[Worm]

:Private roleplay between Sylvanspider and Worm:

OOC

[Worm]

Elizabeth extended her legs, leaning back into a red chaise lounge. Her hair was still thick, but it was silver now. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled now. It had been years since her last feeding, and this was shown through her exhaustion. A finger on her cheek, she waited for the howling of wolves before rising from her seat. A long, flowing dress was held against her body by a leather corset. Though the mirror near her doorway would not show her reflection, she moved with ease and ignored this little quirk.
She opened the door to a bright, young man. He smelled healthy. A smile curled into deep wrinkles, her eyes lit up. "Welcome, welcome. Miss Ward - " She slid a hand out for the man to shake. He did so with a cautious glance around Elizabeth's holders.

"Yes Miss Ward. It's a pleasure to meet you." While his expression might have been tense, he was not lying in the slightest. Many had seen shadows of the ghoulish widow, but it was rare for one to actually hold conversation with the poor old hag. William was well groomed, his hair parted and pulled back into a ponytail. He had a smooth face with honey colored eyes.

"Hm - The pleasure is mine, William." This was the first time William noticed her peculiar Hungarian accent. He felt a shiver go up his spine when she said his name. "Please, come in." She smiled, and so did he. When he took his first steps into the castle-like mansion, Elizabeth knew she had him. A surge of warmth pulsed through her cold and dying body.

"Wow. You have managed a lovely home, Miss Ward." William's eyes travelled from corner to corner, not noticing the lack of Elizabeth's reflection in the mirror beside them.

"Please, call me Elizabeth." She led the boy into her dining room for a comfortable conversation. William was shocked by how young the woman's energy was beneath its decrepit flesh. She did have her hair tied up tight, and her face made up, but she had no way oft truly telling how she looked. It was the lack of humanity within her that kept her allure. William took a seat at the side of the long dining room table. Elizabeth took the head of the table while he began sifting through his paperwork.

"So, I've got three potential offers for you Mis- Elizabeth." He corrected himself with a nervous chuckle. He shook his head, strands of brown hair falling at his forehead. To be honest, he wanted to finish up as quickly as possible to return home to his fiancé.

"Yes. Do describe." She hummed, William cleared his throat.

"One is an old brothel, you could convert it or run your own business through." Elizabeth stood as William shuffled through his architectural skeletons and sketches. She hovered behind him, catching whiffs of his healthy blood.

"Yes. And where is it located?" Her hands graced the back of his shoulders as she glided to the other side of him.

"Near the coast, it can host forty people." Hairs on his neck stood as she got closer. He wasn't sure if this was appropriate client interaction, but tried to remain focused. "There is another closer to town -"

"No. Nothing in town." She said rather abruptly, cutting off her business partner.

"Okay." William scratched out the offer from his list. "This one is in the forest, won't get much business I'm afraid - but it is rather large."

Elizabeth grinned, her fangs extending as she looked at his neck. She could feel the veins pumping inside of him, which made it difficult to maintain her human disguise. "Hmm. I would like to see the layout for this one and the first." She took a long breath, tasting him on her palette. Though she didn't usually go after men, it had been much too long since she'd fed. Even a man's scent was not dispelling her.

As he flipped through sketches, Elizabeth felt her body lunge for the man's neck and miss. It was without thought, only instinct. William wasn't sure why, but he felt the strongest urge to leave as fast as he could. Every inch of him was covered in goosebumps. He shoved all of the straggling papers into a neat pile before putting them back into his satchel. He cleared his throat as he stood from his chair. "Alright Miss Ward. I'll leave you with two plots. When you make your decision, please send word. I can make plans to visit in the next week if I have not heard." He brushed off his tailored suit and managed a coy smile. He felt a turn in his stomach as the old woman smiled back.

"Thank you William." She put her fingers on the two images still left on the table and waved him goodbye. "I will see you again." The smile never left her face, the lingering Hungarian accent leaving William with more questions than answers. When he finally exited through the door, he could breathe. He paused for a moment just to stabilize himself, still awestruck. When he finally made his way back to the carriage, Elizabeth watched through a small window. Her eyes were on him, and she was anxious to have a taste. However, the moon was full and illuminating every inch of the sky now. With the strength of moonlight, she would find the strength to eat again. Humans were such easy prey. Though she found that men were even easier. A small groan left her lips, and there was no more control. Fur lined her skin, piercing through the saggy flesh that kept her imprisoned. Ears, wings and fully extended fangs. The next feast would bring her to the time of her youth again. It had been so long since she'd actually felt the warmth of a living body, especially her own.

Wolves howled, following William back to his modest home. In the corner of his eye, he could swear he saw something dart across the sky. Elizabeth could not think in her feasting mode, it was something that gave her primal strength and was usually triggered by the scent of human blood. Usually she could control it, but she was reaching her end. The sky was cold, but she could not feel it against her fur. She let it glide beneath her wings, carrying her through the dense forest. Humans were red blobs of warmth that she dove towards. A single woman outside of her home, danced through her garden. It was lush and well maintained, a woman in her prime. Elizabeth landed in the shadows behind her. When the girl saw the beastly figure of Elizabeth, she stood to her full height. The girl screamed, and in one swoop, Elizabeth had her.

Her skin was soft, and warm. Her eyes were terrified and green. She stared into them with her own slitted eyes. She encompassed the girl in lust and watched her melt in her arms before diving into her flesh. The blood, oh the blood. It was a pungent wine which filled every inch of Elizabeth's body and purified her. It released her from her rage, her pain, her hollowness. She saw the face of her lover past, her sweet, sweet face, tainted by the hands of men. Before she knew it, there was a lifeless body in front of her. She was covered in blood and wet with pleasure. Her body slashed through her memories and brought Elizabeth back to the time of death. A bloodied body, with no smile, no purity. And the moment was over. There was no more pleasure, just the pang of loneliness. The frustration, the pain. She knew that she should've done something, but did not. Now she was cursed as a hollow being for eternity. A choice she did not intend to make.

How many girls now have suffered at her hands? She wasn't aware anymore. They all blended together in one moment in time. Maybe someday, this curse would be lifted.

[sylvanSpider]

One Year Ago~~

“Emily, dear, may I have a word?” The speaker was none other than Mrs. Trumbuckle, a plump woman looking young for her years. Her face was smooth, save for when she smiled, which was often, revealing crows feet adorning the corners of her eyes. While not particularly beautiful, the woman was lovely to look at, and had been everything Emily could have needed in her worst hours. She and Mr. Trumbuckle both had taken such excellent care of her, and she was thankful that Father had left her in the care of such a marvelous, quaint couple. Now however, the lovely lady's brow furrowed with worry as she took the hand of the youth giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, mum? What is it? What's the matter?” the girl, whose name was Emily, had her own concerned expression as she looked up at the kindly woman. They took a seat, Mrs. Trumbuckle still grasping at her hand. She gave it another squeeze before she began to speak again.

“Oh nothing's the matter, so to speak. No, nothing at all. It's just,” here, Mrs. Trumbuckle paused a moment breathing for her nose and resituated herself in her seat with a slight rustle of her undoubtedly overpriced and overdecorative dress. The emphasis on the word 'matter' was indeed indicative that there was, in fact, something the matter. Nevertheless she continued, “It's just, you're turning eighteen tomorrow, dear, and you're old enough to marry...”

“Old enough to marry, mum?” Emily inquired, blinking at the estate's matriarch. Of course, the topic had been on her mind the past few months; the looks on the streets from young and old gentlemen alike had been increasing steadily every time she went out, and it was no secret the young woman was one of London's most eligible bachelorettes. “Do you mean to say you've found a prospective suitor for me?” The last word came out as more of a squeak or hoarse whisper, her face paling as she realized that this was the end of her youth. She must become a woman now.

