Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Night of Fire: Part Two

After the end of World War One, Isabeau had left the munitions factory.

Her old friend Esther, and Esther's lover, Sarah, had lingered in Leeds for only a few more days, before moving on. Munitions work had been hard on everyone involved, and neither of them had wanted to stay in the place that had so many bad memories.

Once again, Isabeau and Esther had parted ways, and Isabeau had been left alone.

While the rest of the country was celebrating the end of the war, the world had become a dark and lonely place for Isabeau.

She missed the steady presence that Esther had been in her life.

She missed having someone to curl up in bed with at night.

She'd never been in love with Esther, but Esther had given her a purpose. Now she didn't have that anymore. The war had given her something to focus on, something to fight for, but now that was gone too, and of course she was glad that it was over, glad to see an end to the death and the horror, but sometimes she felt like she was in the middle of a very deep lake, frantically treading water and trying to stop herself from sinking.

She was lonely.

After leaving Leeds, she'd travelled around England again, but there'd been no joy in it this time. She'd felt like a ghost, like she was merely existing rather than living.

Now war had come to Britain again, and Isabeau had dragged herself from her fugue.

There'd been enemy air raids during the first war, but nothing like the concentrated brutality of the Blitz.

When it first started, Isabeau had panicked, because what could even a vampire do when death fell from the sky like that, constant and deadly?

But when she saw Londoners rallying together to help dig people out of the wreckage of their bombed houses, she realised that she did have a purpose. She could help.

Now she spent every night walking the London streets, waiting for the bombs to fall, and when they did, she utilised her strength, her speed, and her healing abilities to save as many lives as she could.

Many local people grew used to seeing her around, and though they didn't know who she was, they knew that she worked to save lives. People would offer her tea or cigarettes, or try to share what little food they had – rationing was firmly in place, and food was portioned out in tiny amounts, with many things simply disappearing from the market altogether – and she always politely declined. She didn't need any of those things, and she wouldn't take them from the people who did.

She no longer had time to feel lonely.

There was too much work to be done, too many people to save.

At first, she'd felt strangely detached from the humans in the city. They would never know what she really was, and when this war ended – because, like the one before, it eventually would – she would have to disappear again. Any bonds she forged during this time wouldn't last once it was over.

But then she was reminded of the resilience of these people, of their fierce refusal to let the war break them.

The nurses who worked themselves to the bone, saving as many lives as they could, even though their meagre rations were never enough.

The civilians who packed into the Tube stations by the thousands to shelter from the bombs, lying side by side on the floor and some even on the tracks, none of them knowing if their homes would still be there in the morning, yet still managing to smile and laugh and play games to entertain frightened children.