Castle Of Tears

Chapter 1: Sorrow

1092 A.D

Angers, France

Angelique stood in the deepest corner of her room; lost in thought while surrounded in darkness. Candles were lit, casting a dim light over the shadows but it wasn't enough for Angelique—not anymore. She wanted the light of the sun to fill the castle, the warmth of its rays to touch her skin. Instead, she lived in a dark abyss, void of any light.

A small smile spread across her face while she reminisced about the days when she was once human. How lovely the sun had felt against her skin; like warm kisses upon a cool cheek. Angelique yearned to see it—the sun—to see it during its peak; and to bathe in its full splendor.

She clenched her hands, bitter anger spreading throughout her body like a burning wave. This so-called gift of immortality had turned the sun against her. Its rays were now deadly poison to her flesh. If she were to open the curtains and let the light pool in, she would burn instantly. Not only would she be burned to death, but she would be sent to an afterlife filled with hell's fire for all eternity. There was no escaping this damnation.

The light of the earth had forsaken her, but what was worse was that the light of heaven had passed judgment upon her as well.

There was no rest for the wicked. Angelique would be damned for all eternity. Her soul was destined for brimstone and fire.

Filled with despair, Angelique could no longer stand. She moved towards a large cushioned chair that faced the hearth, at the center of the room. She sat and let out a dejected sigh before burying her face in her hands. She held back tears knowing very well that she would most likely cry blood. She couldn't afford to frighten her servants any more than they already were.

"I can no longer live like this." She whispered out loud to herself.

She had been subjected to this cursed life for half a decade and forced into seclusion by the request of her husband, the Count of Anjou. At first, she believed he did it out of love, but as time went by she realized he had kept her hidden for his own sake. He would risk making an enemy out of a duke—her father—if he accused a Bellerose of witchcraft, but his main fear was the church. Being associated with a creature of the night could implicate him as an accomplice and practitioner of the dark arts—a satanist. It was easier for him to discard her and lie that she had become mentally ill and unfit to continue living in court. He could not, after all, explain to the peerage that any direct sunlight would cause spontaneous combustion. Abandoning his wife seemed more fitting than being ridiculed or ostracized.

She lifted her head and stared at the ceiling. A single red tear rolled down her cheek, landing right into her open palm. She looked down at her palm, wondering how much pain was in that single drop.

Sneering, she closed her hand into a tight grip. Her sharp talon-like nails dug deep into her skin, puncturing her flesh like sharp daggers. From a single drop came more blood, all of it dripping down unto her lap.

Angelique laughed at her psychical pain. This pain was nothing, this pain she could withstand. She welcomed this pain.

She began to laugh more uncontrollably now. Tears flowed freely from her, like a waterfall of crimson red. Now she looked like the exact image of a monster—the demon inside.

Angelique ceased her wild laughter; her tears followed suit.

Slowly, she lifted her bloodied hand and stared at her wounded palm. She could see that her flesh was beginning to regenerate, healing itself. Her open wounds sealed itself slowly as if Angelique herself was sowing the skin back together.

The strange occurrence was nothing new to Angelique. She had learned of her healing abilities for the first time when she had tried killing herself by bleeding to death.

Angelique couldn't help but chuckle.

Dismissing her hand, she turned her attention to the hearth.

I should kindle a fire. She thought

Although the cold could no longer affect her, it was good for her to seem a bit normal to the poor servants that dwelled with her. It was winter after all.

She brushed her fingers against her face, feeling the dried blood against her flesh. She laughed once again for good measure.

Normal my arse!

With a wave of her hand, Angelique started the fire. Flames erupted wildly, roaring like a hungry lion as they engulfed the wood that was held by the andiron. Her focus never wavered, it was as if she were in a trance. Slowly, she leaned forward with an outstretched arm. Her fingertips trembled as she reached for the flames.

Knock. Knock.

Angelique's eyes flickered.

She stood up and faced her door. "Yes?" She said.

"Forgive me for intruding, my lady." A voice replied back.

It was Maria, a young maidservant that had just started working for Angelique a week ago.

"Th-there are two men here wanting to speak with you."

Angelique's brow furrowed in suspicion. She never had any visitors and the last time her bastard of a husband ever showed his face to her was a year ago. Whoever these men were, they did not come for a simple chat.

Angelique fought the urge to swing the door open and grab the girl by the neck. Why did she allow them to enter? Angelique had strictly prohibited any visitors from crossing the threshold of her home. Maybe, the girl brought them here herself.

"Why did you allow them in?" Angelique hissed through the door.

Angelique could smell the fear that radiated from Maria, even with the door as a boundary between them. The girl's heart had begun to beat faster, while her breathing turned ragged.

"Forgive me, my lady." The girl whimpered. "They informed me that Lord Anjou sent them." She finished with a sob.

The girl pleaded with Angelique through the door to forgive her mistake, but Angelique's thoughts were on her husband and her unwanted guests.

Did Lord Anjou finally find the courage of ridding himself of his vampiric bride? Who had he hired to finish her off? Surely, priests of the cross. She couldn't think clearly, not with the whimpering of the foolish servant on the other side.

"Enough of your blabber!" Angelique shouted, pounding the door with her fist out of frustration. Luckily, she held back and spared the oak door from destruction.

Maria had let out a small squeak, but she managed to shut her mouth, giving Angelique the silence she desperately needed.

Pacing back and forth, Angelique rubbed her temples as she thought of ways to be rid of the men who sought her. The easiest thing was to kill them, perhaps send their heads to her dear husband as a warning. Still, she did not want to make a mess of things and complicate matters any further.

"Tell them to make themselves comfortable," Angelique said. "I will be with them shortly."

"Y-yes, my lady." Maria's voice cracked.

Only once she heard the servant's footsteps scurry down the hall did Angelique's shoulders sag with relief. She had been on the verge of bloodlust, imagining her fangs deep in the girl's throat.

Shaking away her hunger, Angelique strode towards the mirror that leaned against the wall near her bed. A hiss escaped her lips once she saw her reflection. She looked disheveled and worn.

Dry blood rimmed her eyes and ran down the sides of her face in a crimson trail. She looked like a demonic specter ready to devour souls.

She needed to look presentable and fast. Whoever those men were, she wouldn't be surprised if they came with crosses and stakes. She could give them no reason to believe she was anything but a noble lady with a conniving and deceitful man for a husband that sought to be rid of her any way possible—including by murder.

She smiled darkly. The Count of Anjou would pay.