Vampires in Versailles

Chapter Two

                                                                               Versailles

                                                                            August, 1683

When Alexander awoke, the first thing he gathered was that his left hand was hurting. Why, he did not know, just that it hurt him enough to awaken. Mentally pushing himself out of his lethargic stupor, he also came to realise his thoughts were scattered like broken shards of a mirror.

He had been dreaming, of home, of his mother and father. He had been back in Salzburg; he knew it was all merely a dream, and yet it had felt so real. It was like he relived his whole life. From birth, to death. From his mother's comfort when he had be afraid of the shadows in his room at night, from his father teaching to hunt and the use of a sword, when he played with his brother and Renet in the garden, to the day he died. When the dream changed, it became the nightmare. The one he always dreamt of.

Pain, fear, that cruel, inhuman, too perfect smile, made up of honey and dread. The face that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. He heard the cries of his parents, his brother and sister. He could smell iron, the tang of blood in his mouth, raw and vivid. And the pain, he could feel it even now in his left hand still. He had relived that part too. Even though he knew what was going to happen, still he cried out and tried so desperately to help his father and mother. It had been as if he were tied down, struggling in vain to reach them but could do nothing but lie and watch their lifeless bodies hit the ground with a painful thud, eyes forever petrified with horror, blood soaking their necks. All while, that honey sweet smile and dark eyes stared back at him.

Pain, he could still feel it.

Using the pain as an anchor; Alexander focused on it to steer himself out the dark corner of his mind and back to the real world. It worked, all was still, beyond the walls of the bedroom, servants could be heard busying themselves before anyone would truly start waking up. Talks of overheard gossip from members of the court were whispered, preparations for the day ahead were spoken of, worried murmurs of war were muttered. Not everyone could have heard all that though, only someone such as Alexander himself, could have heard that through the thick walls of the palace. But that was all he heard; no fire, no screams, no blood, all was normal. And yet, he could still feel the pain. Why could he still feel the pain?

But upon realisation, it was not in fact, anything to do with his dream, but more so due to the fact that Alexander's hand was in fact beginning to burn.

Sunrise, daylight, daybreak; it was morning, the sun had begun to rise.

Glancing at the large windows, he noticed a small crack where the shutters had not closed all the way, allowing a small ray of morning sunlight filtered through the room, onto Alexander's hand. Rushing out of the bed towards the shutters, whilst keeping a safe distance from the small ray of sunlight, he slammed them shut before any more damage could be done. Cursing and wincing, he staggered back to the enormously large bed, and collapsed upon it, not bothering to get back underneath the covers.

                                                                                            *

When it came to being the center of attention, that was more Renet's thing, not Alexander's. And yet, any time he or his brother and sister walked into the salon, or anywhere for that matter, they were all the center of attention.

"God, look at the sister, what a pale, frail little thing she is."

"Well, that's what happens when one never goes under the sun. None of them do."