The Scent Of Roses

Chapter Three- London, England: 1581

London,

England, 1581

 My eyes opened to reveal a crazy eyed old man. White hair suck up around his head, a beard grew wiry and short.

He must not have seen my open eyes because he pressed a scalpel to my neck. My eyes grew wide in panic. Where was I?

Cold metal pressed against the back of my arms, coldness slipped through the thin cloth that covered my body. It was the only thing that was between the freezing table and me.

            I opened my mouth wide and screamed a hoarse cry. The man backed away with a start. His gray old eyes wide, confused.

            “It’s not possible,” he stammered, “Your heart, it wasn’t beating. You weren’t even breathing.”

            I sat up slowly on the table. I slowly examined the room. It glowed with a soft yellow candlelight. There was a separate smaller table that was beside the one I was sitting on. It held different types of dissecting tools ranging from small knives to a butcher knife.

            There were also other metal tables that were similar to mine. Bodies laid under dirty, yellowing sheets.

            I was in a surgeon’s workshop. This was where they dissected the corpses of past living people. The surgeons were in this line of work in hopes of gaining further knowledge of the human body.

            I had heard horrifying tales of a victim awakening midway through an operation. They were supposed to be dead yet they weren’t. I can’t say I had ever believed these horrendous stories, but they still have the ability to haunt ones mind. It seems I had most of my beliefs found wrong in just the past twenty-four hours that day.

            Now, I thought these stories might have been partially correct after all, if not fully. Did that mean I was alive or dead? I looked at the old man, his face pale with fright.

            That was when I heard a glorious sound. It sounded like the water dripping from the stone fountain in my parents’ townhouse garden. Though this sound was even more beautiful. I felt something sharp push against the inside of my lips. It almost felt like Charles teeth at my neck, I thought grimly. I freeze, it did feel like that.

            My sight became hazy, my mind over powering with need. What is happening? The need became too much to control. Before I knew what I was doing I leapt off of the metal table. My fangs found themselves sunk into the poor man’s throat.

            The cherry red liquid flowed into my mouth. It was delicious as it trickled down my throat. Just a couple of days ago I would have been revolted at even the sight or smell of blood. This was different though, right? Charles did something to me, he made me into the same monster he was.

            The old man went limp against me. I had drained him of his blood. I stepped away from him, sick to my stomach. Not because of the blood, but because I had ended a life. I fell onto my knees and retched. I was now a murderess.

            Tears flowed down from my eyes, my head in my hands. How could I have done such a thing? Easy, you needed to, the desire was too much, my mind answered.

            I looked up from my hands at the pale lifeless body on the stone ground. Yes, I had to do it. I examined him more closely. The spot where I had bitten, only to small pinpricks on the greasy skin.

            I stood up and looked around the room for something to wear. The cloth slip I wore had blood on the front where it had dripped from my chin. I found a simple blue gown on another table. I didn’t dare think where it may have come from while I slipped it over my head.

            A black cloak hung from a wooden hook on the wall and I clipped it around my throat.

            I had to go up some worn stairs to get upstairs to where the front door was located. The surgeon’s workroom was in the cellar where the smell of rotten flesh could be contained.

            I opened the front door and stepped into the night, but not before I put the hood over my head. I smiled cruelly, that was the first night I drank from a mortal.