A Darkness Within (closed)

Jean Paul, Jean to his friends and close acquaintances, clutched his sides as another wave of nausea rolled him and shook him, bringing him to his knees beside the large leafy oak tree. It felt as though someone had taken the tip of a boot to his gut and kidneys repeatedly, and as he groped at the rough bark of the tree for balance he doubled over in pain, bringing his head nearly to his knees and clenching his eyes shut tightly, trying to ward out the light and the pain and sickness at the same time. They had never told him it would be so intense, had not even mentioned the horrible shooting pains or the tremendous fever-like sweating, the uncontrollable shaking… Perhaps that was because their own times had come so far back, so long ago, that they had forgotten about them. More likely they had pushed them from their minds, like some childhood trauma locked away behind closed doors in the back of the mind, never to be brought to light willfully again.

When he had been a child and had begun to take an interest in medicine one of the local doctors had taken him on his rounds throughout the day, as a way of both testing Jean’s mettle and showing him a bit about the daily role of the profession. His parents had been obstinate and rejected the idea at first, but were eventually worn down and won over, and he had accompanied the doctor on a series of house calls in the area. One of them took the pair to the home of an elderly couple, a tiny cottage set back among fields of wheat which the couple tended. The wife was laid up in bed upon their arrival, and it was easy to see from her appearance that she hadn’t left it in a while, and surely didn’t intend to again. She was not long for that world, but before she shuffled off the mortal coil she seemed to be suffering the worst torments life had to offer. He pushed thoughts of the old woman from his mind as another wave of nausea wracked his body and he clutched at the tree, scraping his fingers on the rough bark and falling to his knees as his stomach attempted to empty itself, though it contained nothing to disgorge. The state of that poor woman had told Jean what he’d wanted to know easily enough; life begets suffering and death. From that day on he had vowed, to himself at least, that he would cheat death and find a way around it. It felt as though his body were dying anyway though, and taking pains to make him suffer as much in the process. This hadn’t been what he’d had in mind at all. It had all sounded so clean and easy, so simple and perfect…

Jean dragged himself to his feet, shambling from the tree-line towards the cottage which lay at the height of a small hill ahead. As the waning daylight turned the sky blood red and crimson and orange, he staggered up the old, worn gravel path towards the house. His visions was blurry and he stumbled from one side of the path to the other frequently, but by the time most of the sky had turned indigo and violet and the sun became nothing more than a bright red streak peaking over the edge of the horizon he had reached the front door. He had chosen this place for its solitude, although at the moment he felt as if he’d rode a thousand miles and walked a thousand more since leaving his horse some ways back… He lifted a hand and let it fall against the door, a weak thud emanating that wouldn’t have roused the attention of a fly. He tried again, this time raising his hand higher and bringing it against the rough grain of the door with what force he could muster, resulting in a soft knock. When he slumped against the doorframe he found his body made more noise than his knocking fist, his head smacking the door with a soft thud as a sickly groan escaped his lips. There was a shuffle of movement from inside, what sounded like a soft, hushed voice and suddenly the door opened. The smell of a cooking fire, and the presumed dinner it provided made his stomach turn a little and he bit back another wretch. As he looked up at the face of the person holding the door wide his vision blurred again and he stumbled into the house with a mumbled apology. Surely they knew he was coming, and would have a room ready for him. A soft feminine voice spoke although he couldn’t make out the words in his stupor, instead stumbling through the home in search of somewhere to lie down.

After several minutes of searching he stumbled across a bedroom, and pushed through the door towards the soft bed, crashing to it in a heap. The voice spoke again and he could almost make out the words. A cold sweat broke across his brown and he rolled to his side, flopping onto his back upon the bed and clutching his stomach again apprehensively. Feeling as though something were needed on his part at the moment, he opened his still blurry, tear streaked eyes and glanced about, seeing only vague forms and shapeless swatches of color. “I apologize… For barging in… Please…” The effort of speaking was too much for him, and suddenly fatigue overtook him, leaving him unconscious there upon the bed, arms resting upon his stomach as a pained look crossed his long, slender face. Medium length auburn hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and the breathing emanating from his large, long frame was short and raspy. Had they been open, his eyes would have been seen to be icy blue, the color of the frost that clings to pine trees in mid-winter, although at the moment they were also shot through with red. The lips which were perpetually drawn back in a sly smile were instead curled into a frown, and his shoulder, usually proud and straight, were instead hunched and closed in. It would most likely be hours before he woke from the fever dream that gripped him, and even in sleep he twitched slightly as minor convulsions tweaked muscles here and there, his body slowly curling into a fetal position again as he rolled over on the bed and stretched out again, unconsciously seeking some comfortable position.

Heaven – if ever it were to find a place upon the earth, surely it would be on the lands that stood before the young woman. Breathing deeply, the woman scanned her delicate green eyes over the land, watching as the mountains rolled seamlessly with the next, acres of growing grapes covered the green blanket of the valleys below. The sun shyly dipped behind the mountain silhouette, draping the entire farm in a golden hue. She sighed softly as she gazed upon the small cottage before a smile crept to her soft, rosey lips.

Closing her eyes she allowed her memories to wash over her. The sound of a lone hammer echoed as the laughter of children danced behind her. In her mind she saw her father, a young man, clinging to the roof of the cottage, hammering wooden roof tiles in the midday sun. He was a short, lean man; his hair darker than the night itself yet his brown eyes always glittered with glee and joy. Despite his lower-class upbringing and the tortures of his youth, he was a man with a heart of gold and a boisterous laugh, despite his small stature. She then saw her mother, blessed with both beauty and grace, washing the master’s dirty laundry in the small lake beside the newly-built cottage. Her golden locks shimmered in the sunlight, her sea-green eyes furrowed in a look of concentration as her dainty hands scrubbed stubbornly at the cloth. She sung softly as she scrubbed, her voice the echo of angels, the impromptu melody harmonising with the call of the birds around her. She then saw two children, no more than 8 summers old, chasing each other around the trees, laughing and teasing as they ran. There was the master’s son; an auburn haired, stubborn boy with blue eyes only for mischief and play. The smallest a young version of herself; the same eyes and hair as her mother, clung to a small doll as she ran through the trees in an attempt to hide from her young pursuer.

“Leola-Marie Dubois!” The young girl froze at the bellow of her mother. “I have told you a thousand times, it is no place for you to play with the master’s son. Now come here and let young Jean be on his way. I am sure he has other things to attend to...”

“But Mamma! It wasn’t my fault. He chased me first...” The young girl pouted, clutching her doll to her breast as she sat beside her mother. She watched the young boy run to the main house, stopping only to poke his tongue at her cheekily.

“Leola, I know it is hard for you to understand. One day you will know your place, dear one. But for now you must trust me...” Her mothers’ words echoed in her memory. It was the last memory she had of her mother before she had died later that winter.

Another sigh escaped her lips as Leola opened her eyes and gazed once more upon her family home. The small cottage now aged, still had the charm that it always had. The master, all those years ago, kindly allowed her father to build upon his land as a gift for her fathers’ many years of service. She had spent her entire life in that cottage, and on this vineyard. She hardly ever saw the owners once she turned the age of ten. They no longer found the comfort of this home, choosing more extravagant summer homes in exotic places. However, the vineyard was a main source of income for the family, so it was entrusted on her father and mother to run in the owners’ absence. That was until three months ago, the day her father died.

Everything that was entrusted in her father was now under her control. The seasonal harvest, the production of the wine plus a handful of servants and maids now all relied on her. Despite her young age, Leola had the full cooperation and trust of the workers, who treated her not as a boss but as their own daughter.

“Miss Ola...OLA!” The screech of an older woman startled Leola from her memory-induced daze. The woman ran down the rows of grapes, her dress flapping wildly around her. By the time she reached Leola, she was out of breath, hunched over in an attempt to calm herself before she continued to explain... “Ola, come quickly! The master’s son...he is here...the house...the house...oh my...we need your help.”

Leola calmly raised the woman to a standing position, her soft hands brushing the wild strands of hair out of the woman’s face.

“Calm yourself Elizabeth. What on earth are you talking about?”

“The master’s son; Jean Paul, he is home, and unwell. He looks as if death hovers above him to claim his soul!”

Leola smiled at the woman’s words. Elizabeth always had the gift of exaggeration. Holding onto the woman’s hand tightly, she guided her back to the main house. As they walked closer the sound of crashing glass and women’s cries radiated from within. Leola left the old cook where she stood and ran inside.

The house was in chaos; vases, plates and cups lay smashed upon the floor, maids ran wildly throughout the corridors, towels and buckets of cold water in hand. Leola followed the racket through the kitchen to find several women peering in the doorway of the cook’s private room. Pushing her way through she found two maids desperately trying to hold a young man down. Leola moved into the room and stood at the end of the bed cautiously looking upon the ill man.

His body shivered as if cold yet his brow perspired as if hot. His skin was as pale as snow, and his eyes were outlined with dark circles. His auburn hair clung to his forehead and his eyes, despite their redness, pierced through her with their icy blue chill. Though it had been nearly 14 years, she knew immediately it was the master’s son. He yelled and clung to his stomach as if in pain before passing out cold.

Leola turned to the women behind her, their faces pale with shock. She guided them into the kitchen with orders of preparing his room with fresh sheets and a roaring fire. Then the women raced off in several directions. Leola made her way back to the room and sighed in disbelief. He was ill, the realisation hit her hard, her head became dizzy and her knees weak.

Swallowing hard she fought her own body’s reactions to focus on the situation at hand. He had to be moved. Her eyes ran over the large man before her as her mind attempted to find a way to move him. He was easily taller than her 5’6 frame, and much larger than any of the women on duty.

Taking a deep breath she smiled softly at the two women at his side. They both looked at her then at each other in confusion.

“Alright. This man is a giant, it is easy to see. But he must be moved. You both carry him under his arms, and I shall take his feet. With a bit of luck we will have him up the stairs and in his own bed without any fuss.”

The two maids looked at her in shock before doing as she said. The three of them struggled to carry his weight through the kitchen, his constant moving made the task even harder. Despite the challenges, they had him up the stairs and upon his own bed in minutes. Leola dismissed the maids, closing the door behind them before moving towards the bed to bathe his face in fresh water. She softly, carefully wiped the cloth over his face, taking in his features. His jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes squinted closed. But despite the obvious fever and pain, she couldn’t help but wonder how the master’s little, selfish, arrogant, scrawny son became so handsome.

How could one person change so much?

He winced in pain and rolled over, hugging his knees to his stomach. Leola pulled the freshly cleaned blankets over his quivering body. She let her hands rub against his back in an attempt to warm him faster. His muscles flinched at her touch and she backed away to pull the wooden chair closer to his bed. Sitting down she continued to wipe the wet cloth over his face and neck, seemingly unable to keep her hands and eyes off him. She softly feathered her fingertips over his cheek before moving up to guide his hair from his eyes. Her mind was a mess of questions and emotions.

What was he doing here? What was wrong with him? Will he live?

The last question had tears running down her cheeks. Leola couldn’t handle yet another death. Jean stirred again, pulling her arm close to him as his fingertips bruised into her skin as he fought the illness.

“Shhhh...please don’t die? Shhhhhh...”

She moved her trembling hand through his hair as she began to hum softly. Slowly he began to calm, loosening his grip on her arm. She leaned back against the chair, her eyes never leaving his face. As soon as the sun rises she would send for the doctor. Until then she would stay by his side, that much she was determined of. Her body, however, had different intentions. She yawned softly before sleep took her, her hand never leaving his side.

Several times throughout the night Jean Paul woke from his fevered dreams, his mind returning to the discomforts of reality and reminding him of the torment that waking life held for him at present. The first time he could have sworn he was no longer on the bed at all, but being carried somewhere. It was most likely an effect of the sickness, but he felt as though hands were clutching at his limbs and he was swaying through space. The waking moment only lasted a few brief seconds before the pain forced him back into his subconscious and allowed fatigue to overwhelm him once more. The next time he broke free and felt his mind returning to sanity he was on the bed again. Well, A bed, at least… It felt softer than before, although that could have been his tired muscled finally finding a comfortable position. His knees were curled up towards his chest, and sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes mightily as it dripped between his tightly closed lids. When sleep overtook him again a few moments later his last thought was of a breath of something sweet and innocent. He knew that scent, but couldn’t think for the life of him from where… Before he could figure it out, though, he was back in the land of nod.

He drifted in at one point to the sound of gentle humming, and felt all of his muscles begin to unclench, relaxing slightly from the horrible tension that had swept through them in waves before. Jean’s eyes fluttered open for the first time since arriving at the large cottage, seeing the world around him as vaguely outlined blurs of color rather than actual shapes and forms. He could easily see the moonlight pouring in through the open window, though, or perhaps it was merely starlight? It seemed so intense, but perhaps that too was an effect of the sickness that gripped him and wouldn’t allow him out of its choking hold. The soft light fell upon the floor and the wall opposite him, and he realized that he must have been moved earlier, for the layout of the room he was in was completely different from the one he’d passed out in earlier. Still, how long had he been out? He glanced about, searching for something that might tell him the day, or at least the time, and felt more than saw the young woman asleep at his bedside. Again that familiar, almost intoxicating aroma drifted to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply of it along with the cool night air, his lungs filling and a calmness settling inside his chest for the first time all night.

The bout of calm didn’t last, though, and soon enough he was wracked anew by horrid pains in his stomach and chest, a stabbing in the back of his neck which felt as though someone were reaching into him and pulling on his spinal cord, and waves of heat that swept through him at shorter and shorter intervals. He could feel the sweat stand up on his brow again, but he fought to keep his eyes open, brushing it away from them with a tired, weary hand which shook uncontrollably. I need to fight this! I need to see this, see her! For he had a vague idea of who sat by his bedside; Leola, a childhood friend who tended this home and whose parents worked for his before, and at that point, for him. Something about that thought seemed odd to him, but he couldn’t quite place what it was, and so let it slide away from him, instead focusing his gaze upon the soft, hazy form beside him, willing it into focus as best he could and failing spectacularly. The best he could do was to make out her long blonde hair which fell prettily around her face, although he couldn’t see her features clearly at that moment.

Jean Paul could remember, though, and his mind went easily back to a time when they were children. It was before his time with the doctor, but not too much earlier… His parents had brought him along on a trip to converse with hers, and they had naturally found each other, being the only children about. A quick conversation was all that was needed to start a game, he believed it had been tag but couldn’t be sure, his mind still a little fuzzy from the ongoing sickness. He could picture her clearly, though, and easily enough in the cute dress she wore, her blonde locks trailing in the breeze as she pranced through the house and out into the open, he tearing after her. The thing he remembered most at that moment, though, were her eyes… Strikingly deep pools of liquid jade, shot through with tiny flecks of deep forest green which reminded him of spruce needles during summer. They had been entrancing even then, and he could only imagine what they would look like to his haggard gaze, whether he would lose himself in them again the way he did so easily all those years ago. He wished he could see her more clearly, and in an attempt to pull himself up wrapped his fingers tightly about her arm again, putting pressure on it as he attempted to sit up. Her arm was warm and soft in his hand, though he was clearly weak and unable to move more than a fraction of the way up before falling back to the bed with a soft whoosh of breath. Blast this sickness! Will the prize be worth the payment? Will I even pull through? He questioned himself, however no matter how he tried his mind was unable to answer his questions and he sank back into sleep unfulfilled.

When he awoke some time later the first rays of dawn were beginning to show through the window, casting a blood red glare upon the walls and bathing Leola’s golden tresses in radiance, causing them to shine like strands of spun fire. It was certainly a striking effect to awake to, and as Jean opened his eyes yet again he looked up into her still closed eyes, wishing they would open before drifting slowly across the rest of her. Details were a little easier for him to perceive, though his vision still wasn’t perfect. He attempted to lift himself to a sitting position again, finding it painful and slow going but not impossible, as it was before. Upon finally reaching his desired state, he felt every muscle in his body contract and clench, tense and then finally release, shivers running through him as his pulse raced. He knew enough to know that his condition had not totally abated, and he was not through with the horrid sickness, and worst of all it could still claim him. But, that was part of the reason he had chosen this place! He had needed a place away from his normal haunts, but one where he would still be welcomed and above all respected enough not to be pestered with questions. When he’d thought of the vineyard he knew it was the proper place; far enough away that no one would know or recognize him in the area, under his family name’s control so he wouldn’t be questioned or badgered, and at least partially familiar. Jean looked over the sleeping form of the woman who still clutched his arm gently as she slumbered, smiling softly despite the pain it caused him. It was amazing what a few years could do… Leola had been a cute child, adorable even, but it was clear that when she had blossomed into maidenhood she had set an entirely new standard in beauty. His eyes drank in her soft skin, her long slender limbs, the flattering gown she wore… With a heavy sigh, as well as a few creaks and soft groans, Jean lay back down upon the bed, gazing up at her soft expression, wondering what she might be dreaming of. He raised a hand and slowly stroked across her cheek, feeling with his shaking fingers the warmth of her skin that practically rushed into his, sending a pleasant shiver up his arm as he softly whispered in a croaking, gravely voice “Leola…” With that he let his hand fall to hers, clutching it softly as his eyes fluttered and closed again and he drifted back to sleep.

