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Mrs. Lalonde was a widowed woman with some affluence, living in a small estate in Derbyshire with her two daughters, Rose and Roxanne. Many of the set have said that Mrs. Lalonde appears much younger than her supposed eight and thirty, and that her youthful countenance has been a blessing to her daughters.
The eldest daughter, Roxanne, was popular amongst the country set, always out of the house visiting her friends and close acquaintances. Every day, she received at least one letter. The senders chief among those were a Miss Crocker, a Mr. Strider, and a Mr. English. It was an idea amongst the set that the four friends would marry each other in some fashion. Whether that was Miss Lalonde with Mr. Strider, or with Mr. English, or Miss Crocker with one of the aforementioned gentlemen, was yet to be seen. When questioned, Mrs. Lalonde only said that she wished her daughter would settle soon, and that either one of Strider or English would be a good match for her daughter, being that Mr. Strider lived off 7,500 pounds, and that Mr. English was next in line for the inheritance of Chatham castle, currently held by a distant cousin, Lord English.
The younger daughter, Rose, kept mostly to a small set of friends, chiefly spending time with the youngest Miss Maryam. She took up most of her free time amongst her needlework, and in reading through the estate’s personal library. She was only nineteen, so Mrs. Lalonde had no need to worry yet, but it seemed unlikely to those who knew Rose that she would ever marry, since she only danced but with her closest friends, and snubbed new faces in the country set.
—
On a fateful late autumn night, at a ball hosted at the Lalonde estate, Rose stood opposite her friend Mr. Egbert, having just finished dancing. She curtsied, and walked over to the refreshments table, taking a crystal glass of water. Rose’s dear friend Miss Maryam approached, and Rose greeted her with a rare smile, sipping on her drink.
“How go the celebrations? Are they to your satisfaction? The water was brought here from Bath, and it is rejuvenating. You must take of it, or my poor mother will have made this expense for naught.”
“I am in no need of refreshments, but send my thanks to your mother for going to the trouble. This is a lively party she has put on, and I am always grateful for her invitation on your behalf.” Kanaya smiled, and Rose felt herself flush. The air within the hall was warm at this point, with all the bodies present within the room, so Rose finished her drink with alacrity, and set the emptied cup down on a nearby table.
“Shall we go to the garden for some fresh air? It was tended to this morning, and the red roses which mother has ordered have been put in place of the petunias. ‘Tis not much of a change, but a change in venue would be most desired by me.”
Kanaya agreed, and the two ladies headed out to the gardens post-haste.
It was a cold night, seasonable for late autumn, and the Lalonde’s gardens were atop a hill which overlooked the property. The trees were yellowed and orange, and Rose wondered at her mother’s reasoning for the fresh rose bushes, as they may not keep well with the chill of winter, which was likely to approach within a fortnight. But Mrs. Lalonde was not known to be a woman of reason at times, and Rose supposed the garden’s maintenance was within those bounds.
Rose took in a deep breath of the chilled air, glad to be outside of the crowded hall. She looked to her companion, and felt her breath taken. Kanaya glowed with the moonlight, her fair skin lit up in contrast to her dark hair. Her hazel eyes gleamed as she looked off into the distant trees and hillsides. Rose felt entranced by her friend’s countenance, and felt that she could not move her eyes away.
Eventually, before her friend’s notice, Rose was able to tear away her gaze, and looked over to the red roses, currently flush with color and producing a lovely perfumed scent. Already, one of the flowers had fallen off, perhaps due to the rush of cold air this evening, and Rose bent to pick it up.
“Now, here, Miss Maryam, come and see my mother’s folly. The flowers are already rejecting the late autumn air, and one poor blossom has died prematurely.” Rose presented the flower to Kanaya, who received the blossom with care, feeling along its soft petals.
“A rose that has died is still as lovely,” Kanaya remarked, bringing the flower to her nose, breathing it in. “And it still keeps its delightful character, even as it rots. I have always admired a lovely rose.” With this, her gaze locked on Rose’s, and Rose blushed, in spite of their chilly surroundings.
The two ladies spent the rest of the night perusing the gardens, remarking wittily upon various subjects, shoulders brushing. They made a lovely pair of friends, though it is of note that, had Miss Maryam been a Mr. Maryam, Mrs. Lalonde’s friends may have entreated her to convince her daughter to marry at once, as the connection could not be clearer.
But, things being as they were, Miss Maryam left along with the rest of the guests, and Rose retreated to her chamber, heart full from the night’s company.