“Ehm...well, let me speak dear. As I said, you're getting of the age to marry and become a woman.And,” Mrs. Trumbuckle placed emphasis on the word in order to prevent the girl from interjecting, though the girl made no sign that she was going to and Mrs. Trumbuckle continued, “And you know that Mr. Trumbuckle and I have taken excellent care of you, and that by now, surely you know, we want nothing but the best for you, and also that you have an enormous inheritance that has been placed in our care.” Mrs. Trumbuckle wet her lips giving Emily's hand a soft squeeze, “Emily, my dear,” she said, lowering her voice, “you remember that that inheritance is to go to you when you wed, correct?” Here, the girl nodded eagerly, wishing the lovely lady would just get on with it. If she was asking for money for she and Mr. Trumbuckle, it would be granted immediately. She always thought the sums promised her seemed too large. “Well, your father left behind a uh...a codicil before he passed on.”

At the word 'codicil,' Emily grew whiter, this issue turning far more dire than she'd anticipated, “What did the codicil say?”

Mrs. Trumbuckle had been studying Emily, carefully scrutinizing her reactions to what she was saying, “It said that you should receive your inheritance so long as you marry a man. Now, Mr. Trumbuckle laughed at the obviousness in it. You know, of course you'd be marrying a man. But I? I have...erm...wondered if there was a reason your father ehm...specified that...ah, specifically.” Mrs. Trumbuckles' eyes studied the girl with even more scrutiny as she asked this and Emily changed from white to red immediately flushing.

“No, no. Of course not. Of course I am going to marry a man, mum,” Emily squeaked, biting her lip and turning her gaze toward the fire.

This was apparently good enough for Mrs. Trumbuckle as she sighed with relief and sat, letting her back rest against the back of the chair, “Good, good. Of course. Uhm. That out of the way, do you have any particular man in mind?”

Emily looked down, still flushed and began wringing her hands, “No, mum, I can't say that I do.”

“Oh, excellent!” Emily looked back up at her caregiver, not expecting this answer, “You see, Mr. Trumbuckle and I have just met the most magnificent man. He's young, he's wealthy, of property, and dare I say...” here, Mrs. Trumbuckle let her own cheeks redden, though in the spirit of a girl half her age giving a juicy secret said, “dare I say quite handsome.” She fanned herself and smiled at the girl who looked thoroughly relieved, her perspective now changed to just a suitor. “His name is William Shaw, and I must say, he's quite the catch! Mr. Trumbuckle and I have already arranged a dinner. He's expected tomorrow evening.”

~~Shaw Residence, One Year Later~~

Miss Emily Barker sat by the fire, book in hand, one page about to be turned in the other, and her legs crossed. She had a small wistful smile on her face as her eyes continued to follow the lines until that page was turned. The fire was warm, cozy for such a dreary night. It was unseasonably cold, but Emily found herself in high spirits. Mr. Shaw was indeed quite the catch and she was pleased, once again, with the Trumbuckles and the pains they took to make sure that she was quite happy. The book was one of poetry, and one that she had only acquired earlier in the day.

Sitting directly across from her was this lovely little blonde creature, her escort Rosamund, working on her stitching. It was her who broke the silence, “Oh, Miss Barker, what are we going to do with you? You're about to become a wife and you would still rather read than do your stitching. Now, I know that you don't need to do it to get by like some,” she said, most certainly not talking about herself, obviously, “But they are skills that every woman should possess. Do you really want to tell your child someday that you never made not even one nightgown or even a pair of socks for them? You can't be reading all your life, you know. Your father should never have sent you to school.” The creature may have been speaking with a bit of jealousy here, being illiterate, and thus immune to whatever it was that was causing Emily's smile at the present moment.

The smile didn't dissipate, however, instead, she placed a bookmarker where she was, shut the book uncrossing her legs and leaned forward, “Rosamund, we've been over this already. To you, I'm Emily. Or, if you must, Miss Emily. None of this “Miss Barker” nonsense. I'm not going to be Miss Barker for much longer anyway. I shall be Mrs. William Shaw. I shan't get too used to the name you see. As far as my reading goes, Rosamund, I have offered to teach you. It really has made life much more convenient, and certainly more pleasant.”

“No, no! I shan't! A woman has no need to read, and soon I'll be having children of my own that I must take care of,” Rosamund replied, obstinate. “Oh, do you hear that? I believe your husband is coming!” Sure enough, not mere seconds later, one could hear the wheels of a carriage, horses' hooves upon the ground.

Emily got to her feet, attempting to straighten her dress and beamed as her husband came in, “You're home earlier than expected! Did all go well with the sale? Did she choose one of the properties?”

[Worm]

William tried his best to make up a smile for his beloved, however the strange encounter had left him a bit - out of place. His hair seems slightly shifted from where it naturally sat, his eyes held secrets that he hadn't yet deciphered. When Emily burst through his shifted vision, his fake smile warmed into a heartened grin. "Yes, well. The woman's a bit of a loon, I must admit." He kicked his shoes to loosen any dirt before stepping over the mantle into the house. He placed his coat onto the coat hanger next to the door and swept up Emily in an extended hug.

"You look magnificent, my dear." He held her at her arms, looking deep into her eyes. He was relieved to come home to such a wonderful woman. She was intelligent, graceful and beautiful. Someone so unique, that he wouldn't let anyone have her. "And yes, the sale went well..." He tried to resurface memories of his experience, but he struggled. "Though Miss Ward does have peculiar interests. I'm not sure why anybody would want to start a business outside of town. I've given her a few days to decide between two Welsh properties. Both secluded..." He sighed, grabbing Emily's waist and walking into the living area. He noticed Rosamund and bowed his head. "Good evening, Rosamund." He smiled, just to turn back to his fiancé.

"Darling, would you fetch me some water? I'm feeling a bit drained after that - experience." He sat down adjacent to Rosamund, leaving her in awkward silence once Emily let the room. He didn't intend to make the girl uncomfortable, but he was rather loyal and monogamous and didn't like speaking to women in an informal matter, especially when his fiancé was around the corner.

---

The shrieks of rebirth bubbled beneath the messy blob of a chrysalis. After feeding, Elizabeth would sleep. It was a welcomed experience, as she never slept unless she fed. She dreamt of her human life. It wasn't much better than the hell she had resigned to. She was a child bride, born in nobility. At age 11, she was to be wed to a man twice her age. Even then, her eyes were turned away from the opposite sex. When her husband was away at war, she finally had some solace. She had borne two children by the age of fifteen, both given away. She had only one love in her exhausting two centuries of damnation, and when Elizabeth saw Isabel's face - it chilled her lifeless body into a deep numbness.

They were both still girls, Elizabeth with more responsibility than she could manage. She took care of the people of Hungary from within the confines of her wedding gift, the Csejte castle. The war against the Ottomans would eventually take her husband, leaving her with more wealth, more power, and more rage. She had repressed her feelings for years, and when Isabel was charged with indecency after rape, Elizabeth expressed her fury. She removed the girl and allowed her to live within the castle. Isabel was only 14 years old, Elizabeth 16. While managing the estate, she taught the girl to read and write. Elizabeth was proficient in four languages, and she taught Isabel what she could. This experience opened her heart. This was the first time she'd felt loved and needed. Even though the nation she cared for, might object.

When she saw Isabel's corpse lying face down in a pool of blood, she felt the wrath of God. The cold, pale face of her lover still scars her memories today. Like a loop she can never escape, the face of Isabel is in every girl she killed in futile revenge. Why, Isa? Why?

She killed hundreds and hundreds of girls, bathing in their blood as her sickness grew stronger. She wanted to wash away Isa's blood. She wanted to put an end to the aching inside. She heard the whisper of demons, and knew that God was no longer with her. Submerged in the bath, servants pouring blood over her statuesque body, she made the decision - whether conscious or not - to die. Drink Bathory, DRINK
And she drank.