“Leola...”

She awoke in a gasp, her heart pounding against her chest walls, as a small shiver ran down her spine at the sound of her name. Leola looked around the room slowly, searching for a maid, or Elizabeth, any source of the voice she heard. Instead she found the sleeping Jean, his large hand held hers tightly upon the sheet. She tentatively squeezed his hand as her heart sank, the cold chill from his hand washed through her veins striking her with such force that she lost her breath.

“Was he alive?”

Her eyes frantically searched his face for any sign of life. His skin was as pale as the white sheet below him, his limbs loosely laid by his side. His head was tilted to the side, his dry lips open, his eyes still shut tight as if in pain. Leola lifted her hand and placed it against his forehead as the chill pulsed through her body, shattering any resolve she had left. Images of her dying father flashed before her eyes as her panic rose. Tears swelled and streamed down her cheeks as her mind fought her reality.

“No...no, no, no...He can’t be dead, no he isn’t dead. He can’t be...just can’t be...”

Leola moved and sat beside him, her hands pushing against his chest as she desperately prayed for a heartbeat. Instead she was rewarded with the small rise and fall as he breathed shallowly. In that instant she was up and racing from the room, her long heavy skirt wrapped in her fingers, her chest straining against her tightly-wound corset as she hurried to the kitchen.

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth?”

She stood in front of the stove, a bubbling pot of soup gurgled above it. If it were under any other circumstance she would have revelled in the sweet smell that radiated from the pot. Instead her heart continued to race, her tear-filled eyes frantically searched for the old cook.

“Ola? How is he, dear one?” The faint voice had Leola turning on her heels, taking the old woman in a trembling embrace.

“He is alive, but I fear not for long. The doctor...send one of the maids immediately to fetch him. We don’t have a lot of time.” Her voice trembled from her lips as the tears continued to stream down her flush cheeks.

“Shhh...I have already sent for him almost an hour ago. I expect him any moment.” Leola looked upon the woman. Deep down Leola knew she should be handling the situation with better resolve. As the housekeeper of both the house and vineyard she should have better control of her emotional state of mind. A silent prayer of thanks slipping from her lips before she embraced the old cook one last time.

“Thank you Elizabeth.” The old woman simply smiled and brushed Leola’s tears with the end of her apron.

“Come here, child. Take this soup up and I shall send the doctor in once he arrives.”

Leola simply nodded, taking the silver tray adorned with chicken soup, fresh bread and a pitcher of milk and slowly made her way back up the stairs. Placing the tray next to the bed, she slowly traced her eyes over Jean’s sleeping form. In all her memories she had never seen him so vulnerable. He was also so strong-willed, determined and full of life.

She remembered the first time she had met Jean Paul. She had just finished helping Elizabeth fold the linen when the glimpse of a head of light auburn hair caught her attention. The boy confidently strode into the room wearing the most expensive clothes she had ever seen. Taking an apple from the kitchen bench, his eyes ran over her tiny form, his icy-blue eyes seemingly pierced right through her, and she grumbled at his overbearing arrogance. In that moment his face transformed as his lips curled into smile, his eyes glistening as if the sun shone from their depths. She was captivated.

Leola smiled softly as the memory faded. His boyish, sly smile always swooned her to do his bidding, despite how hard she tried to fight it. And now he lay lifeless before her, no sign of the boy she once knew and admired.

A soft knock at the door drew her eyes away from his sleeping form. The doctor smiled at Leola softly with the tilt of his hat before he walked over to the bed. After a brief look at his patient and a few moans of displeasure, the man turned to her.

“Miss Dubios? May I suggest you wait outside so I can conduct a more thorough examination?”

Leola curtsied and nodded before making her way out of the room. She trusted the doctor with her life. He was the man who cared for her ill father all those months before the illness finally took him. She continued to pace nervously outside the door, her hands gripping at the apron she wore in an attempt to distract her racing thoughts from the most negative outcome.

Jean Paul’s mind reeled as he sank deeper and deeper into the realm of sleep, giving himself over to his collective unconscious in an effort to escape the shivers than ran up and down his limbs and the feverish heat that plagues his head and chest. It felt as though he was drowning in frigid northern ocean waters and roasting over the flames of some southern volcano at the same time… Some small part of him remained conscious and in control of itself despite the overpowering urge to simply let go and fling himself into the dark bottomless abyss of sleep, give himself over to the sickness that raged inside him and threatened to wrench loose not only his mind but his body as well. He could see it in his mind’s eye as a palpable, physical entity, a darkly looming specter which was slowly growing like a festering sore upon his very soul. The tiny portion of him which remained active strove against it, pushing back and fighting for everything it was worth, but continued to lose ground. He realized that that was where the chills were coming from, not from the sickness which had overtaken the rest of him. Somewhere in his brain a neuron fired and a synapse closed, and he made the connection. This thing… Whatever it was, it was taking over, slowly but surely, engulfing his old self and replacing it with itself.

Had Jean been able to remember any of the psychology lectures he had attended previously at that moment he would more than likely have seen the grim specter before him as a representation of death. However the tiny part of him that struggled vainly against it was concerned only with its own survival, whatever the cost, and so didn’t recognize the connection or interpretation. As it grew it began to overwhelm him, and he sought refuge from it in the clustered, cobwebbed old memories hidden in the back of his mind…

Suddenly he saw himself as a child again, the sky clear and bright above him and the world lush and green before him. It was summer, and he inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet scent of grapes drifting on the breeze. He was at his family’s vineyard and it was time for an early harvest, the immature grapes already having been plucked from their bright green vines and put into vats for pressing. He looked about himself and spied a girl poking her head out from behind a tree, staring at him. When she noticed he was looking her way she ducked back out of sight, her bright green eyes the first thing to disappear, followed by the spun gold of her hair. He dashed quickly towards the tree, rounding it with a triumphant “HA!” only to find she’d vacated her hiding place. Jean’s sleeping mind suddenly recalled it was a game of hide and seek they had been playing at, he and Leola, back when they were still small. She was a year his junior and so he resented having her for a playmate, not to mention the fact that she was a girl, the worst possible fate a boy his age could possibly imagine, but she was also the only person with which to play, so he endured. Rather stoically, he thought at the time. He caught sight of the sun glinting off her shining locks as she darted into the cottage and quickly dashed after her, closing on the open doorway and bursting inside…

Only to find himself in an observational theater, dark and musty, the air practically choked with the smell of formaldehyde and other chemicals. A sheaf of paper sat on the table in front of him, hand poised intently over it in the act of taking notes as he looked down at the illuminated area in the center of the room. An old man with a surprisingly strong voice croaked and intoned on about reflexes and muscular memory and the like, all the while poking and prodding at a figure which lay perfectly still upon the table before him. The body on the table had a washed out, pale look to it thanks to the bright lights which shone down on it from above, large flaming braziers hanging several feet above the doctor’s head. Jean realized that this memory was from one of his early days back at the medical academy, when he had still been considering making it his life’s focus. He continued to watch the doctor below, listening to his monotone droning until suddenly he heard chatter from beside him. He glanced over to see a young couple, a man and a woman, sitting a few seats away talking idly to each other. At the time he had been flabbergasted at the idea of a woman learning to practice medicine, before remembering there had been a few recent precedents and trying to push the matter from his mind, returning it to the lecture in progress. Still, he thought, if she had worked so hard to gain entrance to the school why wasn’t she paying more attention? Perhaps she wasn’t there to learn after all, simply accompanying the man who sat beside her. Unable to concentrate thanks to their banter, he turned to look at them full on, glowering and sneering derisively at the pair, wondering how best to make his agitation felt without interrupting the doctor below. Just then the woman stopped speaking, midsentence, and turned to face him. His breath caught in his throat, and all thought of reproach left him. The smile upon her face was that of a cat suddenly spying a mouse, and her eyes bore into him like flaming darts, sending a cold shiver through his body. Even in the dim light he could see them clearly, deep charcoal grey the color of storm clouds rolling in off the sea… That had been the first time he’d met Marie and her mate, Claude.

Jean’s mind stirred as he felt the jarring impact of the memory begin to rouse him from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, bright searing sunlight forcing him to close them immediately. Bringing a hand up to shield himself from the harsh light he heard a soft “Hmph” from his bedside. Turning towards it, he opened them again, hoping and expecting to see Leola but instead finding himself looking at a craggy doctor who looked quite similar to the one from his lecture hall memory. The man gave him a puzzled look and spoke in a soft yet gravely voice, “You are not well, young man. Lie back and rest, the fever is still working you over. I’m doing the best I can, but whatever you have is either something entirely new or so far outside my area of expertise that I can’t understand it.” A warm, reassuring hand pushed against his chest, which Jean hadn’t realized had risen a few inches from the bed. He settled back down and attempted to speak, although found his throat dry and soar, and his voice came out as a rasping whisper,
“What… Wait, what? Who are you? Where is Leola?” He looked about the room, searching for some sign of her. The doctor gave him a patronizing look, the same all doctors give patients when they clearly are unwilling to listen to sound advice. “I need to speak with her, please… Then, I promise I’ll rest. Sir, if you know where she is, please could you bring her here?” It might have been the pleading in his tone or maybe just the fact that the doctor didn’t know what to do at the moment, but he stood and said “Very well. I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Whatever you’ve got, I don’t believe it’s contagious, at least not by conventional means. I shall return with her shortly…” Jean gave a soft, choked laugh as the doctor turned and walked through the door. Contagious? Certainly, but not in any way that poor man would understand…

Footsteps from within the room startled Leola from her pacing. Her eyes bore down the wooden door as it opened with a creek. Her eyes remained intent upon the old doctor as he walked towards her, closing the door softly behind him. Raising his eyes she knew immediately what he was going to say. His eyes; it was the same look he gave her when he diagnosed her father those few months before.

Leola looked at the doctor, her eyes begging him for another outcome. He simply lowered his eyes and shook his head. At that moment her heart sank, her body stiffened as the world around her swirled into a mass of colours and mumbled sounds. She vaguely heard the doctors’ deep, husky voice reincite the speech she knew only too well, until that too was just a murmur outside her current consciousness.

“Miss Dubois?” The sudden harshness to his voice broke her from preferred state of emotional and physical numbness. “He asks for your audience. The best you can do is to keep him comfortable.” He smiled at her reassuringly before opening his worn leather bag, pulling out a small vial. “This...this is for the pain. He will sleep for hours without any pain, but his judgement will be compromised while in use. For now there isn’t much more I can do.”

Leola nodded, forcing herself to smile before taking the vial. “Th...thank you doctor.” Despite her best efforts her voice was not as strong as she hoped for. “Elizabeth has your payment downstairs. Please help yourself to some breakfast. It is the least I can do for disturbing you at such an early hour.”

He smiled at her reassuringly before making his way down the staircase to the kitchen. Leola took a deep, slow breath; an attempt to calm the uprising flood of emotions from escaping her control. Slipping the vial into her apron, she shakily opened the door, knocking softly to announce her entry. She stood still until she heard a deep mumbled order to enter.

The chill of the room seemingly rushed to her bones as she entered the room, her eyes darting to the dwindling fire. “I’m sorry Master Jean. I’ll send for some more wood immediately...” Another inaudible mumble caught her attention and she saw Jean wincing as the sun shone into the room from behind a cloud. Leola rushed to the window, closing the curtains before turning swiftly to take in the site before her.

Jean now sat upright, weakly leaning against the wooden bed-head. He looked so pale, so small in comparison to the large oak four-post bed on which he sat. His eyes were pale blue; like small ice crystals stabbing through to her core, which sent another shiver of discomfort through her. His eyes roamed over her, his brow furrowed as if in deep thought. Despite his obvious discomfort, she watched as a small smile crept to his lips. For the first time since his arrival she recognised the sly curl to his lips; she saw her childhood friend.

Jean Paul looked upon Leola’s bustling form as she strode to the window, drawing the heavy drapes across it and cutting off the offensive light. His eyes watered, the remnants of the sun’s harsh glare still burning his retinas as if he’d been staring at it full on for some minutes. But, as they began to readjust to the slightly dimmer surroundings he felt the stabbing pains behind his eyes begin to lessen, though they did not retreat completely and he still felt a pounding within his head as though someone had taken a heavy brick to the back of it. What was it they’d told him? Dark glasses shall be your friend during the daylight hours, and along with proper clothing should keep the worst of that harsh orb’s tortures from your fair skin and sensitive eyes… At the time he had been sure it wouldn’t be near as bad as they’d made it seem, but at that moment he began to doubt himself in that, realizing that perhaps he would have to be more careful in the future.

Still, at least the fever had abated, for the time being anyway, and he finally had the strength to right himself against the headboard. It had taken a monumental amount of inner strength and willpower, but he had done it, and so sat propped against the massive piece of oak, his shoulder resting against its cool weight as he gazed across the room at Leola. He drank her in like a sun-parched desert wanderer finally coming upon an oasis. It had been a long time since he’d last seen her, and gazing upon her radiance again almost brought tears to his eyes not unlike those created by the bright sunlight. Even in the dimness of the room, sparsely illuminated by the now much filtered sunlight and the glow of the dying fire, she stood out like a sparkling vision before him. Her hair fell about her shoulders like a golden waterfall, her chest heaving prettily as if she’d just finished some strenuous exertion and her movements were as graceful as ever as she turned from the window to look at him. When he caught sight of her face, the one he’d searched for in his fevered dreams, in that horrid blackness, in the cobweb strewn memories, he felt a warmth grow within his chest. Yes, that was what he had been straining for the previous night, to see those eyes like liquid pools of jade set within that soft expressive face, those full lips always so quick with a smile. As a smile quirked the edges of his mouth up he felt the heat rise and swell within his chest, and despite the dryness of his throat and the parchedness of his tongue he found his voice once more. “Master Jean? When before have you ever called me that? Come now, Miss Leola, there’s no need to stand on ceremony here. Is that any way to greet a childhood friend?”

He saw the edges of her mouth twitch as a familiar smile crept to them, a warm inviting smile that had remained unchanged since their childhood. She had always been so full of life, always eager and ready for the next great adventure, whatever it might be. A vision flitted across his mind’s eye, the opening of one of those so called “adventures” they had shared in their younger days, back when they could still be called sweet and innocent and naïve… They had been exploring around the cellar of her parent’s great cottage, among the great racks which held endless bottles of wine, searching about in the manner of children for something unseen and unknowable to adult minds: fairies or bogeymen or even something as mundane as one of the great brown spiders that prospered in the woods near the edge of the vineyard. As they tramped through the musty darkness of the wine cellar, candles held aloft to light their way, they whispered back and forth; he attempting to scare her with invented stories of things lurking in the shadows and she playing along, listening intently and replying with soft whispers filled with wonder and tinged with doubt and fear. That particular day they hadn’t found anything of import, although it had been a pleasant way to spend the afternoon given the fact that rain prevented them from enjoying the outdoors.

The vision still very fresh in his mind, Jean reached to the top of the headboard and gripped it as tightly as he was able, gritting his teeth as he attempted to stand. It was a fierce battle, his tired muscles screaming at him in anguish as they were forced into action, acid pumping through them and sending shooting, burning pains all through his limbs. The pain in his head intensified as well, waves of it crashing about inside his skull like wine sloshing about in a decanter as it was jostled and shaken about. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, with many creaks of joints and a groan of anguish whistled through clenched teeth, he stood at the side of the bed, eyes watering again from the effort. Leola rushed to his side as if to push him back down onto the bed, and opened her mouth as if to speak in protest of his actions but he raised a hand and gently motioned for silence. Lids only half open, he gazed upon her sweet face again, taking in the look of worry and concern upon it and furrowing his brow quizzically as he saw her more clearly. Her eyes were red as though she’d been crying or were about to, and lines of worry crowded her own brow while her mouth formed a perfect ‘O.’

A soft, gruff chuckle rumbled from his chest as he reached out to her, laying his hand gently upon her shoulder, feeling her immutable warmth despite the fabric of the corset that stood between his fingertips and her soft flesh. His hand trailed down her arm, the feeling of warmth magnifying as his hand reached the bare skin of her arm and drifted down to clutch her hand in his, fingers twining amongst hers as he smiled into her eyes, their deep emerald hues shining so brightly even in the relative darkness. “Come now, Leola, I’m not so feeble I should be relegated to bed rest all the time… Besides, how would I hug you from there without pulling you down onto the bed with me, eh?” He gave her a sly, playful wink, like he always did when intoning something a touch improper with a hint of innuendo. Jean had always enjoyed the blush it gave her, the soft rosy flush it brought to her cheeks and the demure way she tried to hide it. As her mouth slowly began to close he leaned in and wrapped his other arm about her, his chin resting upon her shoulder as he squeezed her as tightly as he was able, and whispered softly in her ear, “Now, why do you look as though you’re about to break into tears?”

“Master Jean? When before have you ever called me that? Come now, Miss Leola, there’s no need to stand on ceremony here. Is that any way to greet a childhood friend?”

