Crimson Wine {Rewriting ~ Melancholic Miscreation}

Chapter Seven

This was a difficult chapter to write, if you find something odd or amiss, feel free to comment so and point it out for me. Also, enjoy some music as you read; it's quite relaxing to me, I just hope that you too will find it so (it's pretty dark stuff, I must warn you though). :3 Enough chattering from me. . .onward to the story with you! (:

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"So, vampires do exist?" Maynard asked as he sat his cold glass of brandy down on the dining table; the bit of force he had placed behind it had caused the few cubes of ice within the glass to chatter against its edges. I watched, out of amazement and boredom, as the cool water beads leisurely cascaded down the outer edges of his glass, then peered up at him and answered his question with a subtle nod as I placed my glass upon the table.

"Are you a vampire?" inquired Maynard.

As of the current moment, I felt no need---nor want---to bring about any form of harm unto Maynard. After all, the man was merely curious for the truth of my kind.

I smiled softly. "Yes," I said, as I took another sip of my near-empty glass of brandy. I'll admit, I've never been a lover of brandy; I preferred wine, but on many occasions I preferred the bittersweet essence and flavor of hot, fresh blood.

"So, why did you get injured? I thought that all vampires were supposed to be practically invincible?"

"Vampires aren't invincible; we bleed just like any other being. Take enough damage---like I just did---and it results in the vampire fainting, though . . . I'll be honest, I had no idea of this odd phenomena until last night transpired. I have always avoided physical combat and thus led to my inability to possess any necessary fighting skills."

Maynard propped his chin into his hand and examined me with fascination visible in his hazel eyes, "So, you're not immortal then?"

I couldn't contain the cackle that had erupted from my lips. "My dear, Maynard, of course I'm immortal; just . . . not invincible."

He raised a thick, yet well-trimmed brow at me. "I've noticed that you also dropped the French accent, in fact your accent sounds more Italian than French, now that I actually pay attention to it."

I stopped in my fit and looked at him with suspicion and asked him in my, now apparent, natural Italian accent, "Maynard, might I be able to bestow this secret with you and know that you will keep it well-guarded and safe for the rest of your mortal life?"

He took up his glass once more and drank a greedy amount before placing it back down. "What secret are you talking about?" he asked as he knocked a stray strand of dark brown hair from his eyes.

"The one we just spoke of."

He grinned arrogantly revealing his glistening, white teeth. "Well, of course you can!" he exclaimed, raising his glass into the air. I smirked and smoothly crossed my arms onto the table, interlacing my fingers while examining him before I spoke:

"You know, you're the first human that I have ever entrusted with such a secret and let live; don't make me regret it, Maynard."

His eyes widened faintly in fear, his muscles had also tensed from the sudden onset of threat and honesty inside of my tone processing throughly through his mind. "I . . . promise that you won't regret it." He briskly ran his fingers over his burgundy mustache.

I smiled softly at him and nodded. "You better keep your promise, lest your head end up served on a silver platter with an apple crammed in your mouth like a roasted pig's."

He immediately stiffenend, a slight amount of perspiration appearing on his forehead as he cleared his throat:

"It will be kept," he paused. "but . . . I'm still curious: What do you plan to do about Ian?"