The cold of 1876 England woke her from the dreaded nightmares. And though the sleep was restful, her heart was heavy once again. She knew that it would happen, as it did every time before. Isabel's face would never leave her. If only she could see it alive one last time...

Her own face was prim and youthful again, cheeks almost as pink as they were when she was alive. Her hair, golden once again. She took a deep breath, filling her chest with temporary reserves. This life was a mistake. All she wanted was revenge for the love that was taken from her.

[sylvanSpider]

Emily Barker was a quick lass and was, as per usual, quick to notice something amiss in her future husband's features. Her soft hand reached up to his hair, her eyes finding her fiance's own. All that could be seen in her own features were concern and worry. Mr. and Mrs. Trumbuckle had done right by her by introducing her to this wonderful man. She'd heard so often of unhappy marriages and was certain that hers would certainly not be one of those. Miss Barker's own heart lifted seeing life eek into his smile and her hands drifted down to his, “Dearest, you're so cold. Pray, come sit by the fi--” She cut off as he wrapped his arms around her and she sighed with the contentedness of a child playing on a warm spring day.

Her smile widened as Shaw held her at arms, looking at his future wife, color rising to her cheeks. As he took her in, so too did she take him in. Mrs. Trumbuckle did not lead her astray when she told her how handsome the man was, that was certain. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw,” Emily said softly, still unwed and still referring to her husband by his public title. “Surely, she won't get much business out there, but at least you will be getting rid of one of two undesirable properties, yes?”

Rosamund had sat watching the pair carefully, her nimble fingers not missing a single stitch as she worked. Upon his arm around the woman's waist, however, she got to her feet. “Evenin' Mr. Shaw. I must ask you to unhand her. You're not yet wed, you know. It isn't proper for a young man to be grabbing a young lady about the waist like that. It just isn't. Further, it's un-Christian.” Miss Rosamund was chosen very intentionally by the Trumbuckles, knowing that the couple were a very handsome pair and would surely recognize it in themselves and might be tempted by that same handsomeness.

“I'd be very glad t--” Emily began, only to be cut off by the blonde creature who now set aside her stitching and clicked her way down the hall, emerging moments later with a clear glass of water. “'ere you are, sir. Sorry about repr'mandin' you earlier, sir. It's just I don't think the Trumbuckles would be pleased with the escort they chose if they found out I let you both get...improper.”

---

Mr. Simon Wegg lit his cigarette and allowing himself to be comforted by the hissing of the match as it sprung to life, the smoke drifting upwards, curling towards the heavens. He was anything but a pleasant man, too lean, too mean, and too unsympathetic. The man was tall, seeming to be missing his overcoat, but it sat over his shoulder, the white of his undershirt and tie enabling him to be seen by any carriages passing this way. Of course, none would be at this hour. Only those like himself were out, and currently, he was alone.

He puffed, holding the cigarette to his face in one hand, the other wave the flame off of the match before discarding it on the street. Mr. Wegg was tall, over six-feet, with dark hair and gray eyes. His skin was a pasty whitish color, not completely opaque, but enough that one might perpetually worry about his health. He was skinny, too, where other men filled out in their shoulders, giving them sort of semblance of strength, Simon remained lanky, hunched puffing over his smoke, and jamming both hands into his pockets. In the silence, Wegg's footfalls seemed to echo and the first flakes of a snowfall began to drift down melting as it hit the pavement.

Finally, Wegg came to the business he was looking for and knocked three times in slow, hard succession. The door opened.

“I take it you're Mr. Simon Wegg?” the man answered, lifting his gaze slightly to look into those cold, gray eyes.

“Mr. Allaber? Yes. I am he. Will you show me to the body?”

[Worm]

Though William's feelings for Rosamund were mostly encompassed in apathy, he gave her a cold smirk and unhanded his wife to be. He smiled back at her though, hoping to cover her in his warmth. He couldn't wait much longer for the wedding. It had been almost a year, and any longer would just be misery. His hands lingered on Emily's arms for a moment longer before he released her. "You are absolutely right, Rosamund. And thank you." He sighed, finally stepping away from his prize and holding the glass of water in his hand. He took a seat next to the fireplace, extending his feet and leaning into the chair. He sat down his glass for less then a second before picking it up again and taking a swig of water. A refreshed sigh afterwards did not replace the ominous feeling in his gut.

"What have you heard of the old widow, Elizabeth Ward?" As he said her name, a chill rose up his spine.

---

Elizabeth had left her victim with two marks on her neck, and a cold, ghastly body. There was blood on her frock, but otherwise she looked frozen in time. Most vampires did not drain their victims completely, but Elizabeth had lost her precautions. After hunting for so long, it loses its allure. Now the hunt was just a blur in her mind. And after she was reborn, she was resurrected into the same misery as she'd attempted to leave. She did space out her feedings though. The last one before the young girl, was another girl ten years prior. She had fiery hair and freckles, a face that deserved preservation. Much like Isabel.

When the girl was discovered, Elizabeth found torches and lamps circling around the garden. The vampire could see all of the human movement from her mansion window. Sometimes, she wanted to return to Hungary and her castle. Though it was probably just as hollow now, as she felt. Perhaps just as unkempt. The whispers of its hallways still spoke to her. She remembered Isabel's figure dancing through hallways, singing to Elizabeth's tears. She wanted more of the girl's fragile happiness, her glowing light guided her through the trauma of the afterlife. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she could hear her singing. How, after hundreds of years, had her memory not faded? What kind of hell was this? She held a glass of wine, as deep as blood, between clawed fingers. She took a long sip and stared into the empty depths of her home.

[sylvanSpider]

Rosamund returned his cold stare with one of her own, shifting her eyes only when he released his hold. Upon her release she gave a curt nod to replace the form 'you're welcome' he was due. Mr. Shaw was one gentleman that made a job such as hers much more difficult than it needed to be. Had the wedding been arranged, and at least one of the two parties less attractive or older, she would not have to chastise him so much. As it stood, she became the ghost of the Shaw residence while Miss Barker made her nuptial changes to the property—waking up at odd hours of the night to creep to Miss Barker's room to ensure that she was still there and not in Mr. Shaw's chambers.

Miss Emily, meanwhile, took her own seat beside Mr. Shaw. “The wedding is scheduled for less than two weeks from to-day,” she said, a small playful smile appearing on the woman's lips. They would be able to consummate their love soon enough, and like Mr. Shaw, her excitement was peeking. Being a woman of stature, she was unfamiliar with exactly what that meant—at least, in its entirety. There was a certain sense of naivety that the girl had that others found endearing...and dangerous. All she knew that this meant was more physical interaction. When her husband did not respond, but his face exhibited signs of worry, the fire not seeming to warm him in the slightest. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward and grasped his hand in hers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze just as her own maternal figure had less than a year ago as she revealed the news of the codicil.

“Ms. Ward?” Rosamund muttered shaking her head, “Well, I've heard quite a lot. Though the truth in what I've heard is questionable.” She remained standing, hands clasped in front of her as one might expect from a woman of her severity. She'd taken on and off again roles as a school teacher, and the mannerisms used in the classroom leaked into almost every aspect of the girl's life. “I've heard everything from her being a witch to a vampire. These rumors are silly, of course. The woman leads an isolated life, gossip is going to be spread about her when there is nothing else to talk about. Heaven knows how the townsfolk of Flint must have their stories. I've always felt sorry for her, that Ms. Ward. I would guess she is more lonely than anything.”

---

“She's just over here,” the man who had formerly introduced himself as Mr. Thomas said, holding up his lamp and watching carefully as though whatever had caused the murder might be found now. “I still refer to her as her, you see. Just because she is now a corpse doesn't mean her soul isn't...well.” he shut himself up here. The man did his best to appear strong, but Simon could see that he was barely holding himself up. He was the young husband of the former Mrs. Thomas, a newly married couple who had been said to settle into their married life quite nicely—one of the ever rare happily married couples that seemed to get on quite well with life.