Leola cursed silently at Jean’s confidence despite his fragile physical state. He was right, of course. Her current coldness towards him surely wasn’t warranted. He was upon his deathbed and she, determined to keep her emotional weakness a secret, coldly referred to him as Master. Though the title was true, that was what he was. In the grand scheme of French hierarchal affairs, Leola was nothing more than a house servant. It was a hard lesson for her to learn.

Leola dipped her head, her eyes gazing upon the floor as the memories reminisced within her mind. The summer of Leola’s 10th birthday blessed the harvest with the best produce the vineyard had seen in years. The farm was buzzing with farm-aids, wicker baskets strapped to their sides as they busily sung their way through the laboured work in the midday sun. On the day of her birthday, Leola skipped and sung merrily behind her father, carrying a half-filled basket as her father strolled through the fields, efficiently making notes of the harvest.

While her father stopped to talk to one of the workers, Leola sat in the shade of one of the vines, her eyes guiltily studying the basket before her, her mind fighting the inner battle to behave and not eat the grapes that tempted her. While she was naturally stubborn, an attribute she gained from her mother, she was also only a child with a weak resistance to sweets. Her mind made up, she quickly took a grape and stealthily placed it in her mouth, the warm fruit juices swelling her cheeks as she savoured the taste.

“I saw you!” Leola’s eyes shot open to meet an icy-blue pair staring confidently back at her from between two huge vine leaves. The form stood from his hiding place behind the vine in front of her and made his way to her side. Leola stood, her eyes accusingly glaring down upon Jean as he strode confidently towards her. She knew he took great pleasure in scaring her. Whether it was because of the thrill of hiding and stalking her silently before the actual deed, or her reaction, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she didn’t like it one bit.

“Do you always have to scare me so?” Leola picked up the basket and continued to follow her father.

“Yes, actually. It is my job to protect the grapes from thieves!” Leola stopped and turned swiftly, her eyes and mouth open wide in shock.

“Jean, it was one grape. Please don’t tell Papa?” She watched intently as Jean over-exaggeratedly thought, his hand coming up to stroke the invisible beard of his chin. Finally his mouth curled into a cheeky grin.

“I suppose I can let you get away this once. After all, it is your birthday.” Leola smiled as the sense of relief washed through her. “Come on, I have something to show you!”

After a few moments of pleading with her father to let her play, the two children were off and running, racing their way passed her small cottage to the forest that rested behind. Jean finally made his way to the large lake, jumping and singing his joy for beating her once again. Leola stopped next to him, and sat as she tried to catch her breath.

Taking off her small leather boots and stockings, she slowly dipped her toes into the cool water, shivering slightly as her feet succumbed to the water. She closed her eyes and revelled in the feeling of the cold that washed through her heated body. Once she finally opened her eyes, Jean placed a small package upon her lap, the brown paper aggressively wrapped and tied with a string.

Leola looked at Jean, a sense of curiosity and excitement twirled in her stomach. Jean’s face lit up as his smile widened, his eyes beaming with joy and impatience. Slowly Leola opened the gift to find a small white fur pouch attached to a black leather strap. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever been given, and within moments of seeing it she wrapped her arms tightly around Jean. He pulled away and grumbled before nudging her to open the pouch.

Leola’s small hands traced the intricate stitching upon the fur before opening it and tipping its contents in her other hand. Three small gold coins lay in her palm, her green eyes widening with both surprise and disbelief. That was more money than she had ever seen, let alone been given. A small tear ran down her cheek as she once again embraced her friend. Taking the coins and pouch from her, Jean replaced the coins in the pouch and fastened it around Leola’s waist. Then, their game continued; running, prancing and splashing each other around the large lake until the sun began to set.

Later that night Leola sat at the small table of her cottage; her father standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, Elizabeth and her husband sitting across from her. They finished their meal and began to sing merrily before a loud knock of the door interrupted. Leola’s father opened the door, Jean’s father marching in without an introduction, his eyes intent on Leola.

After several silent moments the man finally spoke to her father, all the while his eyes remained on Leola. “Your daughter is a thief.” All eyes turned to Leola as her heart began to beat fast in her chest, her blood rushing from her head making her dizzy. Had he found out about the grape?

“Master Thibault, what are you accusing my daughter of stealing?” Her father’s words were met with the fury of Jean’s father.

“Coins...three gold coins to be precise. Where is the child’s room?” Before her father could interfere, Jean’s father was marching through the house and into her small room, picking up her pillows and toys in search for the stolen money. Finally he found the small white fur pouch in a small chest at the end of her bed, and tipped its contents out onto her bed.

Leola ran into her room and pulled on the furious man before her...”No, they are mine!” Leola’s father pulled her away, pushing her into the arms of the waiting Elizabeth.

“See Felix, she is nothing more than a lying pickpocket!”

Leola’s father kneeled before her, his hands gently gripping his daughter’s hands as he looked deep into her tear-filled eyes. “Leola? Where did you get those coins?”

“Papa...Jean...Jean gave them to me. They were my birthday present.”

“So now she blames my son? The lying little...” Jean’s father stepped closer, his hand raised to strike the small girl in his fury. Felix stood and took the impact of the hit on his chest. “My daughter is not a liar. Why on earth would she lie about such a thing?”

“Why would my son give a servant girl gold!?” There was no reasoning with the Master. Without further hesitation, Jean’s father ripped Leola from the grasp of Elizabeth and began to pull her to the small shed across the field. His grip was tight upon her small wrist, and he continued to drag her, her small feet unable to keep up with his pace.

Her father chased behind. “Master, she is just a child! Spare her. I’ll take the punishment!”

“No Felix! She will learn her lesson to steal from me and blasphemy my son!” It didn’t take long for him to reach his destination, slamming the door open and tying Leola to the steel pole by her wrists with leather straps. He ripped the back of her white, lace dress; a present from Elizabeth that very morn, and forced her to her knees. Leola was shaking beyond her control, tears streaming down her cheeks as she begged and pleaded. She knew well the use of this shed and screamed as the first whip sliced at the delicate skin of her back.

Leola heard the screams of her father and Elizabeth vaguely as the next whip sliced at her, the sound echoing through the small shed as she felt the blood dripping from the wounds. Another whip and Leola passed out as the pain shot through her child body. Elizabeth told her later while attending to her wounds that she was whipped 10 times before her father managed to pull the Master out of the shed and speak reason into him. The next morn the Master's family were gone.

Leola shuddered as the pain shot through her at the memory. Never once did she blame Jean. Despite his arrogant games, he would never hurt her. But the scars upon her back served as a reminder of her place in this household. Sighing softly, Leola raised her eyes to see Jean struggling to stand. She raced to his side, one arm wrapped around his back while the other pressed against his chest. What on earth was he doing?! She opened her mouth to speak but he gestured her to remain silent, before his hands glided softly down her arms to entwine in her hand. Small shivers shot through her body; was it the chill of his skin against hers or the intimate gesture, she wasn’t sure.

“Come now, Leola, I’m not so feeble I should be relegated to bed rest all the time… Besides, how would I hug you from there without pulling you down onto the bed with me, eh?”

Her cheeks turned ruby red as a boyish smile crept to his lips. Leola shook her head, her mind attempting to understand why he found so much pleasure in embarrassing her. Before she could come to any conclusion she pulled her gaze from his, stepping back slightly only to be pulled into a tight embrace. Jean leant his head softly against her shoulder as he gripped tightly around her waist. His breath softly brushed against the soft, sensitive skin of her neck and she shivered at the joy it gave her. A small tear ran down the side of her cheek as she realised that this could be the last time she held her dear friend.

“Now, why do you look as though you’re about to break into tears?”

Leola wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing deeply in an attempt to remember the feeling of having him so close; his masculine smell, his sweet and husky voice, his gentleness despite the tightness of his embrace. Surely he wasn’t dying. He couldn’t die. She had lost both her parents, and now she was forced to endure yet another death...to watch her dear friend struggle in the depths of pain before taking his last breath to leave her once and for all.

No – this wasn’t about her. She would be strong for him. Taking a deep breath she pulled back to look up into his beautiful eyes, forcing a small smile to her lips in an attempt to steer him away from her emotional pain.

“I’m just so happy to see you, dear Jean.”

Jean held her tight again, breathing in her scent as her warmth seemed to rush into his body. She smelled of sunshine and earth and vines and above all, the grapes. It wasn’t a scent that was easy to escape there, that sweetness mixed with bitterness that seemed to penetrate every scrap of clothing, not only the ones which became saturated with the juices during harvest time. Even the house itself seemed saturated with it somehow… Yet somehow, on her it was… Well, right. The feel of her warm body clasped against his made him realize how truly cold he was, and he could feel the way his skin hungrily lapped up the warmth from her body as though he’d been in the ground a good couple of weeks already. When he was finally able to break their embrace, he held tightly to her shoulders still and gazed into her eyes, a wry smile upon his face which seemed to creep into position there whenever she was around.

“Is that so? It certainly has been a while…” Jean’s smile softened into something genuine, tugging lines up at the sides of his mouth as his lips stretched wide, even his eyes getting into it. “I’m so very happy to see you as well, Leola. Though I confess you haven’t found me at my best. I meant to be here several hours earlier, but ehhhh…” His mind began racing, wondering what exactly to tell Leola, finally settling on something, “circumstances conspired to put me behind the times.” Jean Paul had wrestled several times over with whether or not to tell Leola the whole truth or even a partial truth about his condition, or to attempt to keep her entirely in the dark. She was his closest friend in all the world, and he did not like the idea of hiding things from her, but this was his cross to bear. Everyone had issues they kept hidden back within the darker corners of their mind, never airing them out, especially not to others. For the time being, he had concluded, he would avail her of the details only as necessary. What had they told him about sharing? The throbbing pain in his head made it hard to concentrate and the memories came slowly, shakily.

It had been dark that night, not even a moon or stars to light the way as he stole along the deserted city streets. Dull charcoal grey clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to crash down upon the city’s spires and crush them all in a gloomy, oppressive fog. The only sounds he could hear were the clicking of his boot heels along the cobbled streets and his labored breathing rushing in and out of his chest, a rather slow cadence compared to the pulse that was pounding within his ears. He’d never liked nights like that, things were too dark, the low cloud cover muffled everything, and the morning chill was always so much worse… Still he hurried on through the night, clutching a well worn satchel against his side, the strap hanging across his shoulder digging into his skin despite the leather coat and long black traveling cloak he wore. On nights like that the chill ran straight to the bones, gripping them like a vice and bleeding all the warmth from his system. After what seemed an eternity he turned down the familiar alleyway which led back between a widower’s boarding house and what was once a distillery but at that moment sat vacant. The back door to the distillery was unlocked and opened easily at his touch, and when he’d entered he saw nothing but darkness the color of pitch, with a wan glow coming in through the overhead windows, the sparse illumination provided by the few streetlights able to reach through the gloomy night.

A voice called to him, low and husky, so soft that he was never sure if it was really audible at all or simply in his mind… “Ahhh, the young master returns…” He took a further step into the cloying darkness, felt it wrap around him like a constricting blanket which threatened to choke the air from his lungs, and forced himself to remain calm. What felt like a hand, but could have been a claw or talons, slid down his chest, sending an icy chill through him before deftly worming its way into the satchel at his side. “And how much have you brought us tonight, Jean Paul?” He felt his own voice quaver and crack as he attempted to respond, “Two liters. It should be enough…” The hand reached up to his face, fingers like frozen stalactites pinching his chin and stopping him short. The voice spoke again “Very good, Jean Paul. For that, we shall continue your lessons… Tonight’s first; a warning.” He felt the presence slide close to him in the darkness, the aroma of rose petals mingling with the sour, coppery smell of blood so strong he could almost taste it. “Trust no one unlike yourself. All others shall betray you, and none shall love you; only those who are like you will understand you.”

Jean’s mind snapped back to the present, though a cold shudder ran through him, shaking his limbs; a vestigial remnant of the long hours spent in the cold, dark places she had favored. Leola’s warm touch reminded him of his present situation, though, and he gazed upon her once more as if he hadn’t seen her in years, hadn’t just held her in his tired arms. He looked deep into her eyes, staring past the limpid pools of green and into the worried thoughts beyond. He could plainly see something was troubling her but felt disinclined to push at the moment, not wanting to spoil the happy reunion with aggression or sadness. He opened his mouth to speak and felt a now familiar tightening in his chest as another wave of nausea swept over him. Fingers clenching tightly at the fabric of her corset and the soft skin of her shoulder, Jean doubled over, resting his already sweat soaked brow upon her chest, clenching teeth and lips until the wave passed. When he looked up into her eyes once more a sorry hang-dog expression was on his face and he began to doubt the efficacy of his plan to recuperate in Leola’s home. He hadn’t wanted to put her through anything like that, he’d only been searching for a quiet place away from prying eyes and ears where he might ride out what they’d called ‘minor discomfort’ in peace and solitude…

When his knees began to buckle Jean let go his tight grip upon Leola and sank slowly back down to the bed. A sly, boyish smile crept to his lips as he looked up at her, forcing his expression into the same cocky, knowing one she had seen a million times before. A realization struck him then, and he chuckled softly to himself despite the pain that wracked his chest with every move, cocking his head to one side and saying, in a tired, husky voice, “Do you remember the last time we were in this room together like this? You were eight at the time, and I on the verge of nine, only I think you were the one on the bed…” His eyes began to water as another wave swept over him, and his eyes seemed to cloud almost dreamily as he sought refuge in the memory…

“Get out of bed! Come on, it’s almost midday!” Jean had called to her from the doorway, hand still clutching the knob hesitantly as though sure it were just a ruse and at any moment Leola might spring from bed, laughing and eagerly chasing after him. When he saw she did not simply spring from bed, he cautiously strode into the room, placing his steps carefully so his footfalls were as silent as possible and he avoided the creaking of the floorboards. When he reached the bed she smiled rather weakly up at him, and at that moment he saw the cold wet cloth upon her forehead, her usually lustrous golden tresses splayed out upon the pillow in a tangled mess, her usual rosy flush a dim, pale off white instead. It was not just her pallor that worried Jean, it was the way she failed to respond with any of her usual quips or comments, not even offering him a rebuke for entering without knocking. The cocky grin left his lips, to be replaced by a worried frown and a furrowed brow. At that moment Elizabeth bustled into the room and began pestering him, telling him to leave Ms. Leola to her rest. Jean tried to explain that he had simply come to play, and had only ventured into the room to check on her, but not only was he rebuked but he was trundled through the door, which was abruptly shut behind him.

Ordinarily at a time like that Jean would have begun plotting some scheme to take revenge for the slight against him, but Leola’s condition had shaken him and instead he simply stood leaning against the wall, wondering what was wrong with her. He knew that none of the adults would tell him, thinking him only a child and therefore unable to understand or come to terms with things like sickness or pain or trauma. So, instead, he ventured out of doors, among the field of grasses and wildflowers that stretched out along one side of the vineyard’s grounds, picking tiny daisies and buttercups and sweetgrass and wild lavender and thyme. A few hours later he had a substantial little bouquet and he returned to the cottage with it, in hopes of gaining entry long enough to pass them along to Leola. When he reached the doorway to the room she’d been ensconced in he knocked softly, but to no avail. Upon entering the room itself he saw Leola was the only inhabitant once more, and she had succumbed to fatigue and was dozing peacefully beneath a heavy homemade patchwork quilt. He tiptoed across to the bed, although that time his footfalls sounded to his ears like the roar of thunder and his shoes managed to find every loose nail and warped, creaky floor board possible. Breath held tightly within his chest and face purple with lack of oxygen he let it out and took in the quietest, deepest breath possible as he finally reached her bedside. Gazing down upon her sleeping form gave Jean pause, and he stood simply watching her for he knew not how long. Eventually he remembered the reason for his return visit and laid the carefully arranged bundle upon her chest, wrapping her soft, gentle hand around it and tiptoeing back out of the room.

“…and I was the one looking all teary eyed. Hehehe… Time certainly changes things, doesn’t it?” He squinted up at her, his expression caught halfway between fond remembrance and tortured agony, though the sly smile never left his lips.

“Do you remember the last time we were in this room together like this? You were eight at the time, and I on the verge of nine, only I think you were the one on the bed…”

Leola half-heartedly smiled. She knew well what he was talking of. It was several months after she had met the young Jean, when the winter chill had first taken over the vineyard with blankets of snow. Her mother was the first to fall ill, Leola choosing to tend to her ill mother instead of playing with her beloved playmate, until she too fell ill. In hopes of a quick recovery, Elizabeth begged and pleaded with the Master for little Leola to rest within the warmth of the main house. Several hours later Leola was being carried through the vineyards by her father and placed upon the biggest bed she had ever laid eyes upon. It was the kind of bed Princesses slept upon.

While her mind was a haze for exact details, there were two things she remembered quite clearly. First was the bouquet of flowers she woke to find. The sweet smell of lavender had awoken her from her sleeping state, and ever since Leola kept a fresh bunch of the flower close by at all times. The very smell caused her to smile. She never knew who gave them to her, but they served as a reminder of how much she was truly cared for and loved within the household.