—
Rose awoke with a start, gasping for air. Her lungs felt heavy, and her heart raced. Unconsciously, she reached for her neck and grasped her cold, sweaty hand against it. Her fingers met with something warm and wet.
Shaking, she retreated her hand. In the last flickers of the dimming candlelight, she thought her fingertips were doused in blood, but surely that couldn’t be the case.
No, surely not. She must have experienced a nightmare, and its remnants were still upon her. Somehow though, she couldn’t look away from her hand. Her neck twinged in pain.
A chill travelled up her spine, like a rat’s footsteps. Skittering.
The fluid travelled from her fingers, down to her palm, coalescing onto her wrist, finally dripping onto her shift.
Rose stared at her skirt, watching several more drops appear.
A wave of nausea overtook her. Rose had the instinct to fling herself off the bed before being sick. She heaved onto the carpet beneath her, desecrating the lavish maroon rug her mother had purchased last year.
Poor Rose was dazed, sitting back on her haunches, eyelashes fluttering. The last of the candle wick burned out, the once flickering light now quenched.
She licked her teeth. She tasted copper. Her chest heaved, her eyes flicking around the room manically. Beads of cold sweat dripped down her chin.
Rose attempted to stand - to alert someone of her condition. But her knees became weak, and her breathing became shallow.
As her vision faded to black, she thought she caught a hint of bergamot in the air.
—
The next day, Rose’s condition worsened. At Mrs. Lalonde’s request, the town doctor came by, pronouncing Rose’s illness most unusual, though quite similar to an illness that had bedded Roxanne two years past. Remembering the course of treatment, and given her bloodless state, he advised Mrs. Lalonde to procure beef liver for the lady to eat as she may, to regain her strength, and to let the lady rest and drink water until her health returned. It must be noted that the house servants did give the sickly Miss Lalonde all the proper nourishments for a sick lady, including the prescribed liver meat, but at the direction of Mrs. Lalonde, the meat was uncooked, so that the young miss might gain all the nutrients necessary from the organ.
The next afternoon, Mr. English was announced as a caller, his chief objective being the company of Roxanne. Rose’s room was next to the library, where Mr. English had been received by Roxanne. She heard the two, in muffled tones, talking. Rose attempted to listen, wondering at the contents of the conversation, but she could not make out any words, and instead succumbed to the beckoning call of sleep, over and over again. The only things that kept waking her were her two unusual bug bites, both on her neck, equidistant from each other. She woke only to itch at unmeasured intervals, and to attempt to listen to the conversation again, before inevitably falling back into sleep.
On the third day of her illness, Rose heard nothing from either sister or mother. The estate was quiet, but for the bustling of servants. When she inquired about her family, her lady in waiting only said that a sudden financial business had become known, and that the Lalondes were off to the ton to take care of the matter. She was advised to rest, and to take more beef liver, as her countenance proved more bloodless than before. It seemed as if this was all her body could handle - brief moments of weakened awakeness, before the release of sleep.
The next morning came, bearing a letter from Miss Maryam, who had become apprised of Rose’s condition. If Rose had to guess, it was likely Roxanne that wrote to her, knowing that Rose would want Kanaya informed of her current state. The missive contained worried inquiries into the state of Rose’s health, and concluded with a sincere entreaty for Rose’s health to flourish once more, so that Rose might join her at the Harley’s next Michaelmas gathering. Rose could only muster the strength to write two sentences in reply, wishing only for Miss Maryam’s company at the Lalonde’s estate. Her hands shook as she wrote. Upon completion of the letter, Rose let the darkness take over once more.
A day passed, uneventful, with no improvement in Rose’s countenance.
Another came to pass. Miss Maryam’s reply was short, only letting Rose know that she would visit as soon as she was able, having prior engagements that could under no circumstances be altered, to Kanaya’s dismay. Rose was equally dismayed. She wondered if this illness would kill her. If it would, she would pass alone, with no family or friends to keep her company. This thought distraught her, so she imagined embroidering a complex foliage to lull herself back to sleep.
Another day, which Rose slept away.
The next came with unexpected news. She was handed the day’s paper along with her breakfast of raw liver. It was reported, on the front page at that, that the reputable Lord English had passed of sudden heart failure and acute blood loss, and that the castle, and all the grounds surrounding it, was to be taken over by Roxanne’s friend Mr. English immediately. If Rose had been herself, the news would have been of utmost interest, as the passing was sudden - there had been no previous rumour of the Lord’s ill health, and it put the new Lord English in a most advantageous position. There was also Mr. English’s recent calling on Roxanne to take account of as well. Did she know of Lord English’s health before the ton? But, weak as she was, she only pondered the news for a few minutes before sleep pulled her back into its embrace.