Simon did not reply, merely nodding his head as he followed the man, stopping as the former unlatched the gate revealing a garden, half covered. Mrs. Thomas had been out covering up her plants to protect from the frost that was due tonight. It seemed silly that such a mundane task would get someone killed. “And you tell me that Mrs. Thomas had no enemies? No one jealous of you for being her new husband? No one jealous of her for laying claim to you?”

“No. None. At least, none that were forward about it. Our marriage was accepted widely as a good match throughout Flint.”

Simon answered that he is sorry for his loss in a way that seemed to say that he was, in fact, not sorry but that he was being formal as part of his job. The pair made their way past the covered plants the body laying right where the plants were covered on one side of her (as Mr. Thomas insisted on calling the corpse), and bare on the other side. The corpse itself was drained of any and all color, save for the hues generally associated with blue or death. Her skin was a pale gray, her cheeks gaunt. Her eyes were still open, staring up in terror as if still looking at the terror that befell the poor woman. Simon crouched down beside the body, moving her head to get a better look at the two neat puncture wounds. Here, Simon pulled out a small tape measure, writing down the exact measurements in a small notebook he produced from his breastpocket.

“And you say the corpse was cold when you found it, correct?”

“Yes. She was cold as death when I found her. I was always under the impression that the dead kept some warmth until some hours after their death...” Mr. Thomas assented, not willing to let go of calling the corpse 'her.'

“And Mrs. Thomas had only just stepped out?”

“A mere minutes before. I don't...I didn't think there would be any foul play. Not at first. Mrs. Thomas was an upstanding woman. I've...I've never seen anything like this.” Mr. Thomas, being a member of the police force, had seen his share of corpses. Of murders, even. But this? This was something entirely new to him.

“You did notice the puncture wounds here, on the neck? They were made when she was alive. The blood, if I were to cut her is entirely gone. Do you see that?” Simon asked, his brow furrowing as he looked again at the measurements—the measurements that fit in the perfect distance of the human canines. This was classic vampire. Classic starved vampire. Perhaps worse. Classic gluttonous vampire, maybe?

“Y-you're—you're certain that all of the blood is drained from her, Mr. Wegg?” Mr. Thomas asked, wringing his hands. If this Mr. Wegg truly did believe that it was a vampire, then he would be acquitted from the list of initial suspects. A list that as the doting husband that he was should not have ever been on that list to begin with.

From his crouching position, Simon looked up at him, “Would you like me to show you, Thomas? The autopsy will be performed immediately following...ehm. This. Is that something you wish to be present for?”

Mr. Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, the wringing of his hands was faster, and he drew a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his brow despite the chill of the night. As the chief of police for the town of Flint, he'd overseen a few autopsies in his time, but never one for his wife, and certainly not one for someone he'd been with so intimately even the night before. A kinder creature might have taken pity on him. Mr. Simon Wegg was not that kinder creature. “Ehm. Well. Uhm. Yes. I suppose I should...”

Simon opened the briefcase he'd been carrying, previously thought to be decoration by Mr. Thomas and revealed a large, clunky contraption. “This here is a camera. A new invention, one that still needs some of the kinks worked out, but an invention that will enable us to view the crimescene later through an exact image of this very scene. Unfortunately for it being dark at the moment, I'll need all of you to hold your lights around the body while I attempt to capture the image.”

The capture of the body's image was quite an endeavor. Mr. Wegg had a tripod to which he placed the contraption, adjusting the legs and snapped not one, but three, images. Mr. Thomas had heard of photography, but had dismissed it was something entirely too expensive and pointless, besides. Now, one was being used for his late great wife. Shame he never had a photograph of her living. She was so beautiful, such a handsome creature, now taken too soon.

Mr. Wegg rose to his feet, carefully repacking the contraption back into his case. “I've acquired all I need here. If you will be so kind as to arrange to have it taken to the morgue, the autopsy will begin. I will remain here for a little bit to see if I can find any more evidence.”

The crew did exactly as he wished, producing a stretcher from a carriage that was parked just in front of the Thomas residence and when the corpse was on the stretcher, Mr. Thomas crouched down beside her, bringing his hand up to her eyes to close them, tears forming in the corners of his own.

[Worm]

Sipping on his water, William tried to disguise his shaking hands. Something had come over him in the little time away from his strange visit. He felt as though someone were watching him constantly, making him slightly queasy. "Yes, yes. I'm sure they're just rumors." He tried to dispel his own insecurities in this response. The thought of the old widow, brought pangs of guilt. She's just a tired, old woman. Nothing to worry about. He cleared his throat, looking over at the love of his life, remembering the comment she'd made earlier, and nearly spitting out water.

"Oh, Emily. Two weeks cannot come fast enough." He wished he was close enough to her to gently place his hand on hers. Instead, a gust of cold wind breathed through the room. Even the flame in the fireplace wiggled. William's attempts to put Miss Ward behind him were futile. And her face was etched in his subconscious. Little did he know that she was just outside of Emily's warm home. She could see everything inside through a wobbly, foggy lens. She had a cloak on, posing as a young person, out past dark. Which speaking of, William glanced at his wristwatch. "Emily, my dear. I must be heading home to finalize some - affairs for Ms. Ward." He sighed, quickly finishing up the glass of water. As he stood up, Elizabeth made contact with Emily's eyes. Through veneers of time, her face burned into Elizabeth's field of psychic vision. She held in a screech, the pain was much too real. Was this, who she thought it was?

William rose from his seat, followed by the women. With a much-too-brief hug, he released Emily to her keeper. Much like her, he was anxious for their wedding. He was ready for a time when he could go home to her, rather than his beaten up attic studio. He had saved every bit of money from his clients and even locked down the perfect home for him and his lovely woman. It wouldn't be the first time that a well-off woman would marry someone rising from poverty, but it warmed his heart to think that this page boy would have nobility beneath his sheets. Sure, now he had wealth. Though his hovel didn't show it. He lived above a barber shop for heaven's sake. But he created his own business, and his own prosperity. Something which was very rare in times like these.

Emily was crouched down next to the topiaries outside of Emily's house. Her face was stricken with grief. Real tears came from her hollowed eyes, something she was convinced would never happen again. A heave, and she stood. Her form became shadows and she disappeared into the dank darkness of Flint. William was almost sure that he saw something as he left. He could almost smell it. With pinched lips and a concerned brow, he said his farewells and the door was closed behind him. He suddenly realized how cold it was outside. Luckily his home was a short walk from Emily's. He braced himself, wrapping both arms around his chest. There was a howl in the wind. He was brought back to Ms. Ward.

"What have you heard of Miss Ward?" A voice tickled his ear. He lifted a hand to swat at it. His breathing became shaky and nervous. "Well?" The voice was much like a whisper, barely touching him with its breath. He spun around to confront it, but there was only darkness. He flipped back to the welcoming street lamps of Flint's business district. With hurried steps, he focused on the patter against cobblestone, entering a meditative state of mind. He had to distract himself from these pestering thoughts. After all, he wasn't crazy, right? It was just a little apprehension. And who wouldn't be after a strange encounter like that? As he tried to normalize and rationalize, he realized that he was right back into his anxious way of thinking. Before he knew it, he saw the newly painted building and its sign reading "Barber".

He rushed inside, the cold breeze throwing the door behind him.

"Will, s'that you?" A boisterous voice made its way down the stairwell.

"Yes'm. Just finished talking to the Ward residence." He didn't feel the need to mention his brief time with Emily. As it was part of his routine nowadays.

"Oh goodie. She pays well, I presume?" The woman had bounced down the stairs to give him a hug. Will sighed into it, her gelatin form was still a hard hit against his lanky body.

"I haven't gotten the specifics, but from speaking with her, I surely hope it will." He hung his coat and hat up before following the stairwell up to his room.