The second was her father’s eyes as he held her in that very bed and told her of her mother’s fate. Leola had cried for hours in his arms, though it seemed like a lifetime. She remembered the guilt she felt that day. If only her mother was moved to the house instead of her, her mother would have recovered. If only she had taken better care of her mother in the first place. She was the reason her mother died. She was at fault. Leola had prayed every night for almost a year that God would take her and return her mother to the world...prayed that God would punish her instead of hurting her father. But her prayers were never answered. That very guilt still haunted her.

“...and I was the one looking all teary eyed. Hehehe…Time certainly changes things, doesn’t it?”

Despite his best efforts, Leola saw the agony Jean was in. Leola’s heart lurched in her chest. She closed her eyes and forced the pain to ease. She couldn’t let him suffer. Quickly she made her way over to the small reading area by the fireplace. Taking the intricately decorated pitcher of water, she filled a goblet before making her way back to Jean’s side. She took the small vial from her apron and watched as the crimson red liquid dripped into the water. It dispersed almost instantly, turning the water into the soft colour of rose as she swirled the goblet to mix the medicine thoroughly.

Kneeling next to Jean, Leola held the goblet up to his trembling lips. “Drink, it will take your pain away.” Jean turned his head away from the goblet, opening his mouth to voice his disapproval. Leola’s heart lurched again, this time sending the pain through her whole body. He was in pain, so much pain, yet he wouldn’t let her help him...wouldn’t let her make his last few hours be at least comfortable. Tears began to swell in her eyes as she silently begged him to drink. “Please? Jean, let me help you? Let me take that pain away, if only for a few hours?” He caught her gaze, his blue-icy stare seemingly seeking entrance to her soul as he searched for answers unknown. After several moments, he nodded wearily.

Leola tipped the goblet slowly. Watching as Jean first winced as the repugnant liquid ran over his tongue then flowed down his throat. Taking deeper gulps he finished the liquid hurriedly. It didn’t take long for the medicinal induced sleep to take over him. Leola sat by his side, his frosty hand gripped in hers while her other hand dabbed his forehead with a clean cloth. She had sat there the whole day, watching as every passing hour his breath became shallower, his face even paler until eventually his breaths were nothing more.

Leola’s hand rested upon Jean’s chest, desperate to find a beat, another breath, anything. But there was nothing. She had lost him. He was gone. Jean was gone. Jean was dead. Tears streamed from her eyes as she held Jean’s body, her head buried in his chest as the grief overcame her. Her body shuddered as the tears continue to flow...the guilt of her mothers’ death, the grief of her father’s death and now the loss of her dearest friend. It was all too much...too much to cope. Struggling to find breath, Leola wiped the tears from her eyes to look upon Jean’s face. He looked in peace and pain-free and she thanked God that Jean gave her that one last gift to take away his pain. She laid by his side, her eyes shut tightly as she sobbed into his chest. She prayed that Jean would wake and wrap his arm around her, to comfort her. But as the hours passed the realisation settled and her tears eventually ceased.

By the time she moved from Jean’s lifeless side, the full moon shone brightly through the gaps of the drapes. She moved to the window, opening the drapes and the window. The hot summer night breeze washed passed her. Closing her eyes she envisioned Jean’s soul being carried on that breeze, gently brushing against her skin before gracefully flowing out the window and into the night sky.

Leola opened her eyes and watched as the vine leaves danced, the trees behind her cottage home swaying softly in the gentle wind. Instantly she knew where she wanted to be. Without further hesitation, Leola quietly raced from the room, closing the door behind her. Once out of the main house, she ran as fast as her legs would take her, racing through the vine-fields, passed her cottage and into the woods behind. Her breath heaved from her chest, her hair falling about her shoulders, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran through the trees. Twigs whipped and scored her skin, tore at her skirt, but she continued to run until she was at last standing on the edge of the large lake.

Leola sunk to her knees as a deep pain built up inside of her. She looked to the sky as another wave of tears fell down her cheeks. Leola’s chest heaved and a deep gripe of pain burst from her throat as the tears broke free and echoed amongst the trees surrounding her. Laying her head wearily on the grass, she curled her body and hugged her knees to her chest...the tears calming as sleep eventually overcame her.

Jean winced as another wave swept over him, engulfing him in a throbbing ache that seemed to build from the soles of his feet, running up along his legs and turning them to pudding before tightening his stomach into a knot and wrapping itself about his heart like a cold, clammy fist before echoing around in his head like the din of some horrible drum. Doing his best to hide the pain, he tensed and shrank a little from Leola, which seemed to be enough to set her worrying all over again; the last thing he wanted… Again he struggled with his indecision, wondering if he could possibly tell her the full details of his condition. No, he thought, if I told her now she would simply think me mad, the fever having boiled my brains to the consistency of Christmas pudding… She wouldn’t believe a bit of his confession, and indeed it would only pain her more, seeing him go on like that, so sure of himself and cavalier about what was happening to him. Indeed it was hard to feel cavalier at the moment, or nonchalant, and he felt pangs of doubt assail him, stinging into the back of his mind like stinging hornets, burying their horrid little thorns within his brain and lodging them there where they could fester and spread their noxious, poisonous doubt…

No, he couldn’t begin doubting himself at that point. What was done was simply done, by then. If they had duped him there was nothing he could do about it, and he wouldn’t spend his last few conscious moments (if that were the case) railing to poor Leola about his inevitable rebirth as a twisted eternal brother of the night. If he were to die soon he would make sure those last moments were full of happiness, something to take with him to the eternal sleep he would soon be consecrated to. He watched her slowly fill a tall goblet, no doubt the house’s best silver… No expense spared for him, the visiting master of the estate, not even though he could be on his death bed… The regard was touching, and brought a sad smile to his lips, which began to quiver as Leola returned with the goblet, kneeling beside him. “Drink, it will take your pain away.” He highly doubted it, and was about to give her the gentlest rebuke he could when she began to tear up, her warm green eyes clouding over with unshed tears which caught the sparse light and began to sparkle. If he was to die, he would at least grant her that final wish…

She poured the liquid into his mouth and though it tasted like ashes mixed with bitter roots he managed to finish it all. When all was gone she placed it aside and he simply sat gazing into her eyes, a sly smile upon his lips as though silently stating “See? All gone and I’m still fine…” A few moments later the corners of his smile began to droop, along with his eyelids, and the world around him grew blurry. Shapes began to lose their sharp edges, outlines began blurring together and he felt himself slump back against the bed. The only good thing to be said of it was that the pain had indeed lessened, and as he slowly sprawled out upon the bed he felt it only as a dull throbbing ache within his joints, no longer the sharp stabbing of red hot knives into each of his muscles. As his eyes drifted shut she was the last sight he glimpsed, her golden tresses a soft blur that framed a face dominated by two dark points of green deeper than any forest man had ever known.

As sleep overtook him he felt himself slip into the familiar dream of before, though the dark specter than hung over the place within his mind had taken much ground in his conscious absence. It had grown into a great vortex which threatened to swallow up his entire mind, body and soul, and leave nothing behind, no trace that he had ever even existed in the first place. The tiny spark of life that railed against it before then fled into memory found nowhere to run this time and he knew there would be no more chances, no escape… Somehow he’d expected more of death. He knew that was what stood before him, so cold and unfeeling. It was the one thing he had been searching to escape his entire life, since the first time he’d seen man’s mortality with his own eyes, had it burned into his consciousness forever. The hungry vortex simply hovered before him, slowly drawing in everything about him like a whirlpool, though it was so dark and so black he couldn’t see a single movement within its boundaries. Perhaps the movement was an illusion, a fleeting image his mind had plucked from some text book page and plastered up before him to give him some idea of scope and scale. Did everyone see death differently? Was that why there were so many varying accounts of it? The last bright spark that was Jean Paul idly wondered what those who saw angels trumpeting and loved ones beckoning had been reading or watching or ingesting in order to bring about a vision like that during their final moments. Had he anything to do it with, he would have laughed.

The vortex drew closer than ever and the bright spark slowly began to grow dim and shrink. Dimmer and smaller it became as outer layer after outer layer was devoured by the inky blackness, and Jean along with it. It shrank to the size of a child’s ball, then to half of that, then to the size of a dollop of honey dripping from a spoon, then on down to a fat raindrop, then a salty tear which falls from the eye of a loved one, and finally nipped out of existence altogether, leaving only the darkness hovering in the void. Unbeknownst to his unconscious, Jean Paul’s heart stopped at that moment, and the last of the heat began sinking slowly from his body into the bed, the atmosphere around him, and into Leola’s still warm hand. His body lay, totally inert upon the bed, unreachable and unshakable, dead to the world for all intrinsic purposes. Also unbeknownst to Jean, Leola wept for him, hot salty tears which ran down her cheeks and stained his cold skin and clothing with wetness and warmth. Hours passed, not a single muscle so much as twitching within his lifeless body, Leola eventually breaking away, moving to the window and finally tearing from the room and the cottage itself.

As the moon reached its zenith in the night sky, a brightness in the darkness which shone down with enough reflected light to illuminate the passing souls of the dead, whose warm glow gave pause to young lovers out on a stroll, which bathed kings and beggars alike, the light also fell upon two childhood friends reunited only to be torn apart once more. She sat contemplative beside the lake while he lay unthinking at all in a bed inside. When the moon crested that invisible arc it followed across the starry sky every night, shining in through the now open drapes and window, catching floating dust motes in the breeze, it also shone down upon an event no one was thankfully present for. Moonlight poured in through the open window and Jean’s chest heaved as it took in great lungfuls of the warm, sweet summer air, coughing it right back up as convulsions wracked his body and sent shivers up and down his spine. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead and he sat bolt upright, every previous pain in his body gone.

His muscles felt loose and strong, stronger than he had felt in a long time, possibly more so than he’d ever felt… Jean reached up a hand before his face, tightening it into a fist and unclenching it again, marveling at the way his body moved. I died. I remember… The darkness, oh the horrid, wretched darkness! He could still feel it there, in the back of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, like a parasitic entity he couldn’t rid his system of. Eager to finally rouse himself out of bed, he stood cautiously from the bed, his legs still a little shaky, and walked to the window. Some part of his mind felt Leola’s presence there, though she had long ago left that vantage point for some other. The feeling of her was even stronger near the bed, but of course she must have sat there at his side for… How long had he been in bed? How much time had passed? He cocked his ears, listening for some sign of her, perhaps returning to her post at his side. No, he couldn’t feel her familiar presence anywhere nearby, but he found if he focused hard enough he could pick up on the trail she left behind. It was like following a vapor trail, but instead of chasing after frozen particles of water condensing in the air he was chasing after… Well, he didn’t really know what it was, but he was determined to follow it to its end, knowing that would lead him to Leola. He crept through the halls, remembering his boyhood days spent sneaking around, and swept easily enough out into the warm summer night. The trail led him through the grapes and out into the dense woods beyond, the strange smells surrounding him never swaying him in the slightest from his path as he crept as silently as he could through the underbrush, not wanting to startle her if he came upon her unexpectedly. He finally came upon a very familiar lake lined with soft grasses, and a few patches of wildflowers and bushes here and there. Leola lay curled up asleep upon the grass and he was about to call out to her, run across the clearing and pull her into his arms, when doubt assailed him and he realized how truly strange and incredible and unbelievable the whole situation would seem to her… Instead, he sat just inside the edge of the tree line, head in his hands as he sighed softly to himself and wondered what to do.

The screech of an owl startled Leola to consciousness; her hands grasped tightly at her chest as she sat up and calmed her racing heartbeat. Her eyes slowly gazed upon the site before her, taking in every detail as her mind slowly woke. She had always loved the lake, especially during the quiet moments that could only be found at night. She had come here frequently since she was a child, mesmerised how the moon, no matter its form, always shone upon the rippling waters seemingly bringing it to life. Tonight was no different, in fact the full moon only made the waters more magical, more compelling, more comforting. She watched silently as the warm summer breeze glided softly over the water’s surface, the moon’s reflection danced with the twinkling stars while its’ beams bathed the surface in a mystifying silver glow. It was a place where Leola was truly at ease, truly happy, truly free. She was free from the problems that plagued her mind and the pain that terrorised her soul. If only for a few moments, Leola was always at peace amongst the protection of the trees and the wisdom of the lake.

Tonight, however, it held more importance, for it was the only place she felt close Jean. Leola had so many memories of the two playing amongst the wildflowers, chasing through the trees, splashing in the shallow waters, that when she watched Jean’s soul drift softly out the window, this was the only place she knew she would find it again. The ache in her heart lurched, and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. This place was reserved for her happiest memories...her tears would only corrupt what precious recollections she had of her dear friend.

Instead Leola slipped off her worn leather boots and stockings, rose to her feet and dusted herself of the grass that clung to her skirt. She slowly made her way to the small patch of rocks that stood at the lake’s deepest end, picking up a handful of small pebbles as she went. She stopped and absorbed the site before her, a small smile creeping to her lips as she threw the first stone. It shimmered across the water’s surface, skimming it three times before falling into its depth. She sighed in frustration before taking another rock and threw it as hard as she could and watched it skim the water seven times before it too fell to the lake floor. She couldn’t help the smile that came. She had never skimmed a rock so far before. Jean had always beaten her, and he was always quick to remind her so. Had she finally beaten him?

Her mind went back to the last time she brought Jean here. Leola could hear his young voice echo in the trees around her as he danced his triumph over her once again. “I am King of this lake. Over my dead body will you ever beat me!” He was always true to his word. With a disheartened sigh she dropped the remainder of the rocks into the water and watched as the ripples danced away from her. Leola crouched down, her skirt held against her thighs, as she gazed into her own reflection. She looked so tired; her hair was a mess, stray strands escaping the confines of her braid to fall around her face, and her red eyes were lined with dark circles.

Leola looked to the sky. The sun would rise in a matter of hours and she had so much to do. She would have to send for Master Thibault and tell him of his son’s...she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. She despised the man, more than she thought it possible to hate another person. Even the thought of him left her sick to her stomach. She glared at her reflection and watched as her eyes darkened as her hatred for her Master was clearly evident. She couldn’t handle him; his arrogant, demeaning, hot-tempered...and the soul-shattering news she had to tell him...before she could finish the thought she smashed her own reflection with her hand angrily and stood. She needed to calm herself before she even thought of sending for him. She had at least two hours before the sun rose, and she knew exactly how she was going to spend them.

Leola gracefully stepped away from the edge of the lake, her eyes darting around her in search of any eyes that may be watching. The owl hooted softly above her and she blushed knowing that her improper behaviour would be witnessed. Besides the watchful eyes of the owl Leola was confident that her dignity would remain, and slowly reached behind to unfasten her corset. A breath of relief escaped her lips as the corset fell to the grass. She breathed deeply, allowing her aching lungs to expand. Her hands softly cupped her breasts through her dress and she massaged them gently as the pain dissolved. She had never liked wearing a corset, it was torture, pure and simple. Yet Elizabeth was determined that Leola would become the lady her mother wanted her to be...and as such forced her to wear them every day since she started to blossom into adulthood.

Leola quickly shed her dress and undergarments, folding them neatly before placing them by the tree behind her. She tiptoed her way back to the edge of the water and breathed nervously before closing her eyes. Reaching her arms out wide, she focused on the sensations that washed through her. The warm breeze delicately brushed her skin; her body shivered at the contact and her skin tightened to goose-bumps. Her fingers began to tingle before the sensation spread throughout the rest of body like bolts of electricity. She shook nervously as the breeze brushed teasingly over her most private areas, places never seen or touched by anyone besides herself.

She opened her eyes and shyly gazed upon her naked form in the water. It took Leola a moment to overcome her embarrassment and shyness before she could confidently look back at her own reflection. She had never seen herself as beautiful, in fact, by the time her father started to discuss her marriage, she had come to the conclusion that she was nothing short of repulsive. She hated every part of her body, but deep inside she desperately yearned to be seen as something beautiful, like the ladies and countesses that frequented the vineyard for produce. She secretly prayed that her scarred body would rejuvenate into something of beauty and grace...but was often left crying herself to sleep in her desperation.

Stubbornly Leola store back at her own gaze, this time trying to see her in the eyes of a man. Her hands rose and unbraided her hair, letting the golden strands fall gently down her shoulders and over her breasts. Slowly, timidly she lowered her hands down her body, grazing her fingertips down her slender neck and over her collarbone. Timidly she glided her hands over her full breasts and watched as her small, pink nipples hardened at the slightest touch. She was amazed at how easily it was to for them to react, at how sweet the sensation was that rippled through her body as she grazed her fingernail gently over the hardened bud again. She smiled softly, biting her bottom lip before letting her fingers continue lower down her body; feathering ever so slowly over her ribcage and down her flat stomach to stop upon her hips.

