much as she had done to her own in record time. “Voila!” Watching Ethan smile, the lady waved her hand, “And then…I suppose that there is no accounting for timeless looks.”

Ethan gave Rosalie an envelope and then gave her a second one. “An accounting of Brit and my trip to France,” he said. “You might find it interesting.” Rosalie took both envelopes with a nod and said, “Nothing ever changes, eh?” With a wave, Brit and Ethan left to return to their resting place. Getting the cosmetic case, Ethan found applying tint to Brit’s face soothing. “My coloring book,” he whispered as he handed her a mirror.

“Sometimes, I do not look like myself, Ethan,” she whispered.

“Oh, but you do…” His fingers touched her lightly making small adjustments. “Just…I do enjoy seeing how you would have looked had you lived as long as I.” Selecting garments to complete the look, Ethan opened the door and offered her an arm once they had dressed.

Walking through the city, bits and pieces of the rumors could be heard. Brit and Ethan seemed to hear none of it. He walked her along the water past the park with the dead trees. Opening his mind and linking his thoughts with hers, Ethan showed Brit what he had seen when he attended the Great Exhibition of 1851. Brit watched him with huge, unblinking eyes as she felt his awe of the massive Crystal Palace that was very nearly overshadowed by the splendor of Hyde Park. She stared at his eyes as he let her experience his memory of the wonder of the new technology heralding the industrial revolution. Brit felt all that he felt and was as mesmerized by the novelty of new machines, tools, and even kitchen appliances. Steel-making displays and agricultural machines. Pulling her to him, he said in a hushed whisper, “There were over 13,000 exhibits on view from all over the world, Brit.”

Going silent, Ethan’s eyes looked almost like a child’s filled with wonder and life. Brit touched his face curiously and continued to see his thoughts and memories. Slowly, he pulled her to him kissing her most properly. In the kiss, his memory of the event changed as Ethan clearly saw Brit standing near the fountain in the Crystal Palace illuminated by the gas lights. Turning her to fully face him, he could picture her surrounded by like-dressed people. Oblivious to the grim of the street or the dead trees, he kissed his wife by the fountain again in the Crystal Palace, and ignored the surprised looks of those around them who were scandalized by his bold behavior.

Dancing in Toxia: A Movie by Ethan

Spring Rituals

“Ethan, do you wish to dance?” lisped Brit. Shaking his head, Ethan pulled his wife closer to him and watched the spring festival from the corner of the platform. He had been quiet since he had risen. Brit had been looking forward to the day since Ethan’s seamstress, Destany Laval, had brought the lacy pink gown to the city. Ethan’s fingers traced the lacy patterns idly as he held her. Noticing that the other revelers wore clothing that was much different, Brit asked, “Do you not like my dress?”

It was true that Ethan had not commissioned the dress and the crafty seamstress knew she would sell it the moment Brit saw the pink confection made of cloth. With a hint of a grin, Ethan said, “You are lovely.” His finger caressed Brit’s cheek and he touched her chin as he examined her fuchsia-painted lips. Kissing her forehead, he said, “Do not worry so, Brit. I am simply wrapped in thoughts.”

Nodding to him, Brit snuggled against him silently much like she had the previous night. Ethan had not wished to go out. His arms wrapped around her and they watched out of the window. She saw people coming and going. Nikita popped into the Shelter where she had been practically running it and discussed a few business matters with Ethan. Nikita left seemingly annoyed after Ethan praised her clothing choice, but neglected to stay focused on business. Whether Nikita was concerned about business matters, rumors at hand, or Ethan’s continued lack of assistance, it was hard to say.

Ethan murmured that he was not annoyed with Nikita as he shifted to pull her against him again. Brit pursed her lips realizing he was linked to her thoughts and she had not realized it. She thought of Destany again, and he immediately stated that Destany was a crafty girl but she too was not the object of Ethan’s concern. Peeking up at him, her head rested on his shoulder as she tried to see within his thoughts. Ethan grinned again briefly and whispered “Behave” which caused Brit to giggle.

Settling against him, she returned to watching the people at the festival. Her thoughts drifted again to the night before. After Nikita left, Ethan walked Brit to the diner. With it being the third Thursday of Lent, Annika served Brit a large bowl of artichoke stew, a twist on a recipe that had been quite popular in Constantinople during strict fasts through Lent. “No meats, meat products, fish, or oils are allowed during strict fasts, Brit.” Brit poked at the thick sliced carrots floating among the artichoke and green as she suggested baked French fries. Waving off the suggestion, Ethan said, “This is more nourishing.”

