Monster

20. A Bronze Bell

1832 March 1st

seven O'clock in the morning

A Bronze Bell

"I don't wish to speak with you."

Elsa snarled the words without even turning around to face Sven, whom she knew approached from behind. She heard his shoulder collide with the door-frame, his arms crossed.

"I fear that's just too bad," he said softly, "because on the contrary, I'd like to speak with you."

Elsa fumed but continued to stare out the window at the specks of snow dancing in the sunlight; sunlight she wished so dearly to twirl and soak in. Her eyes inadvertently lowered to her hands, white as pearl. She stifled the urge to stand, turn, and throw the chair she sat in at Sven with all of her rage.

"As I have said before—your mother was a vampyre, Elsa. I should have known it would never have been appropriate, or fortunate, especially for me."

Elsa had to admit, there was a certain sadness in his voice that forced a snag of pity from within her. She blinked hard to try and ignore it, but it stayed like a stubborn weed.

"I loved her, and she betrayed me."

"She wanted to be with you forever," Elsa whispered, then turned to face Sven even though her stomach lurched unpleasantly at the sight of him. His ashy blonde hair was ruffled, but his pointed, smooth face stared at her placidly. "You killed her, when all she wanted was to be with you forever." If Elsa hadn't been observing the man at the threshold she would not have seen the glimmer of self-doubt in his eyes as he blinked and looked away.

"The succubus lie," was all he said before turning to leave.

Elsa shot to her feet and faster than lightening she took his arm, trying with all her rage to crush it with her fingers. Sven only blinked, a twitch in his cheek, and then stared down at her, a film of confusion over his eyes, which Elsa could see this closely, were bruised beneath with what looked like exhaustion. "My mother was not a cruel person. My father would never had loved her if she was." Elsa burned her stare into Sven's. "You made a mistake in killing her."

Sven stared right back at her, and for a moment he looked as lost as she felt, then twisted his arm out of her grip, yanked the watch from her chest, breaking the chain, and stalked down the corridor of his mansion. Elsa tried to move after him but a door appeared out of no where, slamming and locking in place. She tugged the knob furiously but to no effect. Cursing, more out of her own inner turmoil than the door, she slumped against it and closed her swollen eyes.

I am sorry, Ronan... that I betrayed you, and then betrayed you again. A tear rolled down her cheek. If only she had felt these emotions directly after she was turned—she could have protected him. He would never have had a reason to hunt her down and kill her. Sven and Nicholas would never have had a reason to hunt him down and kill him. It was all her fault he was dead. And for eternity, she would never forgive herself.

1832 March 1st

Ten minutes after Eleven O'clock at night

Elsa woke nestled in the same spot in the hall, to find that the door was no longer there. She stood, brushing the dust off her dress, but it made no difference. She was still covered in it, from head to toe. She raced down the corridor and toward the exit down the stairs. She was not sure how to navigate through Sven's mansion. It was massive, and unpredictable, she had learned, like a wind chime.

Out in the frozen world of Torun, she raced freely, thirsty. She did not plan to kill anyone. She hated the smell of death now. She just needed enough to suffice for another few days, that was all. To her dismay, there was nobody around. Icicles hung from verandas like vampyre teeth. Snow collected on windowsills and swirled around her, caught in her hair and the hem of her dress. She ambled into alleyways in search of anyone, homeless or lost. But in this weather she could not scent any warmth around, except for inside the buildings, that nearly leaned down over her like watchful hawks protecting their nests. She grimaced at the thought of breaking into someone's home, even though her throat burned with temptation.