Tracing small circles over her hip bones she watched intently as her fingers spanned over the curves, her mind in wonder of how a man could find them so appealing. Perhaps the extent of the curves determined how well a woman would bear a child, or perhaps it was just easier to maneuver her during sessions of... a deep blush came to Leola’s cheeks as she pushed the thought away, continuing her exploration of her body. Her fingers moved to the centre of her lower stomach before gliding lower until Leola felt the trimmed, soft, golden curls between her thighs. Her body jerked as her fingers danced over the sensitive skin, and she watched amazed as her eyes darkened from the soft pleasure she felt. A dull ache grew in her lower stomach as her body began to yearn for her hands to be that of a man. She closed her eyes and imagined a pair of calloused fingers trailing over her skin, the sensation of her soft curves in his hands as her lips explored his hardened body. Her entire body trembled with freedom...with bliss...with yearning... Before she would let herself be taken away by her mind she dove gracefully into the cooling water, the water enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

Jean listened to the gentle breeze as it shook the branches of the trees and bushes around him, rustling the leaves and tickling his skin, causing the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck. With a soft sigh he raised his head from his hands and looked to the clearing ahead of him, watching Leola’s sleeping form. The moon shone down brightly upon her, bathing her elegant features in a soft unearthly glow, the gently waving blades of grass glittering like strands of silver around her. At the far edge of the still lake he could see the edges of the moon’s reflection, a bright white smile pushing out from the bank which seemed to be directed at him like the painted on grin of some street performer. The odd juxtaposition between the moon’s smiling visage and the somber mood which had settled over the clearing like fog seemed fitting to Jean. It certainly matched the way he felt at that moment. He had finally gotten what he’d searched for, the thing he’d longed for, and now it seemed that in doing so he had given up even more than he’d bargained for. What good would it do him to be free from death if in doing so he cut himself off from those who mattered most to him?

Ripples began forming in the lake and Jean swung his head, searching about for what might have caused them, and found Leola skipping stones across the water. His mind immediately swung back to the numerous times they had shared out upon the same lake, skipping stones idly and talking of grand adventures and plans for their futures. In those days he had always been a bit of a show off, always trying to impress her with his strength and prowess, or dazzle her with his intellect and wit. She had born all of his random musings and ramblings with grace, although how, as he looked back, he didn’t understand. Shaking his head softly and chuckling to himself under his breath, Jean watched as she skipped one last stone across the surface of the gently rippling water, merely standing and watching the water and then the sky before dropping her small handfuls of stones with a gentle clatter. The sounds of the night remained unperturbed, crickets still sawing gently away with their music, an owl gently hooting somewhere among the branches, wind rustling through them with a soft clatter. When Leola slowly turned and glanced about her he felt her eyes brush past the spot in which he sat, and for a brief moment wondered if she might see him. His breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body tensed, the only sound audible the gentle, much slowed beating of his heart. But then her gaze continued on and he slowly began to relax, though a strong feeling within him had almost wished to be caught.

Jean watched in rapt fascination as Leola slowly began removing first her corset, stroking along the tender regions beneath, and then the rest of her clothing. Everything was folded so gently and neatly and piled by one of the small trees nearer to her side of the clearing before she stood at the water’s edge once more. He could see her graceful body outlined in the moonlight, the long gentle curve of her back, the slightly wider splay of her hips and the strong, lengthy legs which were normally hidden beneath her billowy skirt. Her fingers began to glide slowly across her soft skin, wonderingly and questioningly, and Jean would have given anything to have known her mind during those moments. For his part, he could only sit and stare, his eyes locked upon her where she stood, unable to tear his gaze away though he knew he should. He had gazed upon the bodies of beautiful women before, mostly during his researches at the academy, but once or twice with Marie and Claude… He shuddered as thoughts of them began to fill his head, blocking out the wondrous vision before him he wished to burn into the back of his retinas, freezing and capturing it there for all time. As Leola trembled before him, still blissfully unaware of the eyes upon her, she turned and the moonlight streaked down once more, throwing its illumination upon her back. The sight of the long silver streaks which marred the otherwise flawless surface of her body sent a cold shiver through Jean and he finally managed to turn his eyes away, casting them down towards the ground at his feet and clenching them tightly shut, a single salty tear running down his nose and hanging briefly at the tip before falling and disappearing into the sweet grasses at his feet. It was impossible to look upon them without feeling the horrid pangs of too familiar guilt twisting his insides in the same way the sickness had done so recently.

Images of his father’s flushed face came to his mind, beet red skin closing in cold grey eyes, flaring nostrils and tightly clenched teeth within a horrible grimace. Forcing the images of his father and his cruel, hurtful anger from his mind took a monumental effort and Jean batted the air before his face as though waving away the unwanted memories. Clenching his own teeth, he stood, fists balled at his sides as he sprang from his place in the grass and his head crashed through the leafy branches above. A low rumble within his chest threatened to burst forth from his lips as a tortured scream, but he bit it back and instead it slipped forth as a harsh growl. Clapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes widened in shock and he hoped that Leola hadn’t heard. As luck would have it, she had chosen to dive into the lake, and was totally submerged as the sound had left him. A few birds rustled in the trees around him, and he began slowly backing from the clearing as quietly and quickly as he could, not wanting to disturb the peaceful, tranquil setting with his sordid inner turmoil and certainly not wishing to disturb Leola during her period of mourning. He wondered, as he made his way back through the trees towards the long rows of vines, if it was truly right to even remain at the cottage after the previous night. He hadn’t expected anything along the lines of what had happened, certainly not the horrible sickness or near death… Near death experience? He’d died, and come back, or at least some part of him had… It was easy to see how others could, even would, fear his presence after everything he’d been through. But would Leola?

Visions of shock and horror plastered across her face came totally unbidden to his mind, replacing the glowering face of his father and the peaceful lakeside scene… Jean tramped slowly through the long rows of vines, reaching out here and there to push away a curling strand of vegetation that impeded him and tuck it gently back among the rest. They had told him he wouldn’t be accepted, that he’d be an outcast and it was better to start fresh, right from the beginning. He’d thought he’d known better, and so had fled to the one place he could think of to rest and pass through the transformation peacefully. Jean had fully intended a return to his home in the city, at least long enough to gather the rest of his things and tie up loose ends if that was necessary. But questions of what to do at that moment still raged in his mind, and he felt sick to his stomach again with worry. The best thing, he knew, would be to simply leave, yet he knew that was the one thing he couldn’t do. He had avoided Leola for so long, unsure of what to say, unsure of how she might act or he react, that it had just been simpler to stay away and push the questions from his mind. But when they had finally seen each other again the years melted away and it was as if he’d never left… And now he’d thrown a whole new range of problems into the mix! Jean Paul leaned against a wooden trellis, swollen grapes falling from their bunches among the vines and rolling about his feet, and clutched his head again. Sooner or later he would have to make a decision, and he wouldn’t have too long before Leola returned to the cottage. If she was unable to find him within she would surely know, or at least discern the truth, that he wasn’t dead. But if he returned to the room in which he’d spent the past day, surely eventually he would be found out there as well. One way or another Leola would find out the sickness had not claimed him, and if he weren’t there when she did… No, Jean thought, I can’t put her through that, not again! He resolved to set things to right, and before sunrise if possible.

Turning on his heel, Jean strode through the long rows once more and into the woods once more. Brushing the clinging branches away and creeping along as silently as possible, he once again followed the easily sensible trail back towards the clearing in which Leola remained. He would have known, would have at least sensed her presence moving if she’d left the lake… As he returned to the spot he’d left earlier a soft sigh escaped his lips, an arm reaching out to rest upon the tree beside him as an aftershock of queasiness ran through his system. A cough echoed around his chest, escaping through pursed lips as his eyes scanned the clearing for some sign of Leola. Poking his head out into the dying moonlight, Jean took in a deep breath of the warm night air, searching it for her scent and finding a gentle reminder of her coming from the water’s edge. He stepped out into the clearing, the soft grass rustling beneath him as he walked, the wind caressing his skin like a lover’s kiss. His heart began beating faster within his chest, his pulse a harsh drumming in his ears as he opened his mouth to speak. No words came out, as his throat had suddenly become as parched as desert sand, his voice dying to a bare whisper within his chest. Swallowing hard, he looked about once more, listening to the sounds of the night as the forest continued to bustle around him, and pursed his lips, “Leola?” With a heavy sigh he slowly sat, his joints creaking and popping as his muscles cried out at the continued stress and activity, only relaxing their complaints as he settled down upon the grass and settled his head into his hands once more.

Leola surfaced, gracefully floating onto her back, her arms simply floating by her sides as she settled herself into deep breathing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her surroundings. She loved the sound of the birds, the wind in the trees, the way the water made droppling sounds as it swirled around her. She was weightless; the burden of the world drifting away and she sighed with content and let her mind drift in and out of thought.

Inevitably her thoughts brought her back to Jean, her heart lurching immediately as the grief began to grow in her chest. She opened her eyes and watched the sky, secretly damning the divine entities for taking him away...taking them all away...leaving her to suffer in their absence. Tears began to swell in her eyes, her jaw clenched tight as she felt the rising anger bring her body to tension. Taking a deep breath Leola sunk below the water’s surface until her feet touched the lake floor. She screamed with all her strength until her lungs ached for air before kicking off the lake floor to float back to the surface.

Leola shot through the surface gasping for air, her mind dizzy as the tension from her lungs eased.

“Leola...”

The sound of her name startled her and she turned swiftly to find a blurry image of a man sitting where she slept before. Wiping the water from her eyes she focused her eyes upon the form; his auburn hair fell over his face, his head buried deep in his hands as he sat with his knees to his chest. Slowly she swam closer, her eyes cautiously taking in every detail. He wore the same clothes as Jean, his air the same length and colour, his was the same height and size...Her heart stopped beating as the realisation dawned upon her...Jean...Jean was sitting right before her. No, he couldn’t be. She was beside him as he took his last breath. She saw him die! She gazed in disbelief, her eyes slowly dripping with tears as the pain in her chest grew, agonizingly ripping through her heart and tearing at her soul. She was going mad...she was losing her mind!

“God, the heavens will not yield this torture!” The words tore through the calm silence of the clearing. She vaguely saw the form before her shift and stand. Leola struggled for air, her breaths coming in short, sharp, erratic pants as the world around her began to fall. She vaguely heard a deep, sweet, husky voice murmur outside her consciousness. He was speaking?! She could hear him? She could see and hear him?! She truly was losing control of her sanity!

Leola grasped her hands to her ears, her entire being begging for the agony to end. She wanted to be free, she didn’t want to be forever plagued by his loss. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and couldn’t think. The blurry form shifted again, this time quickly making its way closer to her and her panic grew, her heart ripping another bolt of pain straight to her soul.

“Be gone! You died! Please, just let me be?!” She whimpered between tortured breaths, closing her eyes and willing the delusion to leave. Instead she was met by the warm feeling of strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her into the sweetest embrace. Now she could feel him. Her body shook beyond her control as she whimpered, her mind desperately searching her reality for any truth. The illusion held her tighter as she felt fingers stroke through her hair and a warm breath flow over her ear and down her neck. The voice softly begged her to calm before asking her to open her eyes as she felt her chin being lifted.

She shook her head determined that she truly was mad. “No please? No...no...no...I saw you die, yet you haunt me still.” The voice insistently asked again for her to open her eyes and look. Hesitantly she opened her eyes to find a pair of pale blue eyes gazing worryingly back at her. Instantly she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her; her mind reveling in the familiarity of his gentle strength, his sweet yet masculine smell, his touch, his voice. She couldn’t stop shaking, instead she used what little strength she had left to cling onto him, this time determined never to let go.

Jean Paul struggled to his feet as the anguished words tore the soft silence of the night air like a dagger cutting through clothing, and he felt the atmosphere shift and crackle with electricity. Where had she come from? The way she slipped so easily through the water gave him pause, set him back on his heels as she emerged and stood at the shore. Her supple form glinted in the fading moonlight, drops of lake water clinging to her tender skin and running in tiny rivulets towards the grass beneath her feet. “Leola, please! Listen to me…” His voice was a harsh rasping in his throat, the words tortured as they barely managed to slip from his lips. He couldn’t imagine what she must have been feeling at that moment, but his heart was practically bursting forth from his chest in an effort to go out to her…

She seemed not to hear him, and plodded slowly through the clearing towards him, her eyes wide and red, though he knew not whether they ran with tears or simply the water of the lake from which she’d just emerged. His mouth stood agape, arms slowly rising from his sides as if to reach out and pull her into his embrace, though she was still a ways from him. The look in her eyes was one he knew well, having seen it in the mirror on more than one occasion. The first night he’d spoken with Marie, for instance, and had sworn to himself several times over that he had seen several of her teeth grow throughout the night, he’d stood in the small room that passed for his residence while attending the medical college, and stared into the sorry piece of glass that served as a mirror. The glazed, contemplative look within his eyes had stared so hazily back at him as he told himself silently over and over that it was simply a trick of the light, or an illusion, or simply his sleep deprived mind playing tricks… It would certainly make sense for Leola to imagine along the same lines, disbelieving her eyes in favor of her mind. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him to exist when she’d surely seen his lifeless body, left him there upon the bed, only to find him standing there before her as if nothing had ever happened. Indeed, towards the end he had been so weak that he’d been unable to leave the bed, let along travel all the way down through the vines and the forest to the little clearing nestled secretly within its bounds. As he stepped up in front of her she railed against him as though he were some demonic vision possessing her mind, some symptom of her grief made real. At that moment his heart not only reached out to her, it cracked and Jean felt as though every last drop of happiness had left him, seeping out through that tragic rift to spill upon the cold moonlit grass.

His hands wrapped tightly about her, drawing her into his arms, and stroked his fingers lovingly through her hair, drawing her chin to his chest in hopes of easing her torture. “Leola, please… Calm down, everything will be alright… I’m here now, and I promise I’m not going anywhere… Dry your eyes and look at me, please.” His fingers took her chin gently and pulled it up, hopefully giving him a chance to gaze into her emerald eyes. Yet she railed at him again, her rage palpable as she tried to brush him away and he held as tightly as ever. “Please, Leola, just look!” When her eyes finally opened and he saw those entrancing orbs again, he knew he had made the right decision, and he wished he could have spared her the past few hours. She clung to him, arms wrapping so tightly about him he thought she was trying to squeeze the life right out of him, and he slid his hand to her hair once more, stroking her gently and lovingly until the quivering finally abated and she simply stood pressed against him. It was at that moment that they both seemed to realize she had not yet donned any clothing, and he felt her entire body tense, fingers digging into his back and side. Though he couldn’t see it, he felt the oh-so-familiar flush rise to her face, the heat of her soft cheeks radiating hotly into him. Despite the somber atmosphere that hung about them like a cloyingly thick fog, Jean chuckled softly, closing his eyes tightly as his lips curled into a sly, playful smile.

“I know I promised not to let you go, but… Perhaps we’d better get you dressed. We don’t want you to catch your death of cold, now do we?” Jean felt his own cheeks begin to flush at the poor joke, and worried for a moment what effect it might have on poor, grief stricken Leola. He slowly stroked a hand through her soft, damp golden tresses once more, pressing her tightly to his chest and sighing deeply, thoughtfully. “Do you remember how much time we used to spend out upon this lake? It was always a place of peace, no matter how bustling and worrisome the rest of the world became. Perhaps ‘tis the best place for our ‘reunion,’ given the wealth of wonderful memories we both have of it.” He broke slightly from her, leaning back to look into her eyes, his smile turning to a warm, hearty expression as he felt the beginning of a tear begin in the corner of his eye. Wiping it away, the winsome, sly expression returned to his face and he turned away, his eyes scanning along the grassy clearing as he searched for the small pile of clothing beneath the tree. Spying it, he leaned in and kissed her cheek gently, relishing the feel of her warm body in his arms and her soft scent as it drifted upon the night breeze to him. “Come, you must be cold already. Let’s get you dressed and then…” He broke off, wondering about how best to approach the topic. “And then, I’ll do my best to explain.” He left the remark there, looking into her eyes for confirmation, wanting desperately, more than anything he’d ever wished for in his life, for her to simply nod or give some sign that she accepted his existence, that she no longer believed herself to be mad, and that she’d consent to stay with him and listen, for at least a while… “Leola.” Jean felt another tear forming at the corner of his eye, yet this time he allowed it to remain, though he did manage to keep the quiver from his chin and the quaver from his voice. “Please say you’ll at least stay and sit a while with me…”

Reality swirled into fantasy, Leola simply grasping onto the only thing that seemingly kept her anchored. Was Jean an illusion? Or was he really holding her? She didn’t care. If this wasn’t real she decided it was far better to live a delusion then to keep suffering in truth. All that mattered was what was happening right then and there. He was in her arms and she wouldn’t ever let him go. Her breathing slowly returned to normal as the world around her eventual made its way back into place. She gently roamed her fingertips up Jean’s neck and into his hair, her fingers memorising every curve and hair by touch. Her nose nudged into his neck as she continued to cling to him. She marvelled at how wonderful it felt in his arms, her body pressed heavenly against his, her soft curves gently brushing against his front. It wasn’t until she noted her breasts gently rub against a button of his jacket that she remembered her naked form.