"Have you eaten?" She chased after him, her hair pinned up for the night flopped on her head.

"I have not. Feeling a bit under the weather. Perhaps breakfast?" He stopped on the stairs after he felt a hand grab his forearm.

"William, you need to eat." Mrs. Turner's eyes were wide and sparkling, but her brows furrowed with a sort of dominance.

"I am fine, Olivia." His frustration showed beneath his breath.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." She pulled her hand away, a distaste in her voice. "It is your choice, however. I will wake you for breakfast then." She sighed, making her way downstairs to the barbershop. Her and her husband's bedroom was on the second floor. William was above them in a small attic. He managed to fit a cot and a desk for his work. When he made it up the rickety ladder, he could finally hear himself think again. He let out a long sigh and fell onto his cot, turning out the oil lamp he'd carried into the attic like every night before.

The window was open and creaking with the wind. Yet, he managed to fall asleep. Elizabeth, however, had other intentions for William Shaw.

[sylvanSpider]

Regardless of how well William attempted to hide his emotions, the shrewd Miss Rosamund picked up on it. The domestic life was one that made the woman particularly keen to the emotions of those whose households she shared, moreso with the males. “Mr. Shaw, you're quite pale; you look as though you've seen a ghost...” Her brow furrowed with concern. For the entire time that the woman had known Mr. Shaw, he was lanky, yes. Unlike other men as well. But he was no weakling. His constitution, regardless of his stature, was a strong one. This was very unlike him. There was something about Ms. Ward that deeply unsettled him, and though Rosamund was curious, she knew better than to push the matter further.

Emily leaned forward, taking both of his cold hands in hers, “No, but they will come. And we will be together in the same home. When your work day is done, it is me that you'll be coming home to. It's...it's what's been pushing me forward, William.” Under the circumstances, she was the only one in the household comfortable enough to address him by his first name. She was going to be his wife, the one to be the most intimate with him. Formalities, now that the two were well aware that they were to live together happily, were no longer necessary.

As the women rose to lead William to the door, a chill ran down Emily's spine. That peculiar feeling that someone other than Rosamund and William saw her came in an instant and she shivered, drawing her shawl closer about her despite the warmness of the room. She waved to William as he turned to make his way to his own quarters. Their finances were not yet high enough that they could arrange to have a carriage take him away, but the distance to his home was not far, and the wind was down at least for the moment. William would make it safely, and that was all Emily needed. Of course, she wished that he would stay there. They had a spare room. But, he had others that were surely waiting for him at his own place of residence.

-=-=-

Simon watched the carriage rattle down Flint's cobblestone roads as his own carriage came into view. The carriage had once been a much appreciated luxury provided for by the church that employed him. As a boy he was an urchin, earning his food by various odd jobs during the day, and on days of poor business he'd be forced to steal. Now, everything he needed was provided for, so long as he continued to sacrifice his time for the purposes of destroying all that was evil, namely, vampires, demons, and werewolves. At least, these were his specialty having been trained and found by the best in the business.

That man was long dead, laid to rest in an ornate tomb deep within the catacombs of the church—where he too would one day rest. Rather than climbing into the carriage, however, the Hellsing climbed up beside the coachman who didn't seem the least bit perturbed by this strange behavior. At this juncture, he was used to it. He'd been Simon's associate for many years now, and he didn't mind his company. “What do you think, Wegg? A vampire?”

“Undoubtedly. Unfortunately, the victim was completely drained. There was no restoring her,” Simon murmured, putting his hands in his armpits for warmth. “To make things worse, the victim was the new bride of the chief of police. I'm afraid he'll be of no use given the state of grief he was in. He is accompanying the body to the morgue, though I'm afraid I'm going to ask that he not be present when we begin the autopsy.”

“Understandable, sir,” came the response of the Listening Ear. “And you're certain he was not feigning grief? You're certain that the chief is not the culprit? Flint has not had any vampire related incidents for at least a decade, sir.”

“Yes, yes. This I know. But his grief was genuine. Further, he is active during the day in order to fulfill his duties as a police officer. I've already reviewed his schedule. That kind of schedule would not be sustainable by a leech.”

“True, sir.”

Simon continued, “As such, I don't have any convincing leads. However, based on ehm...past precedent, I am led to believe that the vampire could very well be a male. You see, most vampires choose victims of the sex they are attracted to sexually, if only to add to the deviance of their existence. So, male vampires often choose feminine victims and female vampires the masculine, you see.”

“Very true, sir.”

The carriage rattled on its course following the dark curtained hearse and it did not take long for the men to lay the body out on a table ready for Simon's examination.

[Worm]

As sleep blanketed William into a deep delirium, his room became a shadow in time. The sounds of his window creaking in the wind lulled him to the point where a shadow standing over him didn't wake him. He could still see it happening though. He saw it all. A smooth, pale face smiled above him. It was a woman, but her eyes burned with an untamed fury. Before he knew it, he was levitating. Surely, this was just a dream. And with a wave of a hand over William's face, it was. There was finally darkness.

His body couldn't even respond to the amount of terror he was going through. Even in this darkness, he wanted to wake in his own room. But instead, he woke in a cold room, with damp stone at his back and a small window pooling light in a corner. A cold drip fell on his nose and he jumped awake. He scrambled to his feet, and there she was. That same smile that woke him. Was he still dreaming?

She was eye level. And those eyes were piercing. He shuddered with a familiar feeling. William thought as if he should know this woman, his eyes squinted to look through an invisible veil.

"How's business, William?" She grinned, two sets of fangs rested gently on her painted lips.

His eyes widened. "Miss - Ward?" He trembled. Surely it wasn't her, though he felt as if he couldn't see very well in the darkness. He could only clearly make out her yellow eyes. But in reality, she was a woman. She wore corsets so tight that they dug under her ribcage. She had long, silky hair, and plump limps. She wore flowing gowns and kept her fingernails long in a rebellious effort to heighten her seductive nature. She held those nails against her cheek now. It felt good to be young again. But the pleasure was always temporary. She sighed now, the smile still residual.

"Why yes. Who did you think I was?" She chuckled. "You must have met my grandmother." And the threat of her grin resurfaced.

"Y-your grandmother?" He choked, still not sure what that had to do with him being kidnapped. He rubbed his wrists, glad they weren't bound, but felt a strange sensation around them.

"Yes, William." Somehow Elizabeth was on William's side now, a hand against his flushed cheek. "Would you like to meet the rest of my family?" She buzzed, William could feel his body shaking. Before he could respond, three women revealed themselves from the darkness. Laughter cascaded in. He didn't see them move, but they were all rubbing on different parts of his body now. One crouched at his leg, looking up with amber eyes, the other two on either side of his arm. He squirmed, pulling away.

"What- What is going on?!" He ripped away, only to be pursued again.

"These are my girls, Lillian, Rose, and Blanche." As she said each name, the girl appeared in front of William and bowed. Lillian was a dark skinned woman with freckles and bright amber eyes. Rose was a small girl with bouncy red hair and grey eyes. Blanche was the tallest, blonde hair and as the name would suggest, blemish-free, milk white skin.

He licked his lips. "I am to be married soon. And I don't appreciate you sending your harlots after me, Miss Ward." He scowled, looking over the scantily clad trio. Each of them smiled, in their particular way.

"This is the first time I've heard a man verbally reject my darling predecessors." The girls looked back at Elizabeth, purring and hissing.

"I demand to be sent home!" William stomped his foot down, hair unfurling at his head.

"This is all a dream, William dearest." Elizabeth laughed and before he knew it, the girls were shadows too. He was laying down now. Rose was licking his face. Lillian kissed under his shirt. He couldn't struggle, a glaze over his eyes. Blanche played with his hair. All of them looked back at Elizabeth as she spoke.