Leaving the diner, they had walked by the library and saw Denny and Picket within. Brit started up the steps but Ethan pulled her back saying that it looked like a serious conversation and that he wished to return to the Shelter. Rumors had been circulating the streets, and Ethan continued to pick up bits and pieces of conversation. People’s emotions were running high. Experience told him that it was not a night to linger outside when Brit was with him.

After returning to the Shelter, Ethan snuggled Brit against him watching the street from the upstairs window yet again. The streets were oddly empty, but Ethan watched. In the strange quiet, they watched as Omega passed looking lost in her own thoughts. Brit looked to Ethan questioning, and he gave her a comforting hug after kissing her forehead. Grr followed Omega just a few feet back. Grr looked concerned, but was obviously there to protect his lady.

Ethan did not breathe, of course, but he seemed to sigh softly and pulled Brit into their resting place even though the night still had hours left before dawn. Once inside, he lit candles and pulled Brit to settle back against him brushing his lips over her hair still lost in his quiet contemplation. When the sun set, they rested with Brit cuddled against him.

The following evening, Brit had managed to wriggle free of Ethan’s embrace and had gone to shower. He was awake when she returned and she started to immediately chatter about the spring festival. Spring Festivals. How many had Ethan seen? Over the years, he saw many rituals and traditions and, while he painted the cosmetics carefully on her face, he told her of some of the more pleasant traditions.

Ethan brushed Brit’s hair as he recanted the story of the golden bull that is said to wake in the springtime. He told her of several goddesses who were associated with springtime, and recanted some stories for each. Goddesses such as Ostara, who was escorted by a rabbit and Hertha who was associated with rebirth and healing. “There was even a Celtic tradition for St. Bridget,” said Ethan. He smiled seeing her look of surprise, “A person would knock three times loudly and say ‘Bridget, Bridget, Bridget! Come to my house…come to my house tonight. Open the door for Bridget and let Bridget come in.’ Then the door would open and a fruit tree would be brought inside. And for the evening, the fruit tree would be treated with reverence and, on the next morning which was called ‘Bridget’s Fire’, the family would plant the tree.”

Brit giggled, “You made that up!”

Ethan gasped feigning insult. “I most certainly did not.” He gave her hair a playful tug and said, “Just for your insolence, you can wear your hair down tonight!”

Still giggling, Brit lisped, “You like my hair down best anyway.” He grinned and stood pulling her to her feet to help her dress for the festival that she was excited to attend. His smile faded as quick as it had come and he became somber again.

Brit looked up at Ethan sighing softly, “I wish to dance….maybe….” He pressed a finger to her lips and swayed with her. It was not a proper dance, but at least they were moving. Some of those at the festival repeated some of the behaviors of times gone by. The dancers grew freer with their dancing as the night wore on and the alcohol continued to pour. It was after an hour of quiet swaying, Brit glimpsed a dark thought from her husband.

His eyes darted to hers knowing she glimpsed his mood. Clinching his jaw, he looked at the sky, the party-goers, and then to his wife. “Tonight,” he said in a low voice, “Tonight.” Ethan voice sounded strained as he pulled her more tightly, “Tonight the day equals the night and the pendulum swings. And, days will be longer at this point on until fall. And I will have less time to enjoy my wife.”

Brit felt his unhappiness. “Ethan…”

Ethan shook his head unhappily and said, “Perhaps, like other creatures, we should change with the seasons. Go to where the night is favored.” Brit did not respond not quite knowing what to say. Ethan continued to muse, “Perhaps…I will have to explore why others are able to stay awake longer here.” Ethan turned her toward him and said, “I do not plan to be robbed of time with you. Not for a second summer, Brit.” Kissing her deeply, he felt her arms go around his neck and return the kiss in kind. Without another word, they returned to their resting place.

Once there, he dragged his fingers as if they were rose petals across her bare skin before drinking from her in soft, lingering sips.

Red Dress Dreams

Brit woke feeling disoriented. After several minutes of navigating sheets, she emerged to the side and tumbled to the floor. Ethan continued to rest as if dormant as she acrobatically extracted herself from his embrace. Pulling the sheet from her head, she quickly brushed her hair back from her face and peered at him blinking. The night before was mostly a blur to her.

The shower, she remembered clearly. Washing with the fine soap purchased on their most recent trip was pleasurable. She could still smell its jasmine-vanilla scent on her hair. The cotton towel sucked water from her skin before she rubbed the lotion with a matching scent lavishly into her skin. It was in the shower, she thought about what she and Ethan might do that evening.