Leola froze, her arms instinctively lowered as she silently cursed against Jean’s chest. She suddenly felt her embarrassment rise as her cheeks blushed as red as a ruby, her head digging deeper into Jean’s chest in an attempt to hide her humiliation. She should run? Run from what? A ghost? No, but he was alive! Her mind ran circles with unanswered questions, until her attention was brought to the present as she felt Jean smile against her shoulder. Was he actually enjoying this? Was he enjoying her shame? Was this just a game to him?

“I know I promised not to let you go, but… Perhaps we’d better get you dressed. We don’t want you to catch your death of cold, now do we?”

Yes, clothes. Some way or another, preferably with dignity still intact, she had to find and return her clothing to her body. Though, a quick and painless death seemed like a more honourable choice considering the current circumstance. She was currently in an embrace with a possible illusion of her possibly dead childhood friend. All the while she was naked and possibly losing her mind. And it seemed her possible Jean-illusion was enjoying her predicament far too much. She tensed further; whether it was from anger or stress, she wasn’t sure. Though it seemed Leola couldn’t really be sure of anything at the moment.

A deep sigh resonated over her shoulder as she felt a hand stroke tenderly through her hair.

“Do you remember how much time we used to spend out upon this lake? It was always a place of peace, no matter how bustling and worrisome the rest of the world became. Perhaps ‘tis the best place for our ‘reunion,’ given the wealth of wonderful memories we both have of it.”

Reunion? Before Leola had a chance to absorb Jean’s words, he leaned back and gazed longingly into her eyes. She watched in fascination as he smiled, his eyes radiated with fondness, worry, tenderness and love, before he wiped a single tear from his eyes. She was breathless, speechless. It was then that she knew without any doubt that her Jean was alive and with her. How? She didn’t know...couldn’t even begin to contemplate it. Did it even matter? He was back! She looked back at him, her eyes squinting in disbelief as he pulled her, yet again, into another tight embrace. It was though her whole being was stunned into silence, into a state of complete shock. Leola couldn’t move and couldn’t speak...couldn’t even put two thoughts together to produce any logical sense.

“Come, you must be cold already. Let’s get you dressed and then…and then, I’ll do my best to explain.”

He looked deeply into her eyes again, this time a sense of desperation radiated from deep within, washing over her in waves. As another tear developed in his eyes, her heart began to thump so hard in her chest it felt as though it would rip from her chest and shoot into the sky.

“Leola...please say you’ll at least stay and sit a while with me…”

He needed her to reassure him? After all of this...after all of the madness within the last few hours, he needed her to comfort him? What surprised her more was the realisation that she wanted nothing more than to give him what he silently begged of her. Once again she was left stunned. Everything seemed so wild and out of the realm of reality, yet within the last two hours came to fruition.

Without saying a word, Leola simply nodded before her hands wrapped around Jean’s waist and turned him away from her. She quickly made her way back to the tree, where her clothes sat neatly and hid behind the truck. Shakily she pulled on her clothes, every so often looking over her shoulder to see if Jean was still facing away from her. Part of her was still in awe that he was there at all. A smile small crept to her lips as she finished tying her corset and made her way back to his side. She stood in front of him, her eyes cautiously taking him in, searching for any sign that he was in fact dead. Raising her hand, Leola gently traced the lines of his face; over his brow and down his cheek, softly brushing against his lips before settling on his shoulders. She sighed softly, content that he was real and sat down upon her knees at his feet. She looked up at him while her hand reached up and grasped his hand gently, her fingers entwining with his as she gently pulled him to sit in front of her.

Jean Paul felt his entire body tense as he was slowly turned away from her and left to gaze upon the trees that lined the far bank of the tiny lake. The moon had hastened its creeping towards the far horizon, but enough of it still glowed that, along with the starlight, he was able to make out the faint outlines of the trees and the rougher shapes of the bushes as well. He could hear Leola rustling about behind him, and was sorely tempted to turn about, or just cock his head enough to caste a glance over his shoulder in her direction. His intentions, he told himself, were purely honest and respectable. He simply wished to know that she would stay and not run, though she had every right. He told himself that his only reason for casting even a fleeting glance back towards the tree under which her clothing had been piled would be to ensure she remained after dressing. Yet he knew, no matter how he rationalized the would-be glimpse and fervently hoped for sight that it was not entirely honest and upstanding. Jean also wished to gaze upon her glorious naked form once more, before it was hidden away beneath the flattering yet somehow depressing exterior of clothing. The brief instances before hadn’t really had time to sink in, he had been so wrapped up in the matter of first simply finding her and then second going to her and holding her tight that his mind had only managed to notice her nakedness after it was concealed from his view by the way she pressed so tightly into his embrace. His idle hands had not wandered down that soft flesh in search of hidden treasures and unknown delights, they had simply calmed and reassured her as best they were able.

Jean felt this strange dichotomy within him come to a head as he felt her presence creeping up behind him once more, and let out a silent sigh of relief, breathing more easily in the knowledge that his resolve hadn’t broken, only trembled and bent and he’d managed to keep his eyes firmly planted upon the far side of the lake… He couldn’t help a bitter twinge of sorrow from slipping into his features, his usual sly smile drooping at the edges with the hints of a frown as she turned him about once more with a gentle caress upon his cheek, knowing that that might very well have been the last time he would have been able to glimpse the soft, pale skin in all its moonlit glory. Visions of her moving slowly through the clearing towards him entered his mind once more, and he couldn’t help but replay them back before his mind’s eye, memorizing the graceful arc of her limbs as she moved, the gentle heave of her chest as she drew an uncertain breath before wrapping her arms about him. There was such an elegance about Leola, it had been there even when they were children though he hadn’t the faculties or the mind to appreciate it at the time. Back then he’d cared about much simpler matters; getting the strongest possible reaction from her, finding their next great adventure, filling their time with constant reminders of his own prowess and intellect in hopes of impressing her…

He barely felt her touch, but his eyes never left hers as she slowly knelt down upon the soft grass before him, feeling her hand tugging him down as though she were the one not truly there, rather than him. It was a curious feeling, and he wondered how much of it was due to the shock of the situation and how much was due to his own feelings of remorse and sorrow over what he’d surely put her through and worry over what was to come. As he slowly sank to the cool earth beside her a breeze picked up, caressing his cheek as gently as she had with the gentle kiss of the warm summer wind. The fugitive images still lurked at the edges of his mind, no longer straying to the forefront as he gazed longingly into her eyes, but then he was suddenly assailed by an image of when he’d first seen her unclothed, the glaring scars across her back practically glowing strands of silver in the moonlight. That was enough to banish the rest of the torrid thoughts from his mind and send a scowl to his lips. When she looked at him questioningly he waved his hand before his face as though to clear the air, and his mind, muttering softly, “Sorry, I don’t feel quite myself tonight…” before lapsing into silent contemplation once more. His chest heaved as he drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh as he wondered where to begin. Best to keep it simple, at least for now. She might not even want to know the rest of the details...

“Leola,” he started, his eyes growing bleary as his vision misted up slightly at the edges. He cleared his throat and started again, “Leola, I can’t imagine what these past few hours, or night, or even days must have been like for you. In truth, I have no idea how long I slept, though I do know now I am a changed man.” She nodded, her brow furrowed thoughtfully, waiting for him to continue. Attempting to pick his words carefully, he reached up and tussled the hair on the back of his head, wondering how best to proceed. “I suppose that’s easy enough to see, me being out here and all instead of sick and bedridden.” Jean’s lips creased into a slightly worried line; this wasn’t going anywhere near as planned, not that he’d really planned anything… “That sickness, the one the doctor couldn’t understand, was a… Transformative… experience for me. I feel as though this is probably the worst place to start, and I owe you a full disclosure some day soon, perhaps even this soon to be dawning morn, but for now, I only wish to put your mind at ease, and hopefully assuage some of the pain I’ve caused you.”

He gave a nervous laugh, his lips curling into their familiar smile as he gazed across at her. The distance between them was no more than an arm span at most, yet he felt there was still a gaping chasm between them. So much had happened since their break from each other, they had gone through so many changes, both physical and emotional, and none of them together… That was surely something he could remedy, and he vowed silently to himself that he would keep his promise, no matter the cost, and remain with her from then on. Wild plans began to spin and unfold within his mind, just as they always had when they were children, he the grand architect of their schemes, building them taller and higher, making them more and more elaborate and detailed until they could nearly have reached the heavens above. But, he chided himself, that wasn’t the time for plotting and planning, it was the time for explanations, his explanation. “I fear the whole story would take more than the few short hours we have before we’re both missed to relate, and that this might not be the proper place for it, though I don’t really know where that place might be…” Jean smiled warmly at her, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly, wanting to reassure her again of his presence, and her sanity. “I’m alive, and that’s because of you.” It might not have been entirely true, as neither Marie nor any of the others of her kind, now his kind as well, could tell him if they were truly alive or dead, but he knew it was she who had pulled him back from the brink, gave him reason to battle the sickness instead of succumbing to it and simply losing himself within that swirling vortex of darkness… He could still feel it, a coldness within the pit of his stomach that would probably never go away, but he felt her warmth more strongly, and latched onto it, an anchoring force within the raging torrent of his thoughts and emotions. “I know it’s a lot to take in, and I don’t know what you might have seen, but it’s surely been awful for you. I just want you to know you aren’t imagining things, and this is really happening. If you need proof, prick my skin; I assure you I’ll bleed just as readily as any other.” He looked about for a sharp rock or something, finding a small slightly jagged edged black stone at his side, picked it up and held it out towards her.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I don’t know what you might have seen, but it’s surely been awful for you. I just want you to know you aren’t imagining things, and this is really happening. If you need proof, prick my skin; I assure you I’ll bleed just as readily as any other.”

Leola glared at the jagged black rock in Jean’s hand, her eyes narrowing in anger and disbelief. Just a few moments ago she was questioning her own sanity, when it seemed she should have been questioning Jean’s all along. He was rambling, deliberately procrastinating any forms of the truth that would explain the lunacy of the past few days. He had died! Leola was sure of it. That part of her memory was all she knew for certain. And now he was asking her to cut him? Had he any idea of the pain he had already put her through? Not only did he purposely continue to prolong the memory of his death whilst avoiding the truth, he was telling her to cause him physical pain. She would rather kill herself slowly through the most painful means than to put harm onto anyone else, especially someone whom she cared so deeply for.

Leola snatched the rock and slapped Jean across his face as hard as she could. She couldn't believe his audacity. She couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t be so close to him. She stood and began to pace away from him before turning to face him. No, she wouldn’t protect him from her thoughts anymore. He was acting like a child. She couldn’t keep her control over the flood of emotions that pulsed through her body. She was mad, more than mad, she was livid. Her eyes burned into him. His beautiful blue eyes returned her look, open wide with shock despite the vulnerability that resonated from within. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, wrap him in her arms and beg for forgiveness. Yet her rage was unyielding. The site of him only made her anger grow until she literally saw a red haze grow around his form.

“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me? Do you have any clue as to what you have put me through these past few days?” She tried to keep her voice in control and free from any emotions. Yet the words hissed from her lips; the sound resembling a snake from the lava pits of hell rather than the sweet tone she usually spoke with. She instinctively tensed when he moved towards her, her hand clenching around the jagged rock.

“No...no. Don’t you even dare try and calm me down!” She stalked in front him, deliberately keeping out of range from his grasp. “You died, Jean. I was there, I saw you suffer in the depths of agony before you took your last breath. And yet you won’t even tell me why you are standing here before me! Do I not deserve an explanation? Instead you wish a greater hell upon me to hurt you? Why would you ask that of me?!” Leola quickly spun on her heels and heaved the rock with all her strength. She vaguely heard it smash into the lake with a solid splash. But her anger was too great. All she could hear was the rapid beating of her heart that echoed in her ears.

Leola sunk to her knees, her weight suddenly becoming too heavy for her legs to bear. Her whole body trembled as her rage pulsed through her veins, her stomach queasy from all the emotional torment she was being forced to endure. A sharp pain radiated from her hand, momentarily distracting her from the violent outburst she just directed at Jean. She opened her right hand slowly; a large pool of blood grew in the palm of her hand before trickling down her slender wrist.

Jean Paul didn’t move when she snatched the rock from his hand, merely looked into her eyes with concern and worry over the effect his own tirade had had upon her already fragile state. His eyes never left hers as the blow struck his cheek, his skin tingling in its wake. He listened as Leola raged at him, every word dripping with venom that seemed poisonous enough to send him right back to his death bed. Surely her anger was righteous and perfectly understandable. He had only hoped to show her that he was really, truly there, and yet she took it as a blow, as though he were actually trying to physically hurt her. What have I done? He asked himself, his expression growing gaunt as his jaw began to slacken and droop.

It was hard to imagine such pent up rage crossing the lovely visage of Leola, but at that moment Jean had no need to imagine for it was plastered there as though permanently affixed. Even as she turned and hurled away the jagged stone it remained. As she sank slowly back to the grass which continued to wave in the warm breeze, Jean opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable. Any words he might have spoken all turned to ash within his mouth, his throat turning dry and leaving him unable to do more than simply gasp for breath and stare at her softly heaving form. The wind began to pick up and as it drifted across the two of them he felt her familiar scent come to him, and inhaled deeply of her. Along with it, though, came the sharp tangy aroma of blood. His mouth immediately began to water, as though an entire roasted chicken had just been placed before him. There was a stirring within his chest, somewhere between his heart and stomach, right where he imagined the cool, callous darkness to be. The swirling vortex that dwelt inside of him rumbled, sending a harsh chill through him which shook him like another physical blow. Blinking his eyes into focus he peered down at Leola’s outstretched hand, spying the pool of dark crimson liquid pooling within it and dripping to the grass. With every drop that fell he felt as though a needle were being driven into his chest, straight into the pulsing darkness itself. The essence of life which slowly ran down Leola’s hand made him tense, every muscle tightening as if readying to spring forth from his place in the clearing and tear off into the night like a man possessed.

“Leola…” He whispered, “You’re bleeding…” The words slipped from his pursed lips before he even realized, and she turned to look at him again, their eyes meeting and locking again. He felt suddenly hungry, as though he hadn’t eaten in a week or more, but he battened it down and forced a calm expression to his face, hiding the torrent of emotions warring within his head behind a wall of unconcern he’d learned to project during his time as a student in the teaching hospitals. “You’ve got to let me help, that hand doesn’t look good.” He slipped over next to her and reached out to take her hand at which she jerked away, her anger flaring again as she shot him a glance filled with rage. He watched the fires of hatred burning brightly in her eyes, wondering what exactly she was thinking, and as his hands slowly crept out towards hers, he murmured, “Please…” His voice was soft and so full of sorrow it sounded as though he might have burst into tears if she refused. For several moments they stayed just like that, eyes locked and bodies frozen, his pleading with hers to help and hers steadfastly refusing.

Jean sighed heavily, knowing she wouldn’t allow him to help and wondering how long he would be able to resist the calling of that horrid dark impulse within himself. Even then it continued, a low droning pulse which beat in time with his own, an unintelligible voice in the back of his mind telling him to reach out and take her, drag the bloody palm to his lips and drink deeply of her. Jean refused, gritting his teeth and attempting to close the voice off, to block it out with something, anything else… “Please!” He asked, and it seemed for one brief moment the fire left her eyes, and the edge left her stare, so he pounced upon the opportunity, taking her wrist gingerly with one hand and the fingers of her injured hand with the other. Shuffling around to see her hand in the faint starlight, he frowned, studying her palm like some gypsy mystic at a fair reading life lines for coins. “It’s not deep, so we can wrap it for now and get it cleaned up when we get back to the house.” His voice was clinical and precise, his training having taken over and pushing everything, even the cloying voice, out of his mind. Letting go of her, he shuffled off his jacket, throwing the heavy long sleeved garment over one arm. As he turned it inside out he took hold of the soft silken inner lining and ripped a large swath of it easily away, just behind the row of buttonholes. “This should suffice. It’s clean and soft, and the silk will still breathe, unlike leather or linen.” As he wrapped the length of cloth around Leola’s trembling hand, tucking the end underneath and atop her palm to secure it, he looked into her eyes, his own wide with concern and worry. “How does that feel?” She simply stared at him, and again he was assailed with a desperate longing to know her mind.

Jean sighed, turning his eyes to the ground at their feet and shaking his head slowly and sadly. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.” He muttered. Leola asked him something but he barely heard her, let alone understood, as he was focused on beating back the hungry voice which had returned the moment he had let go of her hand again. He looked into her eyes, lips pressed into a hard line as he struggled for control. “That’s why I didn’t tell you everything before. What I said before, it was all true. You are the reason I’m still here! Without you, there wouldn’t have been anything to come back to!” Jean Paul sighed, a sorry shadow of his usual sly smile crossing his face as he looked into Leola’s ever deepening eyes, wishing he could dive into them as easily as the crystal clear lake nearby. “I will tell you now, if you’ll calm down. No tricks and especially no more pain. Just, please, sit down and rest. We need to return you to the cottage soon to finish treating your wounded hand, but I fear that would be the worst place to relate these things you ask of me…”

“Please!”

