Immortal Ballad *ON HOLD*

Intercepted

12 January 1497

         Dear Alecxa,

 I have arrived at England, at last, after three weeks of journey. Although the carriage ride was anything but agreeable for m; the roads diverge many a time between England and Italy, I have arrived. Currently I am sitting within a large classroom, you wouldn’t believe how large this classroom is, Alecxa. There are Englishmen at all my sides, they smell of money and sweat and think that because I am a foreigner that I cannot understand their crude words.

The class is centred on a little black board where, on a platform behind a podium as tall as he, the frail looking teacher is pointing at his notes. I sit in my seat, too scared to speak out for my fear of being made fun of for my accent, and look at the classroom.

It is big, as big as our parlour, and its all full of students, some talking other taking avid notes while most are huddled around their amici talking like they were at a pub or something. I’m lucky enough to have found a seat in the centre of it all, bordering between the note takers and the talkers. The teacher continues to give his lecture, his voice echoing around the room loud enough for everyone to hear but not strong enough to scare anyone into paying attention.

The Englishmen, even after my first day, persist on insulting L’Italia, my accent and me. So what if I can’t say certain words correctly? How does that affect their personal lives? I’ll you Alecxa England is a strange land. Rudeness must be an ingredient added to the water, if so I shan’t be drinking it!

One good thing about this gloomy place has are the large stanze, called dorms in which we, student, live. It’s a small thing, yes, but given my current situation I think it is a good size for just me. I have no roommate, like some, so most of my time is spent (oh shall I say it?) writing letters and essays trying to convince you to not to marry the selfish culo you are involved with. And don’t even try to deny it, my mothers wrote to me. She told me everything, tutto.

These letters will never be sent to you, for I do not want to contaminate your mind with the ludicrous thoughts I have penned during late nights or boring days like these...

Marckus’ hand clenched around the letter, a smile on his face as he unclenched his hands and stood from the couch in which he’d been sitting. He flattened his palm over the page in an effort to straighten the now crumbled paper. Alecxa had been crying for weeks at the loss of her dear fratello and to be honest, it was getting tiresome.

He’d thought that, after getting Irial out of the way, Alecxa would become putty in his hands. He thought wrong, obviously; if anything Irial’s presence drove Alecxa to his much more rapidly than without it. A shame really since, according to the rest of his pitiful letter, he had no interest in returning, at least not until he finished his schooling and became a ‘proper’ husband.

But what could he do? His plans were still going, he only needed to recalibrate them slightly and Alecxa would be his, without or without her precious Irial. Marckus sighed loudly. Alecxa, other than he constant crying, had not been the same. Something changed about her and it bugged him beyond belief.

Perhaps it is because I was with her father before he died, he thought, or those rumours about me killing him. Whatever it was it mattered not, all that mattered was that they joined and soon, the sooner the better, the cleaner too. A simple blood ritual or a private blood exchange was all that was needed. He would make sure to take care of her, to nurture her and make the pain be as quick as possible, unlike his own creation.

He remembered neither his master nor how he came to be. All he remembered was the pain, and even that was hazy, and then waking up high on top the altar lying next to his wife. He threw himself the couch and sighed loudly. The memories were more vivid than he remembered. They used to just flash by the back of his mind and disappear before he could think about them. They were nothing to him, not for a long time. But now, living so close to her, to the one, it was messing with his memories. With his mind in general, if he told the truth.

He just needed to get it over with so Alecxa could become, the one thing he’d been waiting for such a long time, a v-

“Oh, Ciao, Marckus,” Alecxa’s voice said behind him, snapping him out of depressing thoughts and evil machinations. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

         “I couldn’t leave you,” he told her turning around in the couch, “not when you are so distressed.”

         “I’ll be fine,” she assured him stubbornly even if her eyes watered a bit as she said it. She breathed in deeply to show him how fine she was and said, “You should go home or let us prepare a room for you. I-Irial’s room is now free, should you want it.”

“I’m fine,” Marckus said standing. He walked around the couch and faced her. Gripping her by the shoulder softly, he tilted her head by her chin to meet her blue eyes. “I’m here for you, don’t worry about me.”

“That is why I worry,” she replied. “Who is taking care of you while you care per me?”

 “I don’t need looking after,” he told her running his thumb over the pulse in her neck. She took a deep breath but said nothing. He maintained his thumb over her increasing pulse and continued, “I’ve been taking care of myself for so long, Alecxa. If you were to take care of me now, I would be taking advantage of your hospitality.”

“And what?” she asked with a smile. “I wouldn’t mind, neither would ... madre. We need a man in the house now that Irial is gone.”

Yes, Marckus thought, he’s gone and out of the picture. Marckus smiled at Alecxa, her stupidity almost making him laugh. He cradled her neck and, what she would take a reassuring when in reality he was getting honed in on her scent, he squeezed her neck.

“If you insist,” he told her turning her and leading her to her bedroom. He persisted she sleep while he arranged for his things to be moved and after a few words she agreed. He was left to his volition, planning his next move now that Irial, and his pesky, pathetic note, was out of the way.