Confessions of the Hell-bound
folder
Vampire › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
4,241
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
4,241
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
I. The Edge of Innocence
I. The Edge of Innocence
The winter of 1940 was coarse and cold, as were all those before it, but the bite of the wind that year was anxious as it whistled down from the mountains. It was as if a pond was about to ripple, and I was standing on the bank, just waiting for the pebble to be dropped. My skirts and the laundry that I hung on a line flapped in the wind, and my ribbon slipped from my brown curls and danced away. I knew then, watching it go with weary eyes, that no matter what came to me over the mountains, that it would be my innocence that left with it.
I was learned and weathered enough for a girl my age, but somehow I was unable to feel the duress of the one event that I knew hunted me that year. It was my sixteenth birthday to come, and I would be then too old for the orphanage. My dear friend Marta, who was also aging that year, was worried enough for both of us, but that is because she could not feel the edge on the wind that I could. However, being a fifteen-year-old silly girl, I contributed all of this to a boy.
“Anka!” his voice called to me, as he bounded down stairs of stone and creaky wood. “Anka, can you feel it?”
I stood as still as stone, unable to believe that Nicolas felt the same restlessness that I did. I turned to him and set my basket down, waiting for him to reveal his meaning.
He gripped my shoulders excitedly and smiled his big, doting smile at me. “There is good news for us and Marta as well. Did you feel the air get lighter?”
I laughed at him and his excitement. I did feel the air get lighter, but only because of his smile and his touch. He did not feel the stirring winds, but that was alright. At the moment, neither did I.
“I think I did, Nicolas. What is this news?”
“The hotel in town has lost some of its employees to sickness, and another to an accident.”
I gasped. “That is terrible news!”
“Not for us!” he explained. “They were all kitchen staff and waitresses, up with the sun and down when…well I do not know. Most of them lived there, Anka, and they need to be replaced.”
I understood. “They would have us?”
“They will have us. And what’s more, they are willing to pay a little. We could even have a place for ourselves one day.”
“That is talk for you, Nicolas. Marta and I cannot hope for so much.”
He grinned his wide, scheming grin. “Well, maybe not Marta.”
I blushed down to my toes. I knew he meant to sweep me up, to spirit me away like a demon of the orient with his big hopes and confident smile. I believed him, most of the time. God owed something to us orphans, I figured. He owed more to Nicolas even, who never asked for anything, but just assumed that he could get things if he tried hard enough. God helps those who help themselves, they say.
A stout and round sister stuck her habit covered head out of a window and implored me to stop my dawdling and bring the linens in, for there were dark clouds on the horizon and lightning flashing between the mountains. That storm would come in the night, and in the morning I would begin to learn the lesson that God and man left out of their cheeky aphorisms. There are times when you cannot help yourself, but nonetheless, God is silent, as the best ironies tend to be.
*********
This is a framed story, which in this case means that it is a giant flashback interjected occasionally by Anka's modern-day diary entries. A story in a story, ya? As the tale gets wilder, I hope you're like me and seriously wonder what her poor daughter is thinking...
*************
The winter of 1940 was coarse and cold, as were all those before it, but the bite of the wind that year was anxious as it whistled down from the mountains. It was as if a pond was about to ripple, and I was standing on the bank, just waiting for the pebble to be dropped. My skirts and the laundry that I hung on a line flapped in the wind, and my ribbon slipped from my brown curls and danced away. I knew then, watching it go with weary eyes, that no matter what came to me over the mountains, that it would be my innocence that left with it.
I was learned and weathered enough for a girl my age, but somehow I was unable to feel the duress of the one event that I knew hunted me that year. It was my sixteenth birthday to come, and I would be then too old for the orphanage. My dear friend Marta, who was also aging that year, was worried enough for both of us, but that is because she could not feel the edge on the wind that I could. However, being a fifteen-year-old silly girl, I contributed all of this to a boy.
“Anka!” his voice called to me, as he bounded down stairs of stone and creaky wood. “Anka, can you feel it?”
I stood as still as stone, unable to believe that Nicolas felt the same restlessness that I did. I turned to him and set my basket down, waiting for him to reveal his meaning.
He gripped my shoulders excitedly and smiled his big, doting smile at me. “There is good news for us and Marta as well. Did you feel the air get lighter?”
I laughed at him and his excitement. I did feel the air get lighter, but only because of his smile and his touch. He did not feel the stirring winds, but that was alright. At the moment, neither did I.
“I think I did, Nicolas. What is this news?”
“The hotel in town has lost some of its employees to sickness, and another to an accident.”
I gasped. “That is terrible news!”
“Not for us!” he explained. “They were all kitchen staff and waitresses, up with the sun and down when…well I do not know. Most of them lived there, Anka, and they need to be replaced.”
I understood. “They would have us?”
“They will have us. And what’s more, they are willing to pay a little. We could even have a place for ourselves one day.”
“That is talk for you, Nicolas. Marta and I cannot hope for so much.”
He grinned his wide, scheming grin. “Well, maybe not Marta.”
I blushed down to my toes. I knew he meant to sweep me up, to spirit me away like a demon of the orient with his big hopes and confident smile. I believed him, most of the time. God owed something to us orphans, I figured. He owed more to Nicolas even, who never asked for anything, but just assumed that he could get things if he tried hard enough. God helps those who help themselves, they say.
A stout and round sister stuck her habit covered head out of a window and implored me to stop my dawdling and bring the linens in, for there were dark clouds on the horizon and lightning flashing between the mountains. That storm would come in the night, and in the morning I would begin to learn the lesson that God and man left out of their cheeky aphorisms. There are times when you cannot help yourself, but nonetheless, God is silent, as the best ironies tend to be.
*********
This is a framed story, which in this case means that it is a giant flashback interjected occasionally by Anka's modern-day diary entries. A story in a story, ya? As the tale gets wilder, I hope you're like me and seriously wonder what her poor daughter is thinking...
*************