The sudden desperation of his plea rushed through Leola, any anger left in her mind simply faded as the plea echoed softly in its wake. His jaw tightened and for a brief moment she thought she saw his sky-blue eyes darken to the shade of the midnight sky. Was he in pain still? She hadn’t even thought to ask. What was wrong with her? She was riding the rapid waves of her emotions and neglecting the ill man before her. Was he still ill? He certainly was stronger than the last time she saw him. But the colour of his skin was still far too pale, and his face, despite his best efforts, unconsciously twitched and tensed as if he still were in pain.

He took her hand and a sudden chill shot through her arm. His skin was just as cold despite the heavy jacket he was wearing. She couldn’t control the tremble of her hand as he observed her, his icy fingers lacing over the delicate skin of her palm.

“It’s not deep, so we can wrap it for now and get it cleaned up when we get back to the house.” Leola couldn’t help the small smile that crept to her lips. He sounded like the doctor; his voice suddenly taking on a distant, informative and matter-of-fact tone. Jean...a doctor? Doctor Jean Paul Thibault? She furrowed her brow at the thought. A doctor seemed far too plain and ordinary compared to the grand plans they vividly and enthusiastically played out in their youth. Knights, Kings and warlocks were his favourite. She, on the other hand, often played the role of the damsel princess kidnapped by dragon. Leola never liked the idea of being a damsel. From the stories her mother used to tell her, they all seemed rather weak and vulnerable. Even then Leola had chosen that it was time to re-write the stories; instead of becoming a victim of circumstance she often fought her way out of the imaginary dungeon before Jean even had a chance to save her.

Her recollection was interrupted by the sound of torn material. Her jade eyes wide open as she watched Jean destroy the expensive jacket and wrap the scraps of material around her hand. It would take her a good nights’ work to fix that.

“How does that feel?”

Despite the irritation of having to fix his jacket, Leola saw the worry and concern in his eyes. Her heart sunk at the saddened look. She found herself desperate to see the beautiful, sly smile that lit up his face; the smile that melted all worry and pain, instead filling her with hope and joy. He sighed and tore his eyes away from hers, his voice once again husky as if the words were to torturous to speak.

“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

He was right. In her normal frame of mind, Leola wouldn’t have believed him. It was if the entire night were merely a dream, and soon she would awake to find his lifeless body still on the bed in the house. The idea tore at her heart, and she winced at the idea of losing him once again. She shook her head, determined to live in the moment. He was here, right beside her. He was alive and that is all that mattered. But she needed answers, “Jean, what is going on?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you everything before. What I said before, it was all true. You are the reason I’m still here! Without you, there wouldn’t have been anything to come back to!”

Jean didn’t seem to hear her; instead he lifted his eyes and attempted to remove the pained look from his face with a small smile. It didn’t work, Leola could see right through him. She simply gazed at the pained expression that beamed from his eyes, her heart sinking at the thought of him suppressing so much pain and anguish. What could he possibly be hiding from her? They never kept secrets from each other, so why now? She could help him, no matter what it was. She wasn’t the damsel he made her out to be in their childhood games. If he were in trouble she would stand by his side and fight with him until he was finally free from the chains that anchored his soul.

“I will tell you now, if you’ll calm down. No tricks and especially no more pain. Just, please, sit down and rest. We need to return you to the cottage soon to finish treating your wounded hand, but I fear that would be the worst place to relate these things you ask of me…”

Slowly Leola settled herself on a patch of grass next to Jean. She neatly tucked her skirt under her knees, smoothing it out with her hands as she calmed herself down. They simply sat for what seemed like an eternity, the space between them no more than a hand-span but felt more like an entire ocean. Leola turned and looked at Jean. His entire body was tense, his eyes closed tight and his brow furrowed in thought. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to comfort him. She slowly reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing it gingerly before curling her fingers around his. She let her aching head rest upon his shoulder; a deep, slow sigh escaping her lips as she fought the coldness that emitted from his body.

“Jean, I’m not going anywhere. Tell me everything, I won’t run. I’ll stand by you as I always have. Please, trust me enough to let me help you? Please tell me?” Her voice was soft, no louder than a whisper. She let it wash over him and felt him relaxed as he softly kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes and simply sat, every so often squeezing his hand softly to remind him of her presence, until he eventually began to speak.

Jean Paul sat quietly, brow furrowed in thought, and focused intently on the feel of Leola’s warmth. The touch of her smooth, soft skin upon his hand relaxed him and set him at ease, despite the turmoil raging in his mind. He was torn between two opposing ideas; on the one hand he wished to simply lay everything out for Leola and let her decide which parts to believe and which to disregard. On the other, he could still hear Marie’s low, sultry voice in the back of his mind, urging distrust and caution when dealing with the uninitiated. Surely, of anyone, I should be able to place my trust in my treasured childhood friend… What harm could there be, aside from her thinking me out of my poor wits. He chuckled to himself at the thought, a sad, lonely sound as he looked into her eyes. There was no hardness there any longer, no mistrust, only concern and warm affection, just as there had always been deep within those cool emerald pools…

Such a difference there was between she and Marie! Marie’s eyes might at one time have held the same emotions, but that would have been countless lifetimes ago. Even when Jean had first met her they had been cold and calculating, devoid of warmth or compassion. There was a cold fire to them, though, one that burned when her gaze alighted on him, and pierced straight through him, pinning him down like a lead weight. Visions of that first meeting swam into his mind unbidden, that sly smile she constantly wore which always seemed to beckon. She constantly wore an expression which said ‘I know something you do not…’ It was one of the reasons he had been drawn to her in the first place. And those ever shining white teeth… There was a striking pearlescent quality to them and they seemed to reflect more light than there was available there in the dim gloom of the amphitheater. The huskiness of her voice sent a chill through him from the very first, and it somehow seemed perfectly paired with her charcoal grey eyes, “Who do we have here? Look, Claude, methinks we’ve roused another tortured soul with our blithe commentary. Do you too seek refuge from this professor’s droll recounting, good sir?” The voice sent a shiver down his spine the first time he’d heard it, and even the memory was enough to give him pause. Jean realized that that would not be a good place to begin his explanation. Indeed it would be much better to begin his tale a bit further down the road… And so, with a gentle squeeze of Leola’s hand, he began.

“It has long seemed to me that mankind suffers needlessly,” his voice just barely above a whisper, as though recounting the story more to himself and for his own sake. “We rove about this world in search of meaning and happiness, never knowing how close at hand it might be if only we were to open our eyes…” Jean gave her a wan smile and took a deep breath. “And so, treading over sand, soil and sea, we aspire towards finding these things we cherish so, our lives burning wicks, burning brightly in the darkness and yet shortening by the day. At the best of times we tread the earth for what, fifty years? Sixty? I saw, from an early age, the cruelty that sometimes befalls us in our questing, the harsh wind which blows and snuffs out that wick so easily…” Jean looked into her eyes again, his heart beginning to pound harder and faster within his chest, his stomach threatening to climb up the back of his throat. He was stalling, rambling, and he knew it, but he was putting off the horrid task of explaining himself as long as possible.

“Despite my father’s insistence to the contrary, I vowed that I would attend medical school, so that I might treat the afflicted, ease the suffering of the weary, and bring peace to those ready to slough off their mortal coil. My true goal, though I knew it not at the time, was not to prolong the bitter struggle of life, but to beat back the final adversary itself. I met a few… friends… at the college, and it was they who showed me the true path I sought, a means to tear aside the veil and gaze beyond it.” Leola gave him a slightly quizzical look which he returned with a sly smile, letting his eyes travel slowly from hers and on down the length of her slender arm to the hand that was still gently twined with his. A few fingers stroked across her tender skin, so warm against his own. He could not bear to meet her gaze as he explained the next part. “The details are a little sordid, though nothing to worry yourself over. They aided me in my studies and researches, provided me with knowledge in return for slight… favors?” The word sputtered out as a question, though he quickly began again before she could ask for details so soon. There would be time soon enough, after he finished. “They showed me a way beyond it all; beyond the pain and suffering, beyond the darkness and the ruin. When I…” Jean cleared his throat, “When I came here, the final stages of my journey had already begun, though it was more drastic than I had imagined, and now I fear the path I chose has not yet reached its conclusion, but merely the first bend in a long torturous trail.”

Jean knew that she would surely have questions for him, and he bit his lower lip in anticipation. His eyes remained upon their hands, hers with flesh pale and soft and warm and his with the palest pallor, as though he had been wandering too many hours in the high country. He had seen frostbite victims and the aftermath of the wretched condition, and wondered if they felt the same sense of detachment as he. He still felt the warm breeze upon his skin, the roughness of his clothing and the coolness of the ground beneath him, and above all the soft touch of Leola’s hand in his, but at the same time there was a dreamlike quality to the world around him. His gaze traveled slowly back up to her eyes, and Jean slowly began to sink into the forest colored depths, losing himself in the beautiful sadness that had written itself across her face. “Do you see now why I didn’t wish to relate these things to you before, and instead hid behind paltry explanations and half truths? I was afraid you’d think me mad, or worse… Hmph.” He began to chuckle softly, shaking his head as a corner of his lip began to twitch and curl upward, a sly gleam in his eye. “Of course, that’s not to say that you don’t now, but what’s to be done for it now? In truth, I feel better, having relayed this. You are the only one in the world who might honestly believe me, and the only one I would truly care to.”

“Despite my father’s insistence to the contrary, I vowed that I would attend medical school, so that I might treat the afflicted, ease the suffering of the weary, and bring peace to those ready to slough off their mortal coil. My true goal, though I knew it not at the time, was not to prolong the bitter struggle of life, but to beat back the final adversary itself. I met a few… friends… at the college, and it was they who showed me the true path I sought, a means to tear aside the veil and gaze beyond it.”

Beat the final adversary? Leola had never seen death as an adversary, but rather an inevitable reflection upon the love of a soul. She had grieved far too many times in her short life, and while those hours agonizingly melded into months, and then years; the pain eventually faded to a dull ache. Besides, each and every death served a purpose to make her the woman she was.

She sat quietly, yet Jean’s explanation only seemed to create more unanswered questions which ran circles in her tired mind. Why would he wish to cure death? Was there no victory in living a life full of virtue, grace and humility? To live forever...while a part of Leola saw the appeal, she couldn’t imagine the agony of continuously living a life knowing that there was no end, knowing that the soul would never rest. What kind of people would even search for such a thing? As far as Leola was concerned, to obtain such knowledge was to play God.

A small part of her soul broke as he spoke, images of Jean in the pits of his agony ripped through her mind. Was his illness caused by those people? Why would anyone wish to put someone through such agony and onto their own death bed? Not only did it result as such, but they left him to suffer alone! What sort of people could have so much power?

“The details are a little sordid, though nothing to worry yourself over. They aided me in my studies and researches, provided me with knowledge in return for slight… favors?”

Sordid favours? The more Jean spoke the more Leola grew to hate these people of whom he spoke. She opened her mouth to voice her growing distaste, but Jean didn’t time to respond. She closed her lips tight, her fingers tightening around his as he continued to speak.

“They showed me a way beyond it all; beyond the pain and suffering, beyond the darkness and the ruin. When I…”

A small shudder ran down Leola’s spine at the idea of seeing a life passed death. Jean had seen it? Was that what made him so ill? The more Jean spoke the more Leola became confused. He wasn’t making any sense. She lifted her eyes and studied his face. He wasn’t showing any signs of a fever, and the throbbing ache in her injured hand proved she wasn’t dreaming. She was long passed the idea of madness.

Jean sat silently beside her, as if in his own inner turmoil. Yet the more Leola sat in silence, the more the unanswered questions spun in her conscious. Eventually, she concluded, that she just wasn’t educated enough to understand. Yet the doctor didn’t seem to have any inclination of what was wrong with Jean. He too concluded that he was dying. Surely if anyone were to know about this it would be the doctor.

“When I came here, the final stages of my journey had already begun, though it was more drastic than I had imagined, and now I fear the path I chose has not yet reached its conclusion, but merely the first bend in a long torturous trail.”

So all this was just the beginning? Things were going to get worse? How could things get any worse? Jean had died! Now he was alive he was going to live something worse than death? Leola was speechless...heartbroken and speechless. She gazed deeply into Jean’s eyes, desperate for a glimpse of the shining light that shone throughout her entire being whenever he smiled. Instead he kept his eyes on their entwined hands. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she silently damned her own mind for not being able to see through Jean’s cryptic words. Eventually his eyes slowly made their way up to meet hers, and she was struck with the sadness that radiated from them.

“Do you see now why I didn’t wish to relate these things to you before, and instead hid behind paltry explanations and half truths? I was afraid you’d think me mad, or worse… Hmph. Of course, that’s not to say that you don’t now, but what’s to be done for it now? In truth, I feel better, having relayed this. You are the only one in the world who might honestly believe me, and the only one I would truly care to.”

Leola sat in silence, willing her mind to be still long enough to speak. “I don’t doubt your mental state, Jean. I doubt my own limited education to understand what you’re trying to say. I also doubt these so called friends. What kind of people are they, Jean? What kind of people would hurt you so badly and leave you to suffer alone that you had to make your way here only to lie on your deathbed? Surely not doctors or anyone with the desire to help the sick. Not even the doctor knew what was wrong with you! Wouldn’t he, if anyone, have that knowledge of which you speak?” A small tear ran down her cheek. Though her voice was no louder than a whisper, the words left her lips with such intense emotion that she couldn’t help the slight tremble that flowed through her voice.

“There are facts you aren’t telling me Jean. Facts that are important for me to understand the plight these people have pushed upon you. I am not so feeble to be saved from the ‘sordid’ details. You should know me better than that by now.”

Leola turned to face Jean. She wouldn’t let him escape the truth any longer. Gingerly she unwrapped her hand from his and placed it softly on his cheek, turning his eyes back to hers. “What did they do to you Jean?”

Jean grimaced as he looked deep into Leola’s clear green eyes, a deep breath of the early morning air filling his lungs and causing his chest to heave as it escaped in a long, tortured sigh. He wanted to tell her everything, simply start at the beginning and ramble on through to the moment he arrived at her doorstep. It wasn’t that simple, though… As much as he wanted to, it all seemed so daunting that he felt more than a little uneasy. As he continued to look into her eyes he began to lose himself in them, his apprehension slowly beginning to melt away, along with the horrid tension he had built up in his shoulders during his long monologue before.

“It’s… Complicated, Leola. I don’t know how much will make sense, but I shall endeavor to do the best I’m able.” He felt her tense, her fingers pressing a little harder into his cheek, and winced. His mind was running at what felt like a million miles an hour, and his pulse was surely going to speed up to match it, as it usually did. Curiously, though, it remained slow and steady, slower than he had ever remembered it being. Surely one of the side effects of his new “situation.” Marie and Claude had mentioned a few, and he’d prepared as best he was able, though he’d forgotten to purchase the pair of tinted glasses before his journey. Without them, he could already see the faint light of the stars beginning to dim as though in preparation for the coming dawn. It was a subtle difference, but surely his newly light sensitive eyes were responsible. “Might we… Take a walk? I feel my mind might be aided by a little bodily movement. Stir the blood to stir the mind, as one of my professors used to say…” His lips curled into the slightest smile as he waited for her response. After some hesitation Leola nodded, and he rose swiftly to his feet, clasping her hands in his and pulling her to hers as well. As Jean looked about the clearing he sighed softly, wondering at the best path to take out of there. He didn’t want to venture too close to the cottage for fear of being overheard or seen by the early risers heading out to tend the fields and vines, but at the same time he knew they would be expected there before too long.

Settling on one of the small barely visible paths that lead toward the long rows of vines by way of a lengthy path through the woods, he gave her hand a good reassuring squeeze and took a few hesitant steps. When she strode along at his side he began to feel a bit more confident and took up a slow pace. As they reached the edge of the clearing he felt his thoughts begin to unlock from the tightly knit ball they had twined themselves into during his soliloquy. Finally finding his voice again, he began, “When I attended college, I made the acquaintance of a pair of…” He faltered briefly, wondering at the best way to describe Marie and her mate Claude. Out with it! His mind screamed, railing at him to finally be done with the charade. “Well, they claimed to be immortals, sustained by the ichors of others, and had supposedly sustained themselves in this manner for several generations. At first I didn’t believe them, but after a while our association deepened and I was allowed to glimpse a bit more. I do not wish to delve into the exact details at the moment, for fear of being even more verbose, but they demonstrated that everything they had claimed was the truth. I, of course, peppered them with all manner of questions in an attempt to learn everything about them on the assumption that with their help I would find the cures for numerous diseases, possibly even death!”

Jean suddenly realized that his voice, which had began as a gentle tone slightly above a whisper, had slowly turned to a much stronger, louder one, almost a shout. A flush crept to his face and he smiled warmly at Leola, more than a little abashed, before continuing. “They agreed to help me in my researches, but tenured a price of their own in return. As I attended a medical college and worked part time as an orderly to pay for my room and board, I was allowed access to the store rooms and the like. In return for the knowledge of their arcane natures I provided them with their ‘sustenance.’ The system benefited both sides, I believe, and it prevented them from seeking other less savory sources in their quest. It was not until several months into our association that I dared propose the question of ‘turning,’ as they call it.” His hand gave a reflexive squeeze, and he immediately felt the warmth of her fingers flare as she squeezed back reassuringly. Jean ducked a low lying branch as they slowly trundled through the woods, sighing softly as he felt his stomach tighten, knowing the part he feared discussing was fast approaching. Let it out, and be done with it!

