Monteferrant, France July 7, 1583


Januarius Cauchon leans lightly against the lamppost with a wine bottle under his arm. As the lamplight plays over his angular face he looks upon Febronia Charlotte DE Monteferrant's house. He brushes a few strands of long blonde hair out of his eyes and wipes a stray blood tear from his pearly white cheek. He knows that this shall be the last time he’ll see her heavenly face, for tonight, he shall die. 

Standing there, trying to put his thoughts and words together, he notices the flicker of candlelight in the bay window towards the front of the house. Lightning flashes and illuminates everything in its stark black and white unnatural light. When his vision clears the dancing flame is no more. Moments later, the door swings open and there stands Febronia, his beautiful snow white pearl, and final love, on the threshold. The candles’ flame causes the shadows to dance across her rosy cheeks and caresses her full breasts. He can make out her every feature, even her bare feet, that are swathed in darkness. His eyesight, as keen as an eagles, even picks out the gilded mirror on the far wall behind her.

Thunder rumbles across the heavens as if the very foundations on top of which they were laid are about to founder and turn to dust. He reflects upon the night that was so much like this one, when he achieved the new birth into a world so different, yet so like the one in which he now lived. When he, a foolhardy youth, went in search of eternal youth, love, and immortality, he got all three that night, yet not a single one was what he assumed it would be.

Januarius the last of his kind, who, in search for a harbinger of the dark blood that permeated his body, has fallen in love with this beautiful young lady who stands not a mere fifteen yards away. It had started as a game, as it usually did, and turned out to be what he now thought a fatal mistake. For now she knew him for what he truly was, an element of the unnatural, the last citizen of the society of the undead. Yet, she did not cringe from even his unfeeling embrace. She actually stepped into it of her own accord, without fear. She even asked to be held within his icy grasp, of all things. She did not fear him then, and she does not now. She even permitted him to taste of the sweet treasure that flowed beneath her pale silky skin. To him it was like being spellbound in the height of sexual passion for the first time. For her, it was nothing short of ecstasy. He went as far as offering her the promise of eternal youth, love, and immortality through his dark blood. However, it was not what she sought after and refused on every occasion. For that, and that alone, he knew that she would be the perfect one.

She raises her hand and beckons him to her, the movement causing the flame to dance and sputter. He stands and saunters toward her, his feet not making a sound as they glide effortlessly across the flagstones, his trousers brushing against each other the only sound in the tranquil humid air. She reaches out to embrace him, and he steps in and wraps his left arm around her. One body warm with life, the other, cold with death. He leans over slightly and kisses her against the tight Cupids bow that is her lips. He moves down to her neck and gently bites her and tastes the sweetness of her blood for the last time. He releases his mind and lets it flow along with her blood and her sweet memories. He moves further down burying his face in her cleavage. He kisses her hard nipples feeling her pulse through his lips. While releasing her he gently pushes her back. He produces the wine bottle from under his arm sliding it into her hand.