A/N : I wrote this piece a while back in French, my first language, and in Milena’s point of view for another project. I wanted to rewrite it differently, so here it is. I hope you enjoy! – Alixa
the birth of a prodigy
My name is Aleksei Kasyanov. Even though I seem like I am in my early thirties, I have lived through centuries, touched by beauty and extraordinary. I have spent my life seeking these unique elements to add to my collection, willing to travel miles away from my castle and clan, both nestled in snowy mountains away from civilization. Tonight, I believe I have found a treasure of an immensurable worth, one such as I have not seen in a long time.
She is simply stunning, sitting by her window with the full moon for sole companion. Her eyes are closed as she makes her violin sing in the silent night. Lips slightly parted, she breathes in the cold winter air elegantly. Her hands move with the grace of a swan on the instrument, a slow and precise dance.
Truthfully, when I look at her, I see a white leopard ready to pounce.
The girl cannot be more than 18. Fair and delicate, she reminds me of Snow White with her ivory skin and dark hair. In the fairy tale, the princess died a fake death, induced by a poisoned apple. Amused at the thought of re-enacting the story in a whole new way, I smile; I have venom of my own.
The music she plays is soft, melancholic. She seems to answer the call of the night with her violin, taking comfort in the loneliness of this hour. I like that she is oblivious to the world surrounding her, how she is completely absorbed by her music. She is absolutely lovely, and I must have her the same way I need to isolate beautiful things to protect them from the unworthy.
The girl stops playing, letting the bow linger for one last ringing note. She does not see me, not until I applaud quietly her performance. She barely looks at me, turning away as if she is used to strange men standing outside her window. I would not be surprised if others have tried to get her attention before, leading her to ignore undesirable guests. Fortunately, this is not enough to deter me from trying.
“Well played, milady,” I say in my softest voice. I do not wish to frighten her away, little wild thing.
“Please allow me to introduce myself to you. Will you not come down so I can kiss this hand that charmed me so?”
Only then does she meet my gaze. Her eyes are a deep sparkling blue, seeming so bright in the moonlight. She does not answer, simply turning away, but I can hear her soft footsteps on the wooden stairs as she comes to meet me. Barefooted in the snow, she does not seem to be bothered by the cold. She elegantly bows in her simple nightgown and honors me with her name.
“Milena Veronika Ivanova, my Lord. I am pleased to hear you enjoyed my music.”
Her voice is just as lovely as her violin-play, as light as bells. I could make a princess of this doll, I want to.
“All the pleasure was mine, Milena.”
I take a step forward and reach for her, letting my fingers brush her palm as I hold it up to kiss it gently. Her skin is just a shade darker than mine; it feels as if she belongs to me already.
“My name is Aleksei Kasyanov. I fear my intentions are not entirely good.”
She does not back away from me and I do not see any trace of fear in her eyes, only curiosity. I am both intrigued and amazed by her, and my desire to make her mine only grows. Feeling my blood starting to boil as I bend to whisper in her ear, I recognize this feeling of restlessness, the familiar impulse to take what belongs to me. I can hardly contain myself, but I do not let her see any of it.
“I would love if you would come with me, your music would be delightful during wandering nights such as this one…”
I do not wait for an answer, I do not need one. I feel her heart beat loudly its consent in her chest; I hear her soul answering my call. I do not wish to rush things; I believe it is an important exchange that must be treated as such. Too many of my kind just ruin it with their insatiable hunger, draining their victim without appreciating the warm blood flowing from one to another.
When I bury my fangs in the soft skin of her neck, I hold her tight against my chest. I close my arms around her as a lover, shielding her from view while I perform my dark deed. She lets a faint whimper escape her, but I do not intend to cause her pain much longer. Even though she tastes like fresh summer strawberries, I let go of her the moment I feel her heart rate reach a dangerous low. Only then do I slice my own wrist and let a few drops of my blood touch her sweet lips, which she licks mechanically before she falls unconscious.
Not many are able to do so, stop before it is too late; it is a wonder how our race has survived this long. Hunger has always been the element driving us forward, pushing us to go for the kill. Elder vampires, aristocrats, are the ones with better restraint, but we do not turn anyone anymore. There are so few of us left that we are afraid; we want to protect our pure bloodline. Those we do choose as companions are so close to the source of power that they often develop gifts of their own. Their capabilities are pale compared to ours, and only thin every time a new generation is created, but it is enough to frighten those who reign the underworld. They are afraid of the possibility that an alliance may be forged between the bloodlines we created.
I am not. I do not fear those I call my family. As I carry my newest daughter to my horse as gently as I can, I only feel pride. The members of the Kasyanov clan all have a special talent, for which I have chosen them. I am a collector of rare and beautiful things, and I make sure they are well taken care of. I have their love and their loyalty; I provide them with a safe and luxurious environment. I am their father, their lord, their friend. I am not afraid they will betray me.
But I know. I know the other pure bloods fear me, too.