Whenever Ethan rose, he would greet her and ask what she wished to do. Rarely did she have a response; and so she remembered the night before that she had decided to tell him that she wished to go dancing. Finding the red dress that he had commissioned from a seamstress while in France, she put it on. The dress moved even when she was quite still with its airy fabric that responded to the slightest motion of air. Rummaging through her trunk, she selected a pretty cross to wear with it and her black jelly bracelets. She almost tumbled in to the large trunk seeking her black ballet slippers with the ribbon bows that matched the black ribbon around the waist of her dress.

After dressing, she combed her hair in its usual style and found her cosmetics. One after another, Brit examined the lip tints until she found one that matched the dress perfectly. Following with the eye shadow and mascaras that Ethan had shown her to use, she examined herself in the mirror. She looked just as she did the night they went to the odd club while on their vacation.

Sitting on the mat in front of the mirror, she buffed her fingernails and carefully worked some oil into them so they would gleam while she remembered the club in France. The club was one used by kindred. It was very different then the dinner at the museum. Brit struggled for the word to describe it. It was elegant, but there was something animalistic about it as well. People seemed to wear all kinds of different clothing. Everything from Diesel chic to Renaissance court attire could be seen. Ethan dressed more contemporary casual in all black and dressed Brit in this red dress. He seemed to feel the seamstress did not follow his directives, but he placed a wrap around her and she wore it anyway.

There was no humanity in the room, Ethan had later said. At the club, others approached him cautiously and spoke in quiet tones. Brit noticed that he greeted some warmly and others he simply acknowledged. To all, he introduced her as his wife Brit. She did not notice the odd glances that were exchanged with her husband. At the bar, blood flowed as did a limited amount of libation for the humans in the room. Ethan rose from a round settee and took her to another location without reason, and Brit noticed that several rowdier kindred left a girl on the other side that did not seem to breathe anymore.

After much conversation, Ethan took Brit to the dance floor under the large chandelier and moved her through a slow tango. It was hard to focus on the dance. In this area, she could see glimpses of carnal behaviors that she had never encountered before. Ethan did not chide her not to stare. He simply danced with her and kept her focus primarily on him.

At the end of the third dance, a young man in a black leather jacket approached. Placing his hand on Brit’s shoulder, the man said, “If you are not interested in this meal, let another have her.” Ethan’s reaction was swift and Brit saw but a blur until she noticed that the young man was on the floor with his arm missing. Ethan said, “I will speak to your elder about your rudeness.”

The man screamed back sarcastically that the elders of his kind did not worry about the actions of their chylders, and so Ethan would be speaking to them all. Ethan leaned toward him and the man pressed back against the floor. Ethan said clearly, “I’ve spoken to you enough. If I see you again, I will kill you.” Nodding to a lady across the room, Ethan continued, “And I will inform the prince of this city that is an unfortunate possibility before I leave.” Friends of the man crowded around him and helped him leave the club. The crowd simply paused to watch. Some seemed amused, a few seemed confused and one looked clearly annoyed, but all went back to their business and play once the drama was over.

Ethan did speak to the lady who was called the Prince, and then they returned to their resting place. While there, a handful of people came to see Ethan. One remained talking amicably with Brit. Brit noticed that she drank and ate, and so Brit surmised that the one left behind was like her. Human. Ethan returned hours later with the group. All seemed in good spirits. After exchanging a few envelopes, the others left and Brit retired to the resting spot with her husband for the day. At sunset, they left to return home. In thinking of the incident, Brit found the memory clear, but dreamlike.

Her thoughts returned to the night before. Brit had looked up seeing a motion behind her as she prepared to go out. Turning, she saw Ethan who seemed surprised she was wearing the red dress. She rose and greeted him with warm kisses. Without waiting to be asked, she said, “I wish to go out to dance. I wore the dress you had made for me.”

His eyes traveled the neckline of the dress. Placing his hand on his chin, he said, “The weather is too cold for your dress, Brit. I wish you to wear it but we shall stay in. I do wish to dance. We shall dance here…in our home.”

Brit tilted her head in confusion. They had seen few of their friends since returning. “But,” she countered, “I wish to go…out…and I wish to wear the dress that…you…got for me.” Again, he told her that it was too cold and he would hear no more of it. Grabbing her cloak, she placed it around her shoulders. “There! Now I shall not be cold until we get where we are going.”