“It was months later before they actually considered it, and more than a year had passed since the fateful day we’d met before the process was finally begun. I planned to retire here until it was complete, to simply fade from the public eye for a few months and return strong and more able bodied than ever. Clearly the situation has not turned out as planned and there have been more than a few difficulties thus far already. My only hope is that the rest of this journey is not as torturous… I can honestly say though that I am lucky to have you, as I cannot imagine going through this experience alone. You have already done more than you can possibly know…” He trailed off again, reaching out to push another branch from their path, pulling it aside to allow Leola passage and following close behind before letting it fall slowly back into place. His mouth suddenly felt hot and dry, and his tongue swollen, as though he had drunk nothing in days. He slowed to a stop, tugging her hand expectantly and looked into her eyes as she turned to face him, a soft, understanding smile upon her face. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling himself already lighter for having shared this much of his tale, and hoping that when the last pieces fell into place he would be even lighter. At that point Leola might also think him insane, but no matter the self conscious worries in the back of his mind, he knew that she would not dismiss him outright like that. They had known each other too long, had been too dear to each other, for that.

“They swore that it would be a near painless experience, and I believe it has been long enough, or their minds have simply lost hold of the memories, and so they do not remember the experience for what it was. That is the sickness that has gripped me so these past hours, days and nights. Though it has left my body, at least for now, I still feel the after effects. A relapse, of sorts. At the same time, I feel stronger and healthier than I have in memory…” The sly smile so common for Jean yet curiously absent since before their walk finally surfaced again as he looked deep into her eyes, turning slightly to take both her hands in his and feel their warmth rush into him. The feel of her tender hands within his made his stomach flutter, the starlight shining through the branches above them causing her eyes to sparkle and painting her smooth skin with a soft, silvery glow. “And I do believe my eyes have improved as well, as even in this dim light I can clearly see you are as radiant as ever.”

Leola slowly ventured her way through the trees, her uninjured hand gripped tightly by Jean. It had been several moments since they started their little journey, and he remained silent, his hand tightening and releasing hers as if an unconscious reflection of his mind in turmoil. She simply followed along letting him lead the way, gracefully ducking low branches and hopping over dead debris. When he finally began to talk, the story that unfolded left her dumbfounded. Immortals feeding off humans...the idea didn’t sit well with her, her soul seemingly twitching with discomfort. In her mind the sacrifice to sustain one of these immortals was simply destructive; a life to sustain another. What selfish and horrid things these immortals are! Yet despite her discomfort and growing hatred for them, Leola couldn’t help the smile that slowly crept to her lips as Jean excitedly continued his tale.

The enthusiasm in his voice sent her mind briefly to younger days; Jean excitedly ran ahead of her while he reincited stories of dragons, dungeons, princes and kingdoms. The more Leola let him speak, the more elaborate and astonishing his stories became, and his excitement grew to the point where he would bellow his tale amongst the trees. Jean was never one for subtlety, even now it seemed. As if reading her mind, Jean turned to smile warmly at her, as he always did when his voice became too loud, and a small giggle left her lips at his embarrassment.

Leola let him continue, yet his tale only became darker and more unbelievable. While concerns for his sanity crossed her mind, they were quickly abated when he mentioned his ‘turning’. Her heart seemingly stopped beating while she absorbed the information. Had he really became one of these...things? Why on earth would he do such a thing? She vaguely heard his voice continue his story...something about returning to the city once his strength returned. But her head had already absorbed too much. She had already concluded that he spoke the truth, and while his claims were outrageous, the idea of her sweet, beautiful, caring Jean becoming one of those selfish, gruesome so called immortals simply broke her heart. For the rest of his story she simply walked as if her body had a mind of its own, but her strength had simply left. Her soul felt numb, her spirit deflated as her mind conjured images of Jean turning into such a horrid creature. Surely they were not human. A human wouldn’t be so callous and egotistical, surely.

A gentle tug of her hand broke the horrific image in her mind. Leola spun quickly on her heels to find Jean, paler than ever, uneasy on his feet. His face carried the sign of his worry and inner anguish, and she forced herself to smile warmly to set his nerves at ease. If such horrid things had happened to him, he would need her until he found this strength. She vowed to stick by his side, no matter the circumstance. And while this current circumstance scared her to the limits of sanity, she couldn’t abandon him in his time of need.

She kept her distance at arm’s length while he continued to talk. Her eyes watched the motions of his mouth as he spoke, yet her mind couldn’t comprehend his words. She simply continued to smile softly, her head nodding every now and then. Her mind continued to roll with thoughts and images of Jean’s new life...her heart surging in her chest as her conscious battled with her morals. Yes, he was now one of them...what ‘they’ were she didn’t know, but her intuition screamed danger. But he was still with her, still alive. He wasn’t dead! It was if her dreams had been answered in some cruel and twisted way. It was only when the sly, confident smile that she adored returned to his lips that she heard his words.

“And I do believe my eyes have improved as well, as even in this dim light I can clearly see you are as radiant as ever.”

Leola shyly looked away to her feet, her head shaking in the disbelief of his confidence. Slowly she stepped towards him, her eyes meeting his sassy stare with her own mischievous gaze, but the blush in her cheeks surely gave her embarrassment away. “You, Master Jean, shouldn’t be addressing your staff in such a manner.” Before he had time to respond, Leola wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, stretching her small stature to embrace him tenderly.

“I am so glad you didn’t die. Thank you for not leaving...” The words were no louder than a whisper, a delicate caress against his ear, but she knew he heard her when his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. A small sigh left her lips as her mind began to slow to a normal pace. She slowly pulled away, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before pulling back to look into his eyes. She was lost, not only within her mind, but also within his brilliant blue eyes. His gaze only seemed to deepen, rushing through her body as if seeking passage to her inner most feelings and thoughts. Suddenly a chill wrecked through her body as Jean’s hands glided softly up her arms. He was so cold, deadly cold. She needed to get him back in front of a fire.

Leola hesitantly left the embrace and began to walk away, turning her head to beckon Jean to follow her. “Come, I must get ready for work. And you must get in front of a fire.” She gracefully led the way, hopping over broken trees and sliding past overgrown branches until they finally reached the field of vines before her cottage. She hurried along, her skirt pulled up into her injured hand, the other randomly picking up handfuls of lavender as she made her way home. She opened the door and a wave of warmth washed over her. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the blazing fire across the room.

Elizabeth had been to check on her. Elizabeth had woken Leola every day since her father’ death; always with a fresh fire, a plate of fruit and bread and a warm smile. It seems today was no different, and Leola made her way into her home, holding the door for Jean to enter.

Closing the door Leola gently pushed him towards the old chaise that sat by the fireplace. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gingerly pushed him to sit, patting his head softly when he did so. “You stay here and get warm. I need to freshen up for the day. I won’t be longer than a few moments. Will you be ok?” His sly smile answered her question and she left him to soak in the heat of the fire. As she entered the room Leola saw a fresh dress and undergarments placed upon her bed. Elizabeth must be worried. She smiled at the thought of her dear mother figure, and began to undress.

Leola eventually got the corset tied, slid the deep blue dress over her head and continued to button up her gown before tying the white lace apron around her waist. She sighed with relief, oh how she hated the amount of clothing she was forced to endure. Surely it wasn’t all necessary. She grumbled softly as she made her way over to the basin of fresh water. She took a small vial and uncapped it, breathing deeply the aroma of the lavender oil in the vial. Instantly she felt all the stress leave her bones, her muscles relaxing as the aroma swirled around her head as if dancing to calm her. She placed several small drops of the oil into the water, washed her hands and face before lifting her gaze to the mirror before her. She cringed at the sight before her. Her eyes were heavy, her skin paler than what she preferred, a sign of her stress. Her hair was in disarray; several strands fell about her face while the rest messily sat over her shoulders and down her chest. Frowning at her reflection, she quickly brushed and braided it before making her way out to where Jean sat.

Leola smiled warmly at the sight of her friend. Jean sat slumped against the chaise, his hands resting on his chest as his breathed slowly and deeply. His eyes were closed, but unlike the last time she saw him sleep, there was no pain painted on his face. Instead he seemed relaxed and peaceful. She breathed deeply, the site before her convincing her that her friend was nothing to fear. If he had indeed become of them, he would never be so horrid, gruesome and selfish. His soul was just too pure. She giggled softly at the sight before returning her focus back to her hair. She picked up several hairpins and began to pin her braid decoratively to her head before a sharp pain radiated from her fingers. A light gasp left her lips as she pulled her hand away from her head only to find a hairpin pierced through the blood drenched silk and lodged deeply into the wound below.

Jean felt his stomach give a sudden lurch as Leola’s eyes moved down, her gaze seeming to cast about along the ground for some witty rejoinder to cover the gentle flush which had risen to her cheeks at his remark. Perhaps that last had been too much? Despite the antics of his insides, he didn’t move, waiting for her reaction, whatever it might be. When she turned to look at him again, though, a definite gleam in her eyes, he felt confident once more. Still, as she slowly stepped forward his arms almost slid from their place up to embrace her, almost but not quite. He checked the movement at the last second, and was rewarded with a sassy remark. As he opened his mouth to respond she threw her arms about him, driving all thoughts of a comeback from him with her gentle embrace and leaving him completely at a loss for words. When she spoke next he heard the change in her voice, quickly gone from playful to contemplative, sharp and witty to heartfelt and thankful. This time he needed no urging, his hands found her sides of their own accord and he pulled her tightly to him, and held her there for what easily seemed an eternity before she broke away. It was easy to become lost there, to settle into the warm feel of her skin like a drifter falling to sleep in a snow bank beside the road, though he knew that with the recent changes she would be the drifter and he the snow. His fingertips brushed the smooth skin of her arms, soaking up their warmth which he knew was so much stronger thanks to the coolness of his own skin. Such things he had anticipated, before, but no amount of anticipation could truly prepare one for the stark realization of reality. As she planted a soft, sweet kiss upon his cheek he felt it as though her lips were a scorching brand, though that might have been more to do with the fact of her closeness and the change in their relationship.

As she stepped away, moving back towards the house once more, he felt a chill unlike any which had gripped him during his fevered delirium. It wasn’t just the cool air of morning that kissed his skin, it was now the absence of Leola’s warmth, and he felt it’s loss like a cold wash of sea water over his body. Perhaps it was just a fluctuation; he had wondered idly about it during his study of Marie and Claude. Their bodies were only a few degrees cooler than most, but those few degrees made a stark difference in cases like this. He had hoped that it would be the same for him, and surely this chill would pass as soon as hid body had righted itself, become accustomed to its new situation. In the mean time he headed her words, following along close behind her at times, other times at her side as they made their way back to the cottage. Every chance he got he would steal a peek at her, watching the grace with which she skipped along over the underbrush, or glanced by a low hanging branch, and smiled to himself. He had not yet had time to reflect upon everything he’d told her, and she surely hadn’t either, but there would be time enough soon. For the moment he was content to simply share her company, to remain in her radiant presence and accompany her along on their way. Sooner or later she would come to him with questions, and he would do his best to provide answers.

Upon returning to the comfortable, comforting old house, Jean stepped through the doorway and gave Leola a warm smile, and was then set upon to move closer to the fire and rest once more. Along the way he grumbled slightly under his breath, “I’m not so feeble as you make me out to be, you know…” But if she’d heard him, Leola gave no sign, merely patting his head and informing him she would return shortly after freshening up. “Will you be ok?” she asked, and rather than grumble once more he simply smiled, the sly, slightly wicked smile he’d always given her. After she left he relaxed as best he could into the chaise, settling in as best he was able and shaking the chill from his bones. The heat from the fire slowly crept into him, and he began to relax further, clasping his hands upon his chest and closing his eyes. “Only for a moment,” he whispered to no one in particular. “I’ll only close my eyes a moment…” The words barely slipped out, his voice growing softer with each one until he trailed off, dragging out the last into a gentle wisp of calm and drifted off to sleep.

He was a young man again, in the dream. The cottage seemed much larger, and he prowled about in search of something. What was he looking for again? The idea almost startled him into wakefulness, but he quickly relaxed as he remembered; something to eat. He had been attempting to sneak something from the kitchen, something to bring back to Leola after their long afternoon of playing outside. The sun shone brightly through the window, despite the late afternoon, but there were no clouds in the sky to impede it and he felt a gentle warmth creeping into him as he stepped through it. The sunlight was warm and good and pure, and it filled the cottage with an almost indescribable smell, that of summer days and gentle rolling laughter and long rambling stories and rollicking adventures only half imagined. Another smell crept to him there, that of baking bread wafting from the doorway to the kitchen, and it drew him from his silent reverie. As quietly as he could, he stalked towards the doorway, peering around the corner until he spied one of the loaves in question. The smell was much stronger there, so much closer, and he looked warily around for someone, anyone, who might spy him and rebuke him for attempting this little theft. Granted, at the moment he had done nothing wrong, but he knew his intent would be obvious to anyone watching. Forcing an air on nonchalance, he strolled into the empty kitchen and casually picked up the long, crusty baguette, feeling its firm crust begin to crumble slightly and crack within his hand.

A voice called out behind him, “What have we here?” and he immediately spun around, knowing it would full well he was in trouble. His heart sank and he took on the appropriately pennant look of someone truly and devoutly sorry, looking up towards the face that pinned him frozen to the spot. When he reached it, though, he saw it was no one from his childhood. It was someone else entirely… Marie stared down at him in that imperious way of hers, the faintest traces of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she regarded him like a juicy piece of meat she was about to bite into. A sudden chill shot through him, and he shuddered, yet neither of them moved. He knew then that he was dreaming, not simply remembering, and in that moment he quickly became his full grown self, no longer the young boy afraid of being caught pilfering a snack before dinner. Marie’s expression did not change in the slightest, though his own features slowly changed from shock and awe to a look of forced unconcern. Other things had changed as well; the loaf of bread in his hand had vanished, replaced by a length of silk, stained a dark, sticky crimson by the ichor beneath. The smell of it called to him, to that festering darkness at his center, it twisted his stomach in knots and wrapped about his heart like a vice. Marie simply nodded knowingly, a soft, gruff chuckle emanating from between her pursed lips. “Eat…”

Suddenly Jean was awake and completely himself again, slumped down upon the chaise before the fire. Getting quickly to his feet, he glanced about in search of what could have caused the intense reaction and found Leola, standing with a long hairpin stuck sharply into her wounded hand. In two steps he was at her side, cradling her once more injured hand and doing his best to fight down the sudden urge to lift it to his lips… Turning it from side to side, he felt the clinical distancing of his training take over once more, and thankfully let it slip into place. Glancing from her hand to her face, Jean gave her a hesitant, tentative smile. “It doesn’t seem to be too deeply imbedded, though we really do need to get this cleaned up and properly bandaged. Perhaps this time something a little more appropriate than the lining of my jacket?” He grinned, the sly smile returning to his face in hopes of washing away the worry which had taken over hers. “Come, lets fetch you a wash basin and flush out that wound, and then we should certainly get you some breakfast. There’s no telling exactly how much blood you’ve lost already but I would rather not risk it, and food will only help you.” Before she could protest further he found the closest water available, leading her to a nearby table with a stoneware pitcher painted with grapevines and lavender much like the ones that grew just outside. Holding her hand above a wooden bowl, Jean removed the pin and set it aside then unwound the last of the silk from about her hand. It trembled within his grasp, and he held her gingerly but firmly, giving her the most reassuring smile possible while clenching his teeth. The urge was definitely growing stronger, the dark seething inside of him growing more insistent with each passing moment, each wafted breath of the warm, life-giving substance.

He gratefully pulled over a wooden bowl, setting it below her hand, and poured a slow stream of water over it, washing away the last of the fresh blood and most of the dried, sticky residue that had clung to her skin when the bandage was first applied. The bowl slowly filled with cool, pinkish water and though Leola clenched her fingers in pain she did not cry out or move away, for which Jean felt immensely proud. When the bowl was full and the wound was reasonably cleaner he daubed at her hand with his shirt sleeve, and asked, “Is there something we might use for a bandage around?” His eyes found hers, radiating concern and worry and hopefulness, all in equal measure, and he gave her injured hand a tentative squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to tear his eyes from hers and the startlingly deep gaze with which she held him. “Perhaps you would best take the seat by the fire, it would be the end of me to have you catch a death of cold from this. Point me towards the bandages and I shall fetch them, and something for you to eat.” The sly smile crept across his face as he grew more confident once again, more sure of himself as he slow beat back the hungry darkness, “And I won’t hear another word more. Lest I remind you ‘how I treat my staff.’” He finished with a soft chuckle and led her slowly to the chaise, sitting her down with the same pat upon the head she’d given him earlier and only then finally did he manage to break away from her entrancing stare.