Chapter 44: A Vampire's Origin
“Bon soir, my dear friends. It’s very nice to see you again.”
Francis spoke smoothly, the same polite smile resting on his lips—but his eyes remained cold, watchful.
Timi inclined his head slightly.
“Thank you for inviting us,” he said calmly. “But may we ask why?”
Francis leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together.
“I simply thought,” he said lightly, “that you were new vampires in my city… and that you might appreciate a little guidance.”
His pale eyes moved slowly from one of us to the other.
“And I must admit,” he added, “I was a bit curious.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment.
“How you are able to withstand the sun.”
The room fell quiet.
“So tell me,” he continued, leaning forward slightly with clear curiosity, “how exactly do you manage it?”
None of us spoke immediately.
We glanced at each other briefly.
Then I leaned back in my chair.
“Why don’t you tell us how you do it first?” I said.
Francis tilted his head slightly.
“I asked first.”
I shrugged.
“We don’t feel very comfortable sharing that yet,” I replied. “But maybe… if you share your secret first, then we might share ours.”
For a moment he simply stared at me.
Then his smile widened slightly.
“Very well.”
He rose slowly from his chair.
Francis began walking around the table, his footsteps soft against the marble floor as he spoke.
“My story,” he said calmly, “begins when I was still human.”
He paused briefly behind Timi’s chair.
“It was the year 1720.”
He continued walking slowly, almost like a professor pacing during a lecture.
Francis continued pacing slowly around the table, his voice calm, almost reflective.
“In those days,” he said, “I worked aboard a merchant ship.”
He rested one hand lightly on the back of a chair as he spoke.
“The captain of that ship… was a good man. A very good man. And for reasons I never fully understood, he grew quite fond of me.”
Francis gave a faint, distant smile.
“He treated me better than the rest of the crew. Trusted me more than them. Spoke to me like I was more than just another sailor.”
His eyes darkened slightly.
“And that… made the others hate me.”
He continued walking slowly.
“Jealousy is a powerful thing. Sailors are not known for their kindness when envy begins to rot their hearts.”
He stopped briefly beside the window before continuing.
“One night, while we were still at sea, I was asleep in my quarters when shouting broke out on the deck above.”
He folded his hands behind his back.
“By the time I rushed up to see what had happened… it was already too late.”
His voice lowered.
“The captain was lying on the deck.”
Francis looked down at the table as if he could still see the memory.
“There was a butchering knife buried deep in his chest.”
The room remained completely silent.
“And before I could even process what I was seeing,” he continued, “the crew turned their eyes to me.”
His lips curved into a bitter smile.
“They accused me of killing him.”
Francis looked up again.
“I tried to explain. I shouted. I swore to them that I had done nothing.”
He shook his head slowly.
“But a mob does not listen to reason.”
His voice grew colder.
“They beat me until I could barely stand. Then they tied me up like an animal.”
He walked slowly back toward the head of the table.
“As the days passed, they refused to feed me. I was left bound… starving… waiting.”
His pale eyes moved across our faces.
“Eventually the ship returned to Paris.”
He paused.
“And the moment we docked, they dragged me off the ship and threw me into a prison cell.”
Francis gave a quiet, humorless chuckle.
“No trial. No proper hearing.”
He rested both hands on the table now.
“Just the word of a group of jealous sailors… and a dead captain.”
His gaze darkened.
“I remained in that cell for days.”
His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“Until one night…”
Francis lifted his eyes slowly.
“A stranger came to visit me.”
Francis folded his hands behind his back again and continued his slow walk around the table.
“The stranger who came to my cell that night,” he said quietly, “was unlike anyone I had ever seen.”
His pale eyes drifted toward the floor as if he were watching the memory unfold again.
“He said nothing at first.”
Francis lifted one hand slightly, mimicking the motion.
“He simply walked up to the iron bars of the cell door… and wrapped his fingers around the chains.”
He gave a faint smile.
“And then he broke them.”
Francis snapped his fingers softly.
“Like they were nothing more than brittle twigs.”
The sound echoed lightly in the dining room.
“The door fell open.”
He continued pacing.
“The prisoners in the other cells saw what had happened and immediately began to panic. The stranger walked down the corridor, tearing chains apart, opening doors.”
Francis’ voice grew distant.
“Within moments… the entire prison was in chaos.”
He glanced up at us.