In a flash, her cloak was gone and was hurled over the boxes. Brit was pressed against them and Ethan sank his fangs deep into her throat gulping the blood. In surprise, she pressed back and he grabbed her closer to him embracing her more securely. She could hear the blood rush from her body as he drank deeply again and again. Her fingers and toes started to chill and she felt dizzy. Crumpling against him, he held her firmly and closely. Though not drinking of her once she crumpled, he continued to bite her hard until he felt her totally limp against him. Ethan then moved her arms to drape over his shoulders and her head against his chest, and he danced with her slowly.

Tonight, Brit sat with the sheets barely clear of her and stared at Ethan who was still resting. She felt bewildered by the unclear memories. Crawling to the mirror, she looked at her throat and found nothing unusual. She looked at her naked body and saw no marks. Touching her lips, she remembered the dancing and wondered if it was all just a dream. She remembered that she had also heard voices near while she dangled in his arms, and that Ethan had responded to them. Try as she might, she could not remember who it was or what was said. Dream-like. Perhaps it was all just a dream.

If it were not a dream, only he actually danced. In her memory, she remembered swaying like a rag doll in his arms. Did she really remember him carrying her back to their resting place? Or that he poured mass quantities of blood into her mouth as he pressed his body to hers? The memory seemed disjointed, but clear: He was telling her to drink more each time she turned away. Was it a dream? Looking about the room, Brit did not see her red dress or her shoes. She still wore her jelly bracelets and the cross necklace. Laid over the chest, Brit saw her cloak and the first dress he ever purchased for her. She looked a bit for her red dress, but it was not found.

Confused, Brit looked back to Ethan hoping he woke soon. She had so many questions. Brushing her hair back, her fingers caught in a knot and she pulled the hair forward. Upon examination, she saw that dried blood had matted a bit of her hair along the side of her face.

An Awakening

Ethan woke with a jolt and immediately felt that something was wrong. Moving faster than humanly possible, he reached for Brit and felt only empty space beside him. His eyes widened and he staggered to his feet. Ethan felt ill. His body felt as if it were made of lead, his mind felt foggy, and he could not sense Brit near. Starting to panic, he crashed against the huge wooden door of his resting place in the Chateau de Jeanne, which was located on a river in the south of France.

Ethan fumbled with the knob before yanking it open. “Brit?” he bellowed as he entered the next room before sliding to a stop. The room was filled with bright light. Ethan clutched the molding of the door as his mind struggled to identify sunlight. It was bright and, though not streaming into the window, the reflective light from the very clear day flooded the room.

It was a struggle to stay upright and sentient. Ethan felt his eyes starting to close and his body falling. “Brit?” he shouted again. He could hear footsteps running toward him and he saw the most faithful servant to the house enter, which helped alleviate some apprehension.

The servant, Thomas, had been a good and faithful ghoul who had run the estate for over 300 years and was kept by the same organization that Ethan belonged. He was faithful to all within it. “Ethan,” Thomas exclaimed as he ran into the room and grabbed Ethan before he fell. “Mon dieu, but it is hours before you should rise!”

Ethan staggered another step toward the window. “My wife. Where is my wife?” His voice was hurried – nearly panicked, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from the window or the blue skies beyond it. “Where is my wife?” he demanded again as he moved. Ethan picked up the slightest feeling of Brit. She was beyond the window, he sensed, but why did he wake?

Thomas kept a sturdy hand on Ethan less Ethan fall to the ground knowing the nature and habits of vampires well. “Ethan, please,” he tried to reason. Looking at the window again, Thomas grasped the situation and spoke quickly, “Your wife. Brit is enjoying sunshine in the garden.” Ethan took another staggered step toward the window. Thomas said matter-of-factly, “Ethan. I have cared for this house and its garden for many years. I assure you that your sweet lady is safe. Now please. Return to your rest less you embarrass both of us by landing on the floor until sunset.”

Ethan turned to Thomas, who seemed to sound as if he was in a cave. The words registered and he asked the ghoul, “Are you sure?” Seeing Thomas give a reassuring nod, Ethan relaxed. The blue sky beyond beckoned to him. Ethan stared with wide eyes and took yet another step to the window. By the shadows, Ethan could tell that the sun was behind the house and was in no danger of beaming into the window. Another step to the window allowed Ethan to see Brit playing in the sunshine. She wore the dress he had given her the night before and looking at each plant and running her hand over the wet moss.