"Your wife won't be happy about this." She smiled, now just a silhouette in William's vision. He was pinned down by unimaginable forces. This had to be a dream and he'd be waking soon. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Miss Ward was gone. The girls were left to him, and he wasn't sure what they meant to do to him.


Meanwhile, Elizabeth sipped at her glass of wine upstairs. Tomorrow, she would find out about William's wife.

[sylvanSpider]

Miss Emily Barker and Miss Rosamund Mills resumed their places in front of the fire, Barker with her book and Mills with her stitching. Little was said from one to the other, both having taken note of William's change of character this evening. It was true that as per usual Rosamund had had to swat William off of her charge, but the man was pale. Sick. His demeanor had changed completely since visiting Ms. Ward. Other feminine domestics might have done him the not so grand favor of automatically assuming that an affair was in the works of starting, but no. It was not guilt that plagued the young man's face. It was something else entirely. It was fear. Unease.

As she looked up from her stitching long enough to look upon her charge's face, she could see that she saw just as she herself did. Her brow was furrowed replacing the lazy, lackluster grin that she wore reading the same book of poetry from before. No, her mind was also on William. “My dear,” she began, finally breaking the silence between the two of them and pausing long enough for Emily to look up from her book, “What do you say to the both of us catching some shut eye? We can go and visit Mr. Shaw tomorrow to make sure that he is doing alright. The poor man looked as though he was catching ill, but don't fret. My brother went into medicine, he was trained in Paris. If Mr. Shaw is sick, I will send for him. He owes me a favor.”

Emily sighed, shutting the book and placing it neatly on her lap, “I think that may be the best course of action. You don't think Ms. Ward caused whatever this is?”

“Don't be preposterous, dear. Ms. Ward is just a poor widow who has too many rumours flying about her. No, I think Mr. Shaw can be fixed with a good doctor and some good medicine. But come,” Rosamund replied, setting her stitching aside and getting to her feet, holding out her hand to aid her charge up. “Let's get some shut eye. You can ring for me should you need me.”

With that, the women retreated to their own rooms, sleeping, however fitfully, until the morning.

=--=--=

Simon Wegg had seen many morgues set up in this exact fashion with similar but different corpses in front of him. Again, there were a host of onlookers, and in his gloved hands he held a scalpel wishing this host would back up and give him some room. “Now, the autopsy will not take long as I believe I already know what the cause of this is.” There was a murmur through the crowd, which Simon effectively ignored, and he took the corpse's hand moving it so her wrist was up. “All I need to know from this is to be sure that this woman was completely drained of blood.”

As he uttered the last syllable, he drug the blade of the scalpel down the woman's wrist. The skin parted like the Red Sea for the Israelites—minus the red. No blood came up through the surface, only some pink of the wrist's flesh could be seen through the skin's crevice. “As I thought...” There was another murmur in the crowd and one of the men chimed in louder than the rest:

“Is this the work of a serial killer, Wegg?”

Simon shook his head, his eyes staying on the splayed open wrist, “No. No, this is something far more ominous. Do not fear though. I will take care of it. The investigation begins tomorrow morning. I will find the fiend and gain justice for Mr. and Mrs. Thomas.”

[Worm]

Sun crept in much too soon. The light filled the small room where William now resided. For a moment, he felt totally sober, like he was waking up back home, in the attic. The smell of brisk morning air was under his nose, causing him to curl into a tighter ball against the cold draft. Unfortunately, when he did so, he pulled his knee against a woman's soft thigh. He jumped, pulling away. He felt the sheets under him, they were silk. Definitely not his. Was this actually real then? He felt his heart fluttering in his chest.

"I love when he does this." Rose giggled. Lilian was the one who's thigh he'd accidentally collided with. She too had a wicked smile across her face. When he rolled over, Blanche was facing him. However, when he looked at her, he saw Emily's face. She frowned at him, disappointed and hurt. He reached out a hand to touch her face. She slapped his hand away, maintaining the scowl imbued on Emily's face. Rose and Lilian cackled in the background. It took William a moment to realize what was going on.

"What are you demons?!" He yelled from his back. Veins popped in his neck, sweating as he did. Then, he felt the bite. This wasn't the first time they'd eaten from him. This was just the first time he saw it happening in front of him. They took small nips, licking at the streams that coarsed down his body.

---

Elizabeth decided it best to prepare herself for the day by bathing. The blood was thick, old and preserved for a bath. It wasn't the same as when the blood was fresh. However, when she touched the brim of the liquid with her toe, stirring it, it seemed to steam and boil. She smiled, dipping in.

After the bath, she dressed herself. She wore a wide brimmed hat to keep her shaded. It wouldn't be long until William was reported missing. Elizabeth would go into town, unrecognized. Eventually someone would question her. She'd have to go by a pseudonym, or perhaps - no. She'd have to leave again. But for now, she was determined to see the eyes of her lost love. The moment their eyes met in Elizabeth's psychic realm, her reality was shattered. Perhaps her time in India allowed her access to another chance. Karma? She smiled, allowing her fangs to nearly cut her lower lip. No. Definitely not that. This was just a game.

She adjusted her hat and gloves and opened the front door to a wooded pathway, which eventually led to Flint's town center. If she didn't see the bride to be there, she would surely hear some town gossip about the disgustingly perfect couple. Hah. It was her destiny to tear them apart. Perhaps that was why she was marked with Isabel's face.

[sylvanSpider]

~Simon's Interview~

Simon, despite the circles under his eyes, looked quite proper. His suit was perfectly tailored to his form, and for once, he even wore the outer jacket with his tie also perfectly in place. Dark hair framed his angular face, his thin lips staying in a perfectly neutral scowl as he prepared his bag for the day's endeavors. There was one thing he had to his advantage--the town of Flint was small, small enough that the interviews could potentially be finished in the course of one day when his actual investigations--and the hunt--could finally begin.*

Glancing down at the most recent copy of the census he saw that the first on the list were a Mr. and Mrs. Somethingorother...erm...Adams.*How unique!*he thought to himself with some sense of sarcasm. Seeing no sense in lingering, he set out at precisely eight o' clock and before he knew it he was knocking at the door under a sign that read "Barber" in big, bold, black print.

Olivia was sweeping up the hair from a long day's work. Not much work had actually been done, however, as they'd only had two customers today. The weather outside was gloomy, and nobody liked the nape of their neck freshly shaved on days like this. So she took her time sweeping up the little bits, and even when they were all swept up, she swept some more. Her husband, Gerald, called from upstairs.*"'Liv, someone's knocking on the door!"*

Surely, someone was. She wasn't quite sure how Gerald always knew, but she couldn't hear a damned thing. She cracked open the door, a crease in her eyebrow from scowling. Yet in contrast, smile lines widened as she greeted the man at her door.*"Yes, can I help you?"*She tried to seem friendly in hopes of gaining a new customer.

Simon kept himself from looking at the woman from head to toe instead focusing on the woman's eyes--perhaps too intently. He cleared his throat in a somewhat dramatic gesture, straightening his tie and making a show of lifting the clipboard up to read from it,"Mrs. Adams, ehm...forgive me, but is there a man on the premises I may speak to?"

"Yeah, alright."*She said, hand on her hip. Her front was covered in an apron, but you could still see folds in the fabric where her stomach and breasts would be. She wasn't a classy lady, but she was at least married.*"GERALD, MAN AT THE DOOR-"*She yelled over her shoulder before walking off to the shop. She began sweeping again, hoping that she'd be able to at least overhear the conversation. After all, the shop was right next to the door. The chairs were aligned vertically from the window which was to Simon's left.*

In a matter of moments, a cascade of sounds erupted from upstairs. First, the creaking of floorboards, groaning and spitting, and then the clacking of a cane as the hobbled man walked down the stairs. He wasn't much older than Olivia, but he was worn and it was obvious. He had a large mole on his nose, which hung over his lip. He seemed to have a busted knee, only applying pressure to his right one. When he got to the door, he stopped only for a moment to catch his breath.*"What can I do you for? A cut and shave?"*He squinted, trying to make out the man's face.