—
But that night, as much as her body protested it, Rose felt herself unable to return to sleep. Her muscles ached, her shift was heavy with sweat both dried and fresh, and her chest felt as if some lengthy tome was resting upon it. But in the back of her mind, something itched. She had a craving for something she couldn’t quite place.
Her ear twitched. The skittering of rat’s feet. Her eyes flicked to the fireplace. The embers had long burnt out, leaving the room dank and cold.
Indeed there was a rat, who sat on its haunches, nose twitching, scenting the air.
Rose’s eyes fluttered. She had never noticed a scent before from the little beasts, but this one carried an unusual, coppery odor. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Instinct had her slipping out of her bed, feet whispering against the carpet. She stalked the creature, moving closer…closer.
She was upon it. The scent was permeating the room completely now. She felt drool escape her lips, dropping against her chest.
The rat paused, all motion stopped, its beady eyes turned towards the shadowed being above it.
Rose pounced. Her fingernails, grown long from lack of grooming, pierced the rat’s flesh, halting its escape. She heaved a shuddering breath, her catch squirming in her hold. She… wanted. Didn’t know what. But she craved it. And the source of that wanting was within her grasp. It was hers.
She brought her prey closer, inhaling, mouth open. Drool pooled at her bottom lip, culminating at an apex before dropping onto the floor.
It smelled delectable.
Her head dove, teeth gnashing, bones crunching. The beast released one last pitiful noise, before it fell silent. Blood splattered, dirtying her shift, dripping down her hands. She drank of the rat, until she could no longer. She dropped the corpse, sucking desperately at her fingers, then at the skirt of her shift, the taste of blood mingling with the fabric.
Rose’s breath came out in uneven huffs. She lost balance, sitting heavily back onto the floor. An unusual vitality overtook her - this was more energy than she had ever felt in her life. She felt unstoppable. Her disease was-
She started when her door opened, revealing both Mrs. and Miss Lalonde.
—
For the first time in days, all three Lalondes sat at the table, awaiting breakfast.
Rose swallowed, then spoke.
“Last night - it cannot be true. It shan’t be. I cannot live in this manner. We cannot live in this manner.”
Rose leapt from her seat, pacing the room. Both mother and sister remained seated, placidly watching Rose’s frenzied movements.
“Discovery is imminent. If not now, then years from now. If nothing but blood sickens us, we must retreat from society completely. We cannot become close to anyone outside of ourselves. The thirst…it does not end with vermin or livestock.”
Rose hesitated, holding herself steady against one of the dining chairs.
“You both know this better than I.”
At this, only Roxanne had the sense to avert her eyes.
“And there is the matter of time passing. For how many years can our youthful appearances be excused as luck? No, we cannot remain as we are now.”
The door opened, revealing a servant. Rose sat back down. Breakfast was distributed - consisting chiefly of raw steak and organ meat.
Silence, again, only interrupted by the sounds of silverware against bone china, and the gentle sound of the door closing after the servant.
After the blood had been drained from the meat, no lady made to leave.
Finally, Mrs. Lalonde stood from her chair, coming over to Rose’s side. Rose’s senses, enhanced as they now were, made note of a lingering scent of bergamot, perhaps applied yesterday morn. Mrs. Lalonde spoke.
“I understand your concern, child, but think of what comes of the condition. Immortality, though under constraint. To see the world only bloom with time. To live-“
“But we have died!” Rose shrieked.
One could hear a pin drop. Mrs. Lalonde had stood back, surprised by the unexpected outburst.
“We are naught but - but - shambling corpses! We must feed off the essence of life - draining others to - to continue - what, our own paltry lives?”
“Only think, dear Rose!” Roxanne interjected, “You can spend your time wisely, reading about all subjects, learning all that there is to know of the world, and discovering new knowledge at that!”
“But what use is it, if I cannot share it with anyone!”
A pause. A shuddering breath.
“What use is immortality, when all we will do is watch our loved ones die?”
Rose could not help but think of her dear Kanaya Maryam in this moment.
Rose turned to her mother, heaving a great breath, as if to yell. But, instead, in a warbling voice, she spoke.
“How could you do this to me? I knew nothing. I was innocent of this vile business. I could have been ignorant, and completed my duties as my station decrees, and passed on when I was meant to.”
For the first time since Rose had known her, Mrs. Lalonde faltered in her speech.
“How could I watch a beloved daughter grow old and leave me behind?”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Tearfully, Rose stood.