After feeling another wave of relief, Ethan stared at her. The struggle to stay awake was difficult, but he wanted to see. It had been centuries since he had seen the day so bright. It was sunshine. Pure sunshine and it covered Brit in a way he had never seen. Raising his fingers to the glass, he watched her with a hint of jealousy, and closed his eyes to try to link into her mind. He was so disoriented, but he wished to feel the sun on her skin. In fact, he craved the sensation. Something he had not even thought about in centuries. The jealous feeling grew.

Brit felt him enter her mind. She had grown to sensing when he linked with her. Turning left and right, she suddenly looked straight to him at the window. She blinked hard and glanced to where the sun was. Seeing him in no harm, she watched curiously and took a step toward him. His fingers stretched on the glass and hers flexed in a similar way.

The warmth, Ethan felt warmth of her body insulated by the fabric and the warmth of the sunlight on her exposed skin. Brit stretched out her arms and Ethan felt the difference in temperature as her hand moved to the shade. His lips parted as he absorbed the sensation, and his body trembled as she raised her face to the sun to allow him to sense the sunlight and feel it through the mental link on his skin. Ethan’s second hand touched the window. It was a cold glass barrier. Brit looked sad feeling the glass on her fingers, and knowing that he could not join her at this time to enjoy the abnormally warm spring day.

Brit walked toward him with another step. Picking a yellow crocus, she brushed it across her lip and he could feel the spring crispness of the flower. It was not so fragrant, but the color was vibrant. He had not paid much attention to a flower’s texture. Tilting his head, he noticed that she did likewise and she ran the petals over her neck. Ethan took a deep breath and watched wanting to feel her skin prickle from the flower petal’s caress before he drank from her. The sun held guard though. The sun warmed her. The sunshine caressed her and forced Ethan to wait for nightfall.

"Ethan, come to your resting place,” encouraged Thomas softly while watching Ethan's fingers clench. Ethan turned toward Thomas with a menacing growl. “We all want what we do not have,” Thomas offered gently in his clipped old French accent, but moved away quickly when Ethan then snarled - this time bearing fangs.

Brit looked up at the window troubled. She could feel Ethan’s thoughts. The turmoil that he was feeling within unsettled her. She felt longing and desire. She felt anger and resentment. Was it for the window that kept him back or the sunshine that he could not see? She was unsure. Moving again toward the window, she saw him turn back toward her. The anger she felt melted away into a deep sadness mingled with a feeling that she could only describe as exhaustion. She stopped when she saw him shake his head, and she could feel he just wanted to watch her. The sad longing intensified. Picking up the flower again, she looked up and he was gone.

Thomas ensured that Ethan returned to his resting place before alerting the other staff to check every crook and cranny for anything that might have caused him to wake. Brit ran inside of the chateau and, once in their resting place, she undressed to snuggle against him.

When the sun set, he grabbed Brit while she still slept. Caressing her where the flower touched, Ethan inhaled deeply to smell the sunshine on her skin. Brit wrapped her arms around him and Ethan drank of her heavily until she felt as unsteady as he did earlier.

Brit could not understand his odd feelings, and Ethan could see her confusion. It did not surprise him. How could she understand jealousy when she had not experienced it? And how could he explain to her that he was jealous of the sun’s ability to touch her when he could not and of the barrier it had been between them? Thomas greeted both of them as if it was the first time he had seen either that day.

She Walks In Beauty

Ethan had taken Brit to dinner and conversed while she ate. He marveled over the dress she had selected for the evening. Though far more revealing than he would have selected, Ethan had to admit that the dress was not without charm. Upon entering the room, he was reminded of Byron’s poem. During dinner, Ethan whispered the poem to her and feigned eating. He had taken her to the mainland to escape the turmoil caused by the priests that had returned to the city. His voice recited, “She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and light meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

“That’s pretty,” Brit lisped. “Ethan, maybe we could try a restaurant that has things served in paper. Sometimes, it is fast to get things in paper, and then we can go dance sooner.” Noticing his frown, she ventured further, “I mean….I am the only one who eats…and we both dance.” They sat silently for a moment. Seeing his fingers tap on his wine glass that had not lost even a drop of wine, she ate a glazed carrot.

“Do you not enjoy our dinner conversations, Brit?” he asked raising one eyebrow. She puffed her cheeks and he could see her thoughts. Patting her hand, he said, “It is kind of you to think of me, but I rather enjoy our evening chats.” She smiled seeing that he understood. Picking up her hand, he kissed it before giving it a soft pat and motioning for her to take another bite. The wine touched his lips, but he did not drink. Instead, he continued, “Thus mellow’d to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies.” Brit listened to the words that he softly recited, and told him that she liked his poems and the pictures they painted.

