Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

The Picture of Edmond Dantès

France, 1684

"You need to keep still," Ysanne Moreau advised, narrowing her eyes at her lover.

"How long will this take?" Edmond asked, shifting in his seat.

Ysanne glanced at Octave, and the artist gave a long-suffering sigh.

"It will take as long as it takes," he said stiffly.

"Though I imagine it will take longer if you keep fidgeting," Ysanne said, giving Edmond a pointed look.

"I just don't see why this is necessary. You know what I look like."

"Octave, will you give us a moment alone?" Ysanne said.

Muttering under his breath, the artist stalked from the room. He seemed to take Edmond's reluctance as a personal insult to his artistic talents.

As soon as he was gone, Edmond relaxed. Ysanne walked across the room and perched in his lap.

"I have no pictures of Richart or Julien, and it's been so long since I lost them that I find I cannot recall them as clearly as I once did. I've never forgotten the way Richart's eyes used to light up whenever I came into a room, but I can't quite remember what colour they were. I've never forgotten the way Julien used to kiss me, but I can't quite remember the shape of his mouth. I need to immortalise the people I care about in pictures so I don't lose anyone else."

It had started with Agnes, then Eustacie, and now Ysanne needed a portrait of Edmond too. The pictures were only small, and she liked them that way. They were easy to carry when she and Edmond moved from place to place.

"You're not going to lose me," Edmond said.

"You don't know that. Neither of us know what the future will bring."

Ysanne wasn't convinced that Edmond understood. As a human, he'd planned to marry a peasant girl from his village, but she'd died of plague, along with his family. For the rest of his human life, that winter that he had spent with Ysanne had been the closest to a romantic relationship that he'd had. Then he'd become a vampire, and though he'd told her about the casual lovers he'd taken while living with Francois, there had been no real relationships. He had not loved anyone else, not until Ysanne came back into his life. These days, he rarely spoke of Lucy, his human love, though Ysanne knew he hadn't forgotten her, and the loss of François still stung, but Edmond still didn't understand what it was to live as long as Ysanne. He'd only been a vampire for thirteen years, and most of those had been living in François's shadow. He simply didn't know what it was like to be so old that the people you loved became shadows in your mind.

"Please, do this for me," she said.

Edmond tugged at his cravat, and Ysanne stilled his hand with her own.

"All you have to do is sit and be still and quiet while he paints you. Is that beyond your capabilities?"

"No," Edmond grumbled. "But I feel like a fool posing like this."

Ysanne shifted her weight, pressing herself harder against him. "It could have been worse. I could have asked you to pose nude."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I? Maybe I wish to immortalise every part of the people I love."

Edmond grinned, mischief flashing in his eyes. "I like to think you see that part often enough that you'll never forget it."

Ysanne couldn't help a laugh. "Maybe so, but indulge me in this one thing."

Edmond tugged his cravat again. "Very well."

Ysanne called Octave back in the room, and he gave them both a hard look.

"Will there be any more interruptions?" he said, narrowing his eyes at Edmond in particular.

"No," Ysanne said.

"Excellent. Now if you will please turn your head a little to the side, monsieur, yes, like that." Octave picked up his paintbrush.

Ysanne watched him paint, the brush flicking quick, clever strokes, shaping Edmond's face, his raven's-wing hair and dagger-sharp cheekbones, the straight line of his neck, the dark glitter of his eyes. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever taken as a lover, and when she looked at him like this, it seemed impossible that she could ever forget any part of him.

But she'd once thought that about Julien.

Edmond had become such an important part of her life; she couldn't imagine him not being here anymore. But at the same time she wasn't naive enough to think that he would always be here. The loss of her human husbands had taught her that things could change so quickly, and often without warning.

She would hold onto Edmond for as long as she could, but the day might come when he wasn't hers anymore. If that happened, she wanted something to keep with her always.

Edmond kept still throughout the session, though he occasionally shot looks at Ysanne that made it clear he hoped she'd reward him later. She smiled, a hint of red creeping into her eyes. Octave, with his back to her, didn't see it. Oh yes, she'd reward Edmond later.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Octave put the last stroke to the portrait. "It is done," he proclaimed, his face glowing with pride.

"It's perfect," Ysanne said, moving closer so she could admire it.

"Of course it is," said Octave, insulted. "Did you expect anything else?"

Edmond stood up, stretching. "Can I go now?"

Octave waved a hand, no longer interested in his subject. "Yes, yes, go."

Edmond walked over to Ysanne, and slipped his fingers through hers. "Are you happy now?"

"Yes," she said, looking up at him. "For now I am happy."

See you on Friday, Vladdicts. I think I may spoil you with another double update. How does two Edmond stories sound? :D