Sensitive to the Light Immortal Bloodlines I

Sensitive to the Light (edit) 1.1

Callan

I moved silently through the deserted maze of corridors which traversed Castlewood, idly trailing my fingertips over the mahogany panels of the wall.  Built in the early eighteenth century, the Institute had managed to withstand the variety of roles bestowed upon it with the majority of its original features intact. Even now it remained a stunning example of Regency architecture.

My path lead me to a lengthy, little used stairwell, its twists and turns descending two floors before being abruptly cut off by a pair of heavy windowless fire doors. The stairs disappeared as I eased the doors closed behind me, stepping onto a bottleneck gangway spanning the length of the cavernous auditorium.  

The sympathetically designed space was empty - almost all of the lower three floors in the west wing had been consumed by the twentieth century construction of the Institute’s school theatre. The imitation brocade was lacking in sophistication, yet appropriately fanciful, designed to offset the dusky red of the drapes framing the stage.

A small sound booth took on the role of the traditional orchestral pit.  Sliding soundlessly behind its half-hexagonal trio of glass windows, I found that the narrow ladder on the the far side accessed a near invisible recess of seating concealed below.

There were no lights on this high up. It gave me the perfect vantage point from which to observe.  I had made an appointment for the previous Friday to retrieve my student I.D. and schedule before the first day of term - I harbored no desire to fraternise with the melee of idiot children congregating in the reception.  The majority were likely utter buffoons who couldn’t find their collective rear ends with both hands if they tried.

I had been tuning them out for the last hour.  I despised their mindless, insignificant chatter.  I perked up when I heard the beginnings of a confrontation before dismissingits merit as something of potential interest the moment I heard the word 'sunglasses'.  Chalking it up to some spoiled little shit with an aversion to simple rules, I ignored it and retreated to my thoughts once more.  

I was pulled from my reverie by the sound of footsteps advancing towards the auditorium on the lowest floor.  The sharp clack of sensible heels against linoleum tiles marked the authoritative stride of a tutor, accompanied by the muffled footfalls of boot shod feet moving quickly to compensate a difference in stature.  They slowed to a halt outside the main entrance to the auditorium.

“You can wait in here love,” the tutor’s voice was soft as she pulled the right of the two double doors open and stepped inside, beckoning for the second person to follow.  

I couldn't see her face under her black hoodie and dark glasses.  I stifled a chuckle as I realised that this small girl had caused the earlier commotion.

“If you sit up there lovey, we've kept the lights off in the far corner for you.  Will you be alright with that?”

“That's fine,” she said in a voice as light and soft as a feather. “Thank you.”

The tutor nodded her hawkish head in acknowledgment as she stepped back into the corridor, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind her.

The girl stood by the door for a moment, slumping and curling into herself as she sighed, pulling her hood back from her head, setting free a luscious cascade of thick black hair curling in soft waves over her shoulders and down her back.  I was in awe as she started up the stairs towards me – calling her pale would be an understatement, but likening her skin to alabaster or porcelain would be an insult.  

She looked as though she was made from snow-frosted glass, translucent and fragile.  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she came closer.  

Never in all my years had I seen anyone so tiny; standing a shade over five feet tall, but perfectly proportioned with long legs, a slender curved waist and a small bosom which suited her perfectly – anything more would have overwhelmed her delicate frame.

She took a seat just a few rows in front of me, taking off her sunglasses and running her gloved fingers through her hair.  Her soft scent assaulted my senses, woody and exotic with hints of jasmine and lillies.  I found myself suddenly fascinated by this human child - I wanted to know her, to be close to her.  

The need was overwhelming, irrational and stupid considering the danger it could put me and my kind in, but my lips moved of their own accord without my consent.

“Hi,” I blurted, my voice emerging as a dry, nervous croak.

Hi? What the fuck, Callan? That was very eloquent of you. Twat.