“Selfish woman! I will take no further part in this madness. You say all I need to survive is blood? Then I shall become bloodless once more, until I waste away naturally.”
Rose fled, and the door to the dining hall shut with finality.
—
Without sustenance of any kind, after a few days, Rose fell sick once more, and became bedbound. The most challenging part of her protest was at night, when sleep eluded, and the sounds of vermin rattled her nerves, and excited her newfound instincts.
Otherwise, she occupied her time with the sleep which her body craved, and with writing a final letter for Kanaya to hopefully treasure, once Rose had passed on.
Both mother and sister had come by on multiple occasions to try and convince Rose to accept her new body and handle her situation with “grace and maturity.” Rose only felt guilty about making her sister cry, but remained steadfast. If anything, their entreaties only convinced her further that she could not live in this manner.
And things may have continued in this way, to its fatal conclusion, if not for Miss Maryam’s early departure from her previous engagements. Her arrival at the Lalonde residence on the fourth morning of Rose’s refusal of sustenance was met with relief from both mother and sister, much to Miss Maryam’s confusion, as she had thought that the two ladies were only polite acquaintances. The warm welcome complete, Miss Maryam was brought into the parlor to take tea and discuss the intimate details of Miss Lalonde’s current condition.
—
As for Rose, she had no idea her beloved had arrived, having been in a state approaching a coma. She awoke to a light touch on her shoulder, not recognising Kanaya at first. But who could forget such charming hazel eyes?
“You came,” Rose said with astonishment.
“I have. I am at your disposal.” At this, Kanaya knelt at Rose’s bedside, taking Rose’s cold palm and warming it between her hands. Rose’s heart hastened. Kanaya’s hands were so soft. And here, Kanaya held Rose’s hand, unknowing of the recent depravity these very hands had caused. The thought made Rose hesitate, and let out an unbidden sigh.
“What troubles you?” Kanaya asked, her voice soft.
Rose wished more than anything that she could share her situation with Kanaya. Her advice had always proved useful in the past, but how could Rose burden her with what she had become? No, she must never know the whole truth.
She inhaled, ready to respond, but caught Kanaya’s scent instead.
Warmth. A hint of wisteria and rose perfume. Copper and heat. And Kanaya’s natural human scent, indescribable in mere words.
Rose felt dizzy with want. Her hand shook in Kanaya’s grasp. Her lips parted, and she licked them, feeling their chapped state.
“Rose?” Kanaya asked, leaning in closer. Oh! Such delicious torture. Rose wanted. She craved her so badly. A cold bead of sweat travelled from her forehead to her chin.
“Kanaya, you - you must leave me. I-“ and here Rose hesitated. How best to warn her away without hurting her feelings?
“I understand, Rose. Lay back now, relax,” Kanaya gently took Rose’s shoulder and had her lean back into the bed.
Rose was confused. What could Kanaya possibly understand about Rose’s situation? But thoughts had a way of disappearing with a beloved still holding your hand, and hovering above you as you reclined.
“Your mother and sister told me of your condition. That you require blood to keep on. That you are in need of some now.”
Rose’s mouth went dry.
“No-“
Kanaya shushed her, and Rose’s mouth shut with a click.
“I will not hear otherwise. I am decided. I will not accept a world without a dear Rose within it. Besides,” Kanaya leaned closer, her body resting against Rose’s. “A rose is as beautiful dead as it is alive.”
Rose gasped, her will to restrict her instincts faltering. A tear escaped from her eye, unbidden.
“Drink of me, my dear Rose. Take, until you are sated. I give my body to you-oh!”
Rose’s teeth sunk into the closest available flesh - Kanaya’s wrist. She retreated, and began suckling at the wound. Kanaya moaned, relaxing fully onto Rose, letting go of her hand to curl around her neck, holding her close.
After days of starvation, there was nothing sweeter than her love’s blood. And Rose took of it with gusto; licking, biting, slurping. Its warmth rejuvenated her.
The craving remained, but Rose had the forethought to keep Kanaya conscious. To keep her living. She tore herself away, panting into Kanaya’s hair, finally grasping her and pulling her into an embrace. Kanaya was shaking. Her body felt cold under the satin of her dress.
Rose looked up at the ceiling. Tears fell from her eyes, gathering in her ears, staining the pillow beneath her. Her breath shook.
—
The ladies were seated on a bench, shoulders brushing, having just finished their pass around the estate’s garden.
One brushed a kiss to the other’s cheek, and the other looked at her, hazel eyes gleaming; glittering in happiness. They huddled together, watching the sun set.
Behind them, the last rose dropped from a wilted rose bush.