Ethan stopped after the first stanza of Byron’s poem and watched her as she finished dinner. Though he made all indications that he was listening intently to what she said, Ethan had another agenda this night. Of late, he had taken to using their mental connection, which had grown stronger through the regular feedings, to experience things he had long forgotten. Earlier, though she had dressed, he could feel her body’s hunger. The gnawing feeling in her abdomen that grew more prominent. It was unlike his desire for blood, but had similar components. Tonight, he decided, he would feel her drift to sleep. The only trouble was that his wife had far more energy than most, and so he decided that dancing would help her fall asleep earlier, so he could observe her mental and physical changes.

After dinner, he led her to a quiet place pulling her to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he danced closely to music that played somewhere near. His mind linked with hers and watched. Now that she had eaten, she was enjoying the physical motion of dancing. Did he enjoy the physical movement as she does when he was human? He was unsure and truthfully did not recall. Pulling her close again, he turned her and let her slide away from him. When her fingertips were all that was touching him, he kissed her hand and pulled her against him again. Keeping her near him, he whispered to her, “One shade more, one ray less, Had half inpair’d the nameless grace which waves in every raven tress or softly lightens o’er her face. Where thoughts serenely sweet express how pure, how dear their dwelling place.”

Brit processed the words blinking rhythmically. He could see that she knew the poem was about a woman. Brit’s mind continued to process. He saw that she envisioned a lady in a sparkly black dress with black hair. She missed some of the contrasts so beloved by the Romantic era authors and their fascination with twilight to night in the murky darkness of mysticism. She only saw someone in love who thought his lover was perfect. Ethan smiled stroking Brit’s hair and feeling such sentiments could exist. He enjoyed her humanity and watched her thoughts picture the lady walking outside across where they were dancing with her black hair swaying in time to the music. Ethan desired to feel more of her human experiences.

Brushing his lips over her cheek and eyelid, he whispered, “And on that cheek, and o’er that brow so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent.” In keeping with his plans, Ethan kept up a decent pace to the dancing and discussed the way the lady might have walked. Brit was becoming better at making connections though she struggled with inference. Finally, he received for what he had been waiting. Brit yawned. “Aw, I’ve worn you out,” he said. Though she started to protest, he shook his head and said, “It is time we retire, I think…yes, I know it is still early, but yawning? No, you need rest.”

It did not take long for her to ready for bed. Ethan waited when she joined him. She could feel him within her mind. “I feel you near,” she said and he chuckled. Without saying a word, she knew that he wanted to feel her thoughts. Relaxing against him, she stretched and felt her eyes wanting to close. It was this that he wished to watch: Brit falling asleep.

As she started to drift, he saw images. Places they had been, things they had done together. She also had images of others for whom she cared. Nothing in her thoughts was harmful or hurtful. No negative thoughts flicked through her mind. He could feel her starting to fall asleep. It was a different feeling to him. Different from his going dormant when he rested. Ethan frowned realizing he did not recall that particular feeling when he was human. Her heart rate was slowing and her muscles relaxed. Ethan could feel it all.

Suddenly, Brit had a few small convulsions. Fleeting and barely perceptible. Her heart beat and breathing rate continued to decrease. Ethan wondered if they were letting her brain know by electrical pulses. He could feel Brit fall deeper into sleep sinking deeper in her mind and, like the images before, loving, innocent images formed basic dreams that she started to become more complex. Ethan pulled her to him, and she did not stir. He watched one image after another.

Brit’s dream was her dancing in the green dress she wore that night. It glowed slightly in the night and she watched him as she danced. Her mind focused on him. The way he felt when he touched her and when she touched him. Ethan smiled slightly feeling a bit odd at how absorbed she was. All thought surrounded him and the love she felt. He marveled how she saw him. Even though he had shared so much with her of his past, she obviously did not comprehend her husband as anything other than perfect.

Shaking his head slightly in bewilderment, Ethan watched one dream after another. Never anything unkind or untowardly. Brit obviously believed goodness in all beings. Ethan remembered the first time Brit invited him into her mind. She never closed her mind to him since that night. He continued to marvel at her guiless nature. But also knew that she had nothing to hide nor did she realize that hiding from people was something others did. Ethan’s arms tightened around Brit protectively. His lips brushed over her hair and he whispered, “A mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent!” As he too started to feel himself pulled into his daytime rest, Ethan wondered how Byron knew of his wife.