Simon winced as the woman bellowed to her husband and winced again with the groaning from above and yet again as the clacking of the cane was heard. Straightening back up again and clearing his throat shaking his head, steady green eyes upon the man,*"No sir. I'm here on a matter of much different business. You see, I am an investigator and as of last night, I'm on the job of a murder that happened here in Flint. Now, to begin, I'd like to ask, do you have any lodgers with you that I might interrogate all at the same time?"

Gerald leaned in, listening to the peculiar man's concerns.*"Lodgers? You askin' for William?"*He shook his head, skin under his neck flapping as he did so.*"Why that boy's not capable of murder. He's as sweet as can be."*He huffed, looking over the man. Olivia heard her boy's name and hurried over to the door, nearly pushing Gerald out of the way.*
"What do you have to say about William?"*She looked back up the stairs, hoping that the boy had either left early to finish his business affairs, or that he was still sleeping - even after all of this ruckus.

Simon kept his impeccable posture, looking back down at the clipboard as if it had any kind of merit whatsoever in an attempt to not cringe at the couple and looked back at Gerald,*"I'm not implicating him just as I'm not implicating you, sir. I'm merely trying to collect information. Interviewing all the members of a household at once is the most efficient method and I have many...many*households to visit before the sun sets this evening. Now if you would please call him down..."

Gerald shoved Olivia back from her hovering position, so he could speak man to man with the newcomer.*"What makes you want to interview us? We're just homely people, trying to live our lives peacefully. Why don't you-"*

"WILLIAM!"*Olivia belted over Gerald's voice, the same way she had called her husband down. Gerald growled, looking over his shoulder towards the stairs. When nobody responded, Olivia continued.*"Will?"*She decided to go up the stairs towards the rickety ladder into the attic. Gerald sighed, inviting the man inside now.*

"Name's Gerald, if you haven't figured that out. You are?"*He squinted again, trying to decipher any lies from truth.*

When Olivia made it up to the attic, a frantic shuffling was heard right after. She bounded down the ladder, then the stairs, tapping Gerald's shoulder to whisper in his ear.*"Will's not home."

"I'm interviewing everyone--"*Simon interjected before the man could take offense and before cringing when his wife's luminous voice again filled the cavity of the barber's shop. His eyes unwillingly went to the ceiling as if waiting for footsteps that only came when the wife Her Majesty herself went up."Not home?*Is this normal, or perhaps he is away at business? I am interviewing business owners as well, perhaps I will see him there..."

He went inside all too willingly finding it deprecatingly awkward to be standing outside of their door for others to witness the chaos that he was now subject to (perhaps subject*of) now.*"My name is Wegg. Ehm...Simon*Wegg."

"Good to meet you, eh, formally, Mr. Wegg."*He extended a hand that showed heavy signs of arthritis. This was from years of holding scissors and blades.*"Name's Gerald Blanchett. Wife's Olivia."*She closed the door behind Simon, a worried look in her eyes.*

"Yes, yes. He most likely went back to that old widow's house to finish up business with her. That's probably it."*She had no ability to hide her anxiety. It was all too strange. After all, Will had mentioned breakfast the night before. It wasn't like him to leave without mention.

Simon took the hand, gently, more gently than he had done anything in his entire life fearing that even a touch would snap the man's finger in half,*"It is a pleasure meeting you. Both. The old widow's house? Well, I shall be getting there soon enough."His plans to go through the town may have just been stinted. Having gained some information from the chief of police in the night prior, he was able to piece together that the last murder of this nature hadn't happened in Flint for the past decade, perhaps longer. If a vampire was lingering, they would have had the aged look of a very old person--or perhaps a vampire who hadn't been feeding. Regardless, his trip through the town could very well be stinted with an expedited trip to the widow's, but this he kept internal.*

Externally, he struggled to smile in response to Mrs. Blachett's anxieties,*"Yes, that must be it. I will visit her presently after I finish here, if only to ease your mind."After moving in from the door with it firmly shut behind him, he continued to stand awkwardly with his rigidly straight back, knees locked, one hand's fingers curled about a pen and the other holding the clipboard still more awkwardly in front of him. He cleared his throat.*

"With that out of the way, shall I commence the interview?"

"Please do, Mr. Wegg."*Gerald led the man to the right, where the modest living room was. Olivia hurried to the kitchen to make tea for her guest. At least he was kind enough to make his way up the large hill that barricaded Ms. Ward's home. No wonder she wanted another property, perhaps one closer to town? Neither of the Blanchett had talked to William about the widow's choice.*

"Please, sit."*Gerald motioned to a chair nearest the door. It was worn and perhaps not so comfortable. But Mrs. Blanchett spent most of her free time in this chair sewing, knitting and reading.

Mr. Wegg did exactly as he was invited, sitting stiffly on the stiff chair and swallowed,"Very well. The first question might very well make me the unfortunate bearer of bad news, but I must proceed regardless. Tell me, are you familiar with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas?"

Gerald leaned back in his own chair, groaning.*"Yes, of course. Dashing young couple if I do say so myself."*Olivia was busy in the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clanging together once in a while coated the house with background noise.

"Then it pains me,"*Simon began, pausing long enough that he might think about what next to say,*"It pains me to say that last night's murder victim was none other than Mrs. Thomas. Given her husband's status as police chief he is too involved so they hired a private investigator--myself. Now, I have reasons to believe that the culprit has one or several specific characteristics generally erm...assigned*to killers of this breed."*He found that saying the word*vampire*was generally received by ill company and chose to veer away from it.*"Tell me, do you know of any that might be particularly...secluded from the rest of the village? Perhaps on the outskirts, or maybe only seen at night?"
The sound of the kettle whistling was welcome to Mr. Blanchett. He showed a wrinkled smile as Olivia brought him a steaming cup. She hurried back to the kitchen and brought out a hot cup to Mr. Wegg as well.*"Well, I've never seen the old Ms. Ward personally, only heard stories."*Olivia chimed in before retrieving her cup and placing the remaining teapot on the table in front of the three.*

"Yes, I've heard outrageous rumors about that poor hag."*Gerald sighed, disappointed in the population's attachments to rumors.*"Its too bad about Mrs. Thomas."*He shook his head.*

"Such a lovely young girl. Who would do such a thing!"*Olivia too shook her head, sipping her tea with a solemn grimace.

"Thank you, Mrs. Blanchett, you are too kind,"*Simon murmured taking hold of the cup and saucer carefully bringing it down to his lap after having set aside the clipboard he was so eager to hold just moments ago.

"Rumours are never pleasant things to partake in, I know. But hearing these rumours may help with my investigations. Can you bear to part with some of the 'outrageous stories' you may have heard? Of course, this is only to gauge the common reputation of the woman within the town..."

Olivia looked over at her husband, as if for permission to continue. She cleared her throat.*"Well, I've heard things as far fetched as Ms. Ward being a witch or a vampire."She chuckled.*"I fear she's just got no one to take care of her. Who knows if she's even still living... She's alone after all."*Gerald nodded.*

"If she were a witch, we'd see her broomsticks. We'd hear her cackling. We'd have a burning in this town, that's for sure."*Gerald mentioned passionately. While he didn't necessarily believe in the creatures,*if*they existed, he wouldn't be one to keep them around for very long.

Simon offered his own half-hearted chuckle,*"Well all of that sounds preposterous, just because she is living alone. Do you know of anyone that has or had contact with her recently?"

"Just-"*Gerald looked down at Olivia and they gulped simultaneously.*"William."*They said together, looking back at Mr. Wegg.

