The Necronomicon

Chapter One

Whenever she let out a laugh, it was a free sound, like a bird taking flight. When the men were there, eyes boring into her, moths to a flame as they crowded around her, she would use this parlour trick. It was simple, yet effective. They were rats in her perfumed hands, so easy to manipulate — with one soft word she could bring them to their knees.

Even though her mother was now dead and gone, she had instilled into Meredith how to capture a boy's attention well. For this was a woman's purpose — to seize a man for her own.

Her father was an Elder, and he and the other Elders resided over the land. It was an easy life, a life that meant never being questioned.

Meredith's family home was more of a palace with its spacious rooms and expensive furnishings. Their garden — more of a park, comparable even to a dense forest. Meredith's life — simple; she lounged in the palace, or strolled along the terrace, or peered at a book in a ladylike manner. Meredith had never loved reading; for her, a book was a tool she used to entice men. She would much rather get out her parasol and walk through the grounds, with men trailing along behind her.

She had no siblings, but she didn't need any. Truth be told, she didn't want any. She would rather be an only child, so she could bask in everyone's attention. Her mother had married her father when she was a year older than Meredith, so, at seventeen, Meredith was already thinking of who she could see as her husband out of all the men she was courting. Knowing this, many of them gifted her little presents, which she accepted with glee. To have these tokens of affection boosted her already large ego, and she never declined one.

"Spring is here." Alfred remarked placidly from opposite her. Meredith lifted her eyes to his, batting her eyelashes casually. She nodded at his words, observing the hills that surrounded her family residence. Spring was here. It was the best time of year, spring — she adored the soft winds and the blooming flowers: from afar, of course. Dirtying the skirt of her frocks was, to her, a cardinal sin. Her suitors would pick her the most exquisite blossoms, and they would graze her palms 'accidentally', their touch making the corners of her mouth turn up. Any sign of their affections towards her were agreeable. Alfred was the best at spotting the flowers that were in bloom, often handing her gigantic bouquets that were full of the prettiest ones.

"Meredith, you must know that spring is the best time of year to have a wedding." Alfred mused, throwing a glance her way. She blushed, like every lady should when marriage was mentioned, raising a soft palm to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Meredith leaned forward and saw his eyes spark. "I wouldn't know; I've never had a wedding before," She teased, and he smiled at her almost lazily. She did not miss the flash that darted through his eyes, and she leaned closer.

"Then it's about time you did," Alfred said, reaching out a gloved hand to caress her knuckles, and she laughingly pulled back her hand. She saw his eyes dim with rejection, and she smiled brightly at him to undo the damage. Alfred was an honourable suitor, but she would never marry him. His nose was too broad for that, and his eyes were far too close together. And, of course, he was not even close to being the wealthiest of her admirers, so she could not consider him dear to her heart.

There was the faint ring of a dinner bell; Meredith rose, and Alfred slipped his arm through hers. Together they strolled inside, to where Meredith's maid was carving the chicken and laying it on the plates. The strips glistened in the lamplight, and Meredith's stepmother glanced at Alfred, though not unkindly. Meredith wasn't sure what passed between them, so she kept her gaze firmly on her food.

Alfred complimented the chef as the maid scuttled around the table, filling the glasses. Meredith's father wasn't home — he was at an Elder's meeting tonight. The chicken oozed fat as Alfred stabbed it with the prongs of his fork. Meredith daintily sliced her chicken up, popping the thin pieces in her mouth with delicacy. It had been her father who had taught her how to eat properly — and even without his watchful eye upon her, she followed his rules. She chewed the strip of chicken up, feeling the warmth of Alfred's smiling as he gazed upon her from across the table — but she refused to look at him, instead focusing on her stepmother's face, lit up with happiness at her daughter and her beaux.

Meredith speared some more chicken, gravy dribbling from the top of it, and Eleanor drew Alfred into casual conversation. Every time their dialogue dwindled, Alfred tried to pull Meredith into talking with him, but to no avail. She simply dodged the question with merry wit, and ate with nimble fingers, deftly passing the food from her fork into her mouth. She avoided the potatoes that were heaped on her plate, fearing they might fatten her slim waist.

It was when their maid was clearing up the plates that Alfred said it. He rose from his chair, drawing himself to his full height, and suddenly the room went eerily silent. Even the maid, halfway through stacking the plates in the other room, stayed stock still, her eyes frozen on the man. "Meredith," Alfred began, and she felt the first stirrings of fear within her heart. If he proposed marriage to her right now, she knew what she would have to say — she would have to refuse.

"I have wanted to say this for a long time now," He began, and his eyes latched onto hers. She felt her heart thud swiftly as he stepped ever closer to her. Her stepmother made no sound, and the maid hurried into the shadows discreetly, the plates she was holding still clanking together.

"Meredith Hawthorne, will you marry me?"

She froze, the blood pounding around her body at an accelerated speed. "Alfred..." She almost whispered his name. She didn't want to lose a suitor, even though she would never marry him. Alfred loved her, like a dog loves an owner, following her around like she was some sort of goddess. She couldn't lose that affection. This was what she told herself — and she believed it. Maybe it was true, but more than that, she craved attention, even if she did not reciprocate it. Meredith had led Alfred on all too easily, coaxing him closer, then gently pushing him back, doing this in such a gentle manner that he did not notice her hands guiding him away, even as she entranced him further. And here he was, proposing to her.

"I appreciate the gesture..." She did not fumble for the words, though she had suspected she might. Refusing his offer made a fool of him, especially if done in company. She wished he had asked her when they were alone — hadn't she shown him her feelings when she pushed his hand from hers last weekend at the Clarington's ball? Or just tonight, when he had asked if she'd wanted to walk across the moors with him, and she had said she'd rather stay at home? Then, of course, he'd trotted after her, his eyes as big as saucers, and she'd had no choice but to invite him to dinner.

"But I am afraid I must refuse." Her words hit him like a slap in the face; she watched him mentally stumble. Physically he stood quite still, and her stepmother sat rigid. Meredith knew all eyes were upon her — she felt even the dead chicken's gaze.

Alfred composed himself quickly, and said, "But of course." Then, with a puppy-eyed look plastered on his face, he continued. "May I ask why?"

Meredith almost laughed out loud — he looked so sheepish, like a little lost lamb. She swished her skirt towards him and smiled. "You may not," She supplied, knowing it was unladylike to act in this manner, but choosing to anyway. To be frank, Alfred had been a bit of a bore. But she must tread carefully if she wanted his eyes still to only be for her. Should she add another phrase to her speech? Or leave it as it was? She decided against the latter and spoke in an almost motherly tone. "My dear Alfred, I apologise. It is only that I do not intend to marry yet, though you can be sure when the time comes you will be one of the most carefully considered suitors." She smiled, both to appease him and because her explanation satisfied her.

Why did Alfred stand there, his eyes so downcast? He stood there, gazing at her so earnestly. Why didn't he speak, or, better yet, leave? She almost rolled her eyes. If Alfred wanted to win her heart, then he certainly would not get it by doing this. Didn't he know how to flirt? Without the wealth and fair skin of Ben Halbert, how did he expect her to choose him above them all? He didn't have expensive clothes, and he wasn't as handsome as Simon, either. Alfred simply wasn't suited for her, like they were. He didn't have enough wealth to support her.

"I shall retire to bed now," She proclaimed, striding past him, leaving him standing there, heart in his hands, and her stepmother, white-faced, still sitting at the table.