Evaneé

I

     It wasn't as hard as you might have guessed to keep me inside throughout the most of my life. It was always so cold, so bitter, that a nice place by the fire seemed more inviting. Still, I got to experience the chill, dusty climate every now and then, when my instructor took me out to the stables and we rode horses through the thin leafed forest and I got to taste the breeze on my cheeks. But mostly, I found comfort in curling up by the fire and reading a book. I try to limit thinking too much, whereas all of my thoughts end up around the subject of death and the afterlife, or what my existence was really amounting to. No, I would rather stay ignorant. The weather reflects on my life; 'tis dreary enough.

Also, my thoughts sometimes wander into the area of the strange man that contributed to the accursed life I live, indoors, with not much to look forward to. I say contributed, as he was not the bane of my existence in any way. It just happened to be that what happened that day many moons ago was only one of the reasons I lived a life so sheltered.

I live in an area around many vampires, all of whom go after me when they get even the slightest whiff of my veins when I'm passing through town. I've had too many experiences with them that even that has begun to bore me. I usually am escorted in public by knights who watch over me and protect me, however I find it quite difficult to pick apples on trees or politely talk to civilians whilst an armed guard is breathing over my shoulder. That's why I sneak out every now and then, brandishing a weapon in case of supernatural appearances. The most I've ever had to do to defend myself was to actually stab one of those fiendish creatures, and I did it with conscientiousness that they could actually heal themselves rather quickly,being undead. I don't want to hurt anyone, whether they are a human or supernatural being.

My point is being, I have encountered the vampiric kind dozens upon dozens of times, and each time I had to fend for myself. Never have I ever seen one react in the way that the man I met years ago did. He went in for the kill, stopped, and flew away. I respect him in that way. But sometimes I still can't get his voice out of my head, crystal clear.

He told me he'd be back for me, and here I am, years later, and a small part of me is waiting for him to take me away from this weird place. I think myself to be absurd, but I can also see the likeliness of my own mad dreams occurring. It makes me feel excited. It makes me feel scared. But then again, the ironic part of being with a creature of the undead makes me feel so... Alive.

When I was younger, after the incident that nearly tore me apart, I would recurringly scream in my sleep so wildly that the nursemaids thought death was already apparent at the very moment, as if I were being possessed by a demon. However, when they woke me up, I would wake up and act normal, almost immediately, as one of the maids described it.

I remember that I even wished I was still in the dream, because in those dreams, I was with the man I met so briefly in the forest. They would have seemed odd to anyone else, and almost inappropriate, so I told no one. It wasn't like I wanted to tell anyone, either, as I have no real friends but myself. However, in these dreams, I enjoyed his company; they felt so real and I felt comfortable being around him, talking about whatever was on my mind, whether it was about bunny rabbits and their fuzzy tails, or how the large, dark and empty palace affected my mood and made me feel sad. These were things I didn't even mention around my parents; my thoughts, my hopes and dreams. But as I told him all, he'd listen to it all, while I sat on his lap and he held me close, brushing hair out of my face, those ivory teeth and tawny eyes so consoling. The man would reassure me that everything would be alright, or he'd tell me a joke and he'd make me giggle a little bit. He would smile so kindly at me that my heart couldn't help but flutter a little, being with such a pretty gentleman was so aesthetically pleasing. Before I was awoken each time, we could both hear the walls of my imagination crumbling, so with that he would always say a rushed farewell and leave me inside of my own mind. I missed him so when he was away. Some nights, he wasn't there at all, and I was alone once more. It wasn't much of anything to me, yet it still felt nicer to be with him.

I suppose I was screaming in those dreams because even having pleasant conversation with a creature of the devil was torturing my body. But not my heart, not my soul. Was he really full of that much sin? I wondered.

I haven't had a dream like that in what seems like forever, but I wouldn't mind seeing him again. To be quite frank, I would actually love to see him again. He was almost one of the only people I could really be myself around. I feel a strain in my chest, and it could only be longing. I wish to see if he would keep his word. I want him to come back for me. I think-- that I might want--"

A knock on the door startled me, causing the chair I sat on to creak as I jumped in surprise.

"Yes?" I hollered, not moving my feet from the ottoman. I sighed, closing the diary I'd been writing in for years now just so I could keep a bit of my sanity; locking up those many thoughts of mine in a safe place, rejecting almost all of them from my head. I only felt stressed when there was a night I was not allowed to write in my diary, by the fireplace, in my cozy kingdom: my bedroom. Tonight, however, I had not been expecting visitors. I felt unpleased at first.

"Princess Evanée, may I come in, dear?" The frail, old lady's voice gave my heart a bit more of a beat and my lips a bit more of a smile. It was my beloved nursery maid, Annabelle.

"Of course, good lady, come inside." I saw her open the door steadily, a tray with milk and cookies in hand, and there she was, at my beck and call. Her tired, yet bright blue eyes only kept warning me that she wasn't getting any younger, but none the less, she was still happy.

"Princess, I brought you a snack before your bedtime." Annabelle said as he approached me, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

"My gratitude! Dear Annabelle, won't you share these treats with me?"

"Why, Evanée," a playful gleam wandered her eye, "I mustn't."

"Oh, but I do insist, madame. I do." I winked, failing to contain my laughter with her as she chuckled, sitting down on the sofa and joining me in eating the scrumptious cookies that the cooks made. "If you insist!" Annabelle teased, her shoulders slumping a little as she nudged off a slice of her formality with me. Annabelle and I usually played this little game with each other, because according to rules of the household, servant and monarch were not allowed to treat each other as equals. My parents only had this rule so they would keep the castle looking formal, which I thought was just plain boring. Annabelle had known me ever since I was a babe, and it felt as though she had parented me the most. In all fairness, she had spent a greater deal of time with me than either of my guardians. A bit sob story in regards to my parents, yet it was true, as Annabelle was a good friend of mine.

Annabelle and I chatted a bit, drinking our milk and eating the sweets, enjoying the moment we had together as the fire crackled in the background. Soon enough, as soon as I let out a courteous little yawn, she told me it was time for slumber, helping me up and guiding me just a few feet away to my bed, a lavish comforter with the fullest feather pillows and silkiest sheets. Yes, even though I was used to the life of a royal, nothing was better than admiring the bed. She was sweet as she tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and left the room with the empty platter and the kind grin I so adored. My eyes started to feel heavier as I let go of my own body weight and let everything on me relax, sinking into the bed.

There were strange occurrences that night, however. I started having uncomforting dreams of ghouls and short flashbacks of times I had interacted with vampires in the slightest, all of them no longer at ease in my memory, but haunting me, engulfing me with guilt and anger and fear. I could have sworn that I woke up, half awake and half asleep, envisioning a shadow across from my bed. It was a tall shadow, an undefined one, watching me from afar. I felt too dazed to identify it further as I fell back into unconsciousness. It could have been a figure of my imagination, it must have. But why had I never had nightmares like those in such a long time, until now? That was a question I could not answer in that moment. Those were days that I was not used to nightmares, not so acquainted with them, as I am now.