Simon betrayed no emotion, instead tilting back the tea cup emptying it of it's contents and setting it back down on the saucer rising to his feet and turning to set it back down claiming the clipboard to its rightful place.*"Well then. Thank you for your time and cooperation Mr. and Mrs. Blanchett. I believe I have all of the information I need. With that, can you give me the road to get to Ms. Ward's abode?"

"Yes, its past the graveyard down Moss Road."*Gerald leaned towards the window point towards a path shooting off towards a hill.*"Her house is the last stop down the road."*He felt a shiver, and so did Olivia.

Simon bowed deeply to the couple and then, clipboard in hand, moved to the exit and promptly left--eyes set for the cemetery and later Moss Road.

As Simon walked, he scribbled notes from the earlier conversation. The list of suspects did just rise to one: Ms. Ward. However, his new target would not be the wrinkled old raisin, but a young lady. That is, provided this Ms. Ward could actually be the vampire. She'd try to pose as a granddaughter, or perhaps some other distant relation--making it less suspicious. But then, there was the trouble of the deceased being a woman. Typically, vampiric deaths were of the sex that the vampire would be most attracted to, but, he'd seen vampires attack the same sex before. It was an anomaly, but not unheard of.

On his clipboard, he jot down a few words: Ms. Ward. Past cemetery. Moss Road.

Simple enough. His walk was quick, the air was brisk, and a cloud came from his lips as he breathed making his way up Moss Road, whistling as he went.

~Our Dear Emily & Co.~

Emily gasped as Rosamund tightened the corset. The final stages for her going out dress were being applied, and Emily was actually quite excited to be getting out for the day. She'd convinced Rosamund to stop her work if only for a few hours to allow for a day on the town. A carriage sat outside ready to take the ladies to town, where Emily would be looking to buy a congratulatory gift for William on another successful sale.

[Worm]

When Simon would finally make it to Ms. Ward's home, no one would be there to answer the door. Not Elizabeth. And certainly not William. He was in a prison of passion, tied up, used and abused. The three girls were more than grateful for the life that Elizabeth had given them, no matter how lowly their existence was. They had a man now, and they were more than willing to share. William was rail thin and pale, even after one night with the three savages.

"William." They purred above him, stroking him, coaxing him to feed them again. He shook his head, strands of hair falling loosely in his vision. "No, no more. I-I have -" He began breaking down and sobbing. Rose brushed the salty tear from his cheek and licked it from her finger. He couldn't even say it now. He'd broken the sanctity of marriage, and had no way to forgive himself. He had to submit.

"Your wife will love what we've taught you." Lillian commented, smiling with her beautiful, full lips.

"And she will hate you." Blanche added, laughing maniacally. She lurched over him and began kissing his collarbone. "Mmm, so you should just stay with us." They all purred against his still flowing veins. Blanche had to slap Rose away from an attempted bite. "We need to keep him alive." She glared at the redhead, watching her sink away from the all too tempting vein in William's neck. Her face was bright red where the hand had slapped her.

"Please, please kill me." William begged.

---

Elizabeth was all dressed up. She'd managed to tighten her own corset after decades of training. She had a wide brimmed hat and a bustle under her lacy dress. She wore short heels and her face was made up to accentuate her predator eyes. Though she did have a swipe of red lipstick. This was her normal wear, though the red might be seen as a bit too seductive. She led the house at dawn and held a lacy umbrella over her as the sun came up. The weather was temperate and still.

She hadn't been in town in ages. She made sure to walk around before anything was open so she might know the right areas to prowl. The cobblestone under her shoes felt strange. She was used to the air of flight and the cold marbled floors of her home. She adjusted with ease, and walked to the first stand which opened. It was a fruit stand of course. She purchased an apple from the bubbly foreign man. She took one bite and threw it on the ground. It was so sweet. She needed something more - savory.

Throughout the day, she couldn't manage to rid the apple from her tastebuds. She found a tailor to work on her tearing underskirt and a hatter to make her a new hat. Elizabeth found it necessary to make friendly while she was out and to spend money frivolously. It was a rare opportunity for her. But she had a major mission. And that was to satisfy something else within her. If she could catch the eyes of Emily just once, maybe she'd see Elizabeth and just know. It hurt her to know that her dearest Isabel was around here, alive and well, without her. She needed that girl more than she'd needed anything in her life.

[sylvanSpider]

Simon approached the door, looking up at the sheer magnitude of the Ward residence. While not a giveaway on its own, it was common knowledge among hellsings that vampires did prefer to live in luxury. His whistling didn't stop, however, as he wrapped his bony fingers around the knocker and slammed down on it hard three times in succession.

KLUNK. KLUNK. KLUNK.

There was no answer, not even the sound of scuffling feet on the inside. It was as quiet as the grave. His brow furrowed and he scratched the back of his head.[i] Well, if she's actually old, she may have trouble hearing it. Or perhaps she's in her room sleeping. But, I am here on official business after all.

KLUNK. KLUNK. KLUNK.

Still, nothing. He pursed his lips, scowling for a moment before resuming his whistling and trying the door knob. It barely budged, indicative of the house's intention to keep him out, which, naturally, only made the man want to get inside all the more. The happy little tune continued as he made his way around the house looking for another entrance.

=---=---=

This was to be the first of many gifts that Emily would give her husband. That is, in an ideal, perfect world, it would be the first of many. Provided nothing went horribly, horribly wrong as they were wont to do. Emily was in the brightest of spirits as the carriage careened into town, her companion looking less enthralled to be out and more forlorn than anything.

“Rosamund, what's the matter? You look so melancholy,” Emily said, grinning at her companion, radiant as always. Her usually unruly bright red hair was now pinned back in a neat bun bordered with braids. The women were a sight for sore eyes, and had it not been for the common knowledge that Emily was soon to wed, would have drawn more interested eyes than sore ones.

“Nothing, Miss Barker. It's nothing. I just...I just have a bad feeling. I think I may have an intolerance to milk or something,” Rosamund said in reference to the women's meal earlier in the day. They'd had milk with their tea, some toast, and some fruit, so the statement didn't seem outlandish, but Emily didn't look as though she bought it.

Regardless, the smile came back the moment the carriage came to a stop and she opened her parasol resting the handle on her shoulder, almost bounding out onto the street. Miss Emily Barker was a happy, shining creature, a light through the dreary fogs of the day, and unable to be contained by her petticoat and bonnet. “Oh, where should we begin? Do you think a nice tie would be nice?”

Rosamund clambered out of the carriage with aid of her energetic companion—though in her mind it should have been her helping Miss Barker. Few things went according to plan when being her escort it seemed, but her joy was infectious, and despite her ungrounded premonitions for what lay ahead, smiled genuinely, “I believe Mr. Shaw would adore a new tie—but then, I think he would enjoy just about any gift from you.”

Emily beamed, “Then we shall try the men's shoppe first, yes?”

“Yes, Miss Barker. That seems right.”

[Worm]

William was sure that he heard knocking. His eyes remained closed, letting the knocking vibrate his skull. It was a terrible headache. He felt the sheets of his old bed and was sure he was still in a deep, relentless nightmare. The sun seemed to be pouring in over his head. What William didn’t know was that he was trapped in a dimension between reality and the unknown. The mirror which avoided Elizabeth’s undead body, was the cage which contained William and Elizabeth’s three concubines.

Elizabeth was done being fitted, and her confidence was high. With the turn of the corner, Elizabeth was back on track. Even under the light of a nice, sunny day, she still had the senses of a wild animal. With a deep breath, she could tell where everyone was around her and what they’d last eaten. It was when she smelled something oddly familiar that she turned that corner. The moment was frozen into time. She met eyes with the girl of her nightmares. She was right there. Elizabeth was in her fresh skin, and she knew that when she smiled, she would capture all glances, besides that of Isabel. Her eyes were fire. She burned inside. When she entered the men’s clothing store, Elizabeth knew she had to find an excuse to approach the girl. And perhaps find her without her friend.