Nosferatu

The first few days in the manor Lucy simply locked herself away in her room. She cried to until the third day when her tears finally ran dry. The manor was always silent, it felt as if she was on the only one living here. As the days dragged on her grief turned into loneliness as she longed for her old life. On the weekdays she would go to work, washing dishes, and clearing tables at the local tavern. Lots of familiar faces would come in and say hi to her with smiles on their faces. The weekends were her favourite. Sometimes she would nap in the backyard, laid out on a blanket spread across the grass with the sun beaming down on her.

Slowly as the daydream faded, her eyes readjusted on the elaborate embroidery on her bed sheets. The cold feeling of isolation washing through her once again. However she was never truly alone, Clyde would momentarily come in with a tray of food sometimes or the knife and glass the others. When she saw the latter she simply sat still where she was and didn't say anything. She avoided looking him in the eyes at all cost. She pretended she was a statue. She didn't breathe, she didn't blink, she didn't feel anything. She was a cold lifeless statue. She didn't feel the cold sharp pains of the knife slashing through her skin, or the way his lips moved so lightly against the open wound as all the pain vanished. To him she was merely cattle, Lucy told herself.

This time Clyde held a trey of food in his hand. She was on the gigantic bed, laying on her side, legs tucked up tightly beneath her. His eyes scanned the girl, his brows furrowing together as he noticed the previous tray of food he had left here had barely been touched. She's already skinny enough and her blood is starting to taste weaker the man thought to himself.

"Get up and eat properly," Clyde said sitting down on the edge of the bed. He placed the tray of food beside him as he watched the girl completely ignore his demand.

She closed her eyes hoping that if she ignored him long enough he could give up and leave. She didn't have much of an appetite. What seemed like a painfully amount of time passed to Lucy, was only a fleeting second for the man who sat beside her. A hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder, flinching beneath the touch, her head whipping around. Their eyes met, locking with one another. Lucy didn't know what she was searching for as she stared into his eyes. Maybe some kind of compassion, hopeful that he would set her free.

"Eat something please," he said as she looked away from his gaze, his voice snapping her out of her trance.

"As long as I'm alive to provide you with blood it shouldn't matter how I'm feeling," the girl mumbled back.

"I can taste it in your blood if you're not eating properly and if you're weak I can only take so much," he said. His voice was cold, emotionless. He was never going to let her go.

A small gasp escaped her lips as he wrapped an arm around her hips and pulled her into a sitting position closer to him. A spoon held in front of lips, his eyes glared at her, eat.

He brought the spoon up to her mouth and fed her like a child. She swallowed it as she watched his eyes continue to glare at her. Not once did they soften as he continue to feed her until the bowl was empty. Her stomach felt full and warm for the first time in the past few days and even she let out of a sigh of relief.

"Now that's better isn't it?" He said, hands peeling an orange. He didn't say anything, bringing an orange wedge up to her lips. Once again, she obeyed opening her mouth as he plopped the wedge inside. As she bit down onto the wedge her nose and eyes scrunched up.

A soft chuckle echoed through the silent room, her eyes opening to see a smiling Clyde sitting in front of her. He raised an eyebrow asking her what was wrong with that silent gesture.

"It's really sour," she said silently looking away, her cheeks flushed. Lucy didn't know why she had to suddenly feel embarrassed by this man. He was simply taking care of her cause he wanted her blood she told herself again and again in her head.

"Sorry, I can't really taste these things before I give them to you," he said a sheepish smile across his perfect feature. Afterwards he picked up both the trays and silently left her room, the door creaking as it closed behind him leaving Lucy alone once again with her thoughts.



"Why are you crying Mister?" A young girl said as she struggled to climb onto the bench where a figure clad in black sat. The sun was setting, clouds covering the sky painting the dust a wash of bleak colours.

He peered up from his hands, starring at the child now sitting beside him. Her pale tangled hair touched the bench while she sat. Her cheeks a rosy pink against her milky skin. He gave her a slight smile, rubbing the tears from his eyes.

"I'm lonely," he said. A big sigh escaping his mouth. How pathetic he thought, confessing his troubles to a child.

"I'll be your friend then," she said. Her voice was high and a big smile pulled up on her plump cheeks as she placed her little hand over the man's. He looked down at her in a shock, before returning his face to his hands, more tears dripping down his cheek
.
"Mister, don't cry any more, I'll be your friend. I promise, I promise!" Her little cries were pleading now as the little girl broke out into tears as well.

Although he heard the whispers of women and even men as he moved from town to town. He was beautiful, mysteries, wealthy, the people of every town always praised him but none of them ever approached him. He was placed on this constant pedestal all alone for his very long life. Everyone just observed from afar and never approached him. His thirst for blood made it hard for him to grow attached to people so he kept himself distant and isolated.

"Thank you," he said as he raised a hand to pat the girl on the head trying to soothe the child and stop her tears. "What's your name?"

"It's...Lucy," she said between hiccups.