Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 31: Louise Poincaré

Frankie had always been particularly fond of the Urmen celebration, even though she didn't have a lick of Romani blood in her. But there was something about the wandering gypsies that she related to on some level, and the festival seasons in Budapest celebrating their ancient traditions had always appealed greatly to her.

Perhaps that was because in many ways, even with the noble blood that ran through her veins, Frankie had always been somewhat of a hopeless wanderer, thriving when she was free to do and believe and love who and what she pleased and where she liked. And while this particular celebration honored the control-thieving embodiment of fate, it also marked the approaching of a new year and that was certainly something the woman could get behind.

Besides, it didn't take being a gypsy to enjoy the vibrancy and mystery that made-up its culture. Most people attended the festival for the sights – the plethora of fortune-teller tents, mini-carnival attractions, and small shops selling trinkets, costumes, scarves, and bangles. The cuisine consisted of traditional Romanian and Hungarian dishes, most savory in nature; the aroma rising up into the air and filling the east-side of Budapest in a blanket of scents that awakened even a vampire's more singular hunger. Most insisted on dressing up – their costumes elaborate and colorful, some of them containing genuine regalia passed down from generation to generation.

But it wasn't the sights or smells that drew Frankie to the streets every year for the Urmen festival.

It was the music.

Violin music to be specific.

The moment she heard that bow scratch over strings, she was lost.

It was like hypnotism.

She was drawn to the music like a slave, entranced with the various intricate melodies and the mastery in which they were played. The hundreds of notes delivered with such life, such fervor and passion – it awakened in the female vampire a sense of longing, a dull ache in the center of her silent chest. Yet being the faintly masochistic woman she was, instead of making an effort to avoid this thing which often left her in pain, she actively sought it out.

That ache the music created in her made her feel more alive than anything had in the longest time. She moved through the crowded streets of the east side, weaving in and out of people in search for the owner of the violin that happened to be playing the most glorious music she had heard in years.

Situated on the edges of a large fountain in the middle of a square were a man and woman dressed in traditional garb, both with flawlessly tan skin and raven hair, the strands in spiral curls that bounced and swayed as the masters of the instruments allowed their music to become a literal part of them. Frankie was instantly spellbound as she allowed her attention to fall over the instrument of the man, observing with fascination and recognition as his fingers flew over the strings while the bow danced.

The notes he played blended and swirled flawlessly with that of his counterpart as the two played the traditional Romanian folkdances – Poarga româneasca and Maruntel – the crowd exceptionally pleased when they had finished, the two violinists receiving a hearty round of applause.

The next song Frankie quickly recognized as Czárdás, and as it was played, she instinctively closed her eyes for a precious moment, allowing the fingers of her left hand to move in time to that of the notes as if she herself were holding the precious instrument. She knew that she should be heading to her appointment with Jack and his sister Louise, but she couldn't help but allow herself the momentary reprieve.

Jack, she was certain, would be understanding.

As the song continued, it was easy to imagine herself standing in the music room of her uncle's house, with him at the piano accompanying her as she played, cousin Marceau playing the cello and his sisters Georgine and Alayna dancing with Rémy. She wasn't certain if what she was envisioning was an actual long-forgotten memory or a vivid creation of her imagination. But whatever it was, she soon became aware of a tender longing pulsating inside of her and she was forced to stop. The music brought back too many painful memories – her aunt's death in particular.