“Men ran everywhere. Some fled into the streets. Some disappeared into the darkness of the city.”
He paused.
“But not me.”
His expression darkened slightly.
“As I tried to run like the others… the stranger grabbed my arm.”
Francis slowly curled his fingers as if remembering the grip.
“And he took me with him.”
He resumed walking.
“He brought me to his home. A large house on the outskirts of the city.”
Francis stopped near the head of the table again.
“That was when he finally introduced himself.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“His name was Bastien.”
Francis looked at us.
“He told me he had known the captain of my ship. That the man had spoken about me many times.”
His eyes softened briefly.
“He said he knew I was innocent.”
Francis exhaled quietly.
“For the first time since my imprisonment… someone believed me.”
He moved to the head of the table and rested his hand on the chair.
“Bastien gave me food. Real food. After days of starvation it felt like a miracle.”
Francis chuckled faintly.
“Then he told me to sleep.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“And I did.”
He paused.
“But sometime during the night…”
His expression grew colder.
“I woke up to a pain in my neck.”
Francis slowly lifted his hand to the side of his throat.
“It was unbearable.”
His voice became quieter.
“I tried to scream… but I could not move.”
His fingers tightened slightly.
“My body felt completely frozen. I could only feel… the blood leaving me.”
The room remained completely silent.
“I felt weaker with every passing moment.”
Francis looked down briefly.
“I was dying.”
He paused.
“Then suddenly… he stopped.”
Francis made a small motion with his finger.
“Bastien tore open one of his own veins with his nail.”
He looked back up at us.
“And forced his blood into my mouth.”
Francis’ voice softened.
“After that… everything went dark again.”
He straightened slightly.
“When I finally woke up the next evening… the pain was indescribable.”
His face hardened.
“It felt as though my entire body was on fire from the inside.”
He slowly walked toward the window at the far end of the room.
“And when the sun began to rise…”
He turned back toward us.
“I felt something far worse.”
Francis’ voice dropped.
“Terror.”
His pale eyes gleamed faintly.
“The sunlight felt like death itself. Even the smallest beam made my skin burn like it was being pierced with thousands of needles.”
He paused.
“I was terrified of it.”
Francis slowly returned to the table.
“Bastien watched me struggle.”
Then he smiled faintly.
“And eventually… he gave me something.”
Francis mimed lifting a small bottle.
“A potion.”
He looked directly at us.
“I drank it.”
A small pause followed.
“And after that…”
His lips curved slightly.
“The sun had no effect on me anymore.”
Francis rested his hands on the back of his chair, his voice calm but heavy with memory.
“After that night,” he continued, “Bastien taught me everything.”
He slowly walked along the side of the table again.
“How to control the hunger. How to move through the night unseen. How to listen to the heartbeat of a human across a room… and how to silence it.”
His pale eyes briefly met ours.
“He taught me what it meant to be a vampire.”
Francis paused for a moment.
“For a while, things were… peaceful.”
Then his expression hardened slightly.
“But one night, when I woke… Bastien was gone.”
No emotion showed on his face now.
“No warning. No explanation.”
He slowly clasped his hands together.
“At first I thought he had simply stepped out. Perhaps hunting.”
Francis shook his head.
“So I waited.”
He took a few slow steps across the marble floor.
“One night became two.”
“Two became a week.”
His voice grew colder.
“But he never returned.”
A quiet silence settled over the room.
“At some point… waiting turned into anger.”
Francis stopped walking.
“And that anger needed somewhere to go.”
His eyes darkened.
“So I went looking for the men who had framed me.”
The air in the room felt heavier.
“The crew members from the ship.”
His voice was steady.
“I found them one by one.”
He made a slow slicing motion with his hand through the air.
“And I killed them.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Every single one.”
Francis leaned slightly against the table.
“They had taken everything from me… my freedom, my life, my captain.”
His eyes sharpened.
“So I took theirs.”
He straightened again.
“After that… I returned to Bastien’s house.”
His expression became strangely distant.
“For days I had waited for him there like a loyal dog.”
Then his voice lowered.
“But I realized something.”
His gaze drifted across the room.
“He was never coming back.”
Francis clasped his hands behind his back again.
“So I burned the house.”
He said it casually, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Every room. Every memory.”
A faint reflection of fire seemed to flicker in his eyes.
“And then…”
He walked back to the head of the table.
“I moved to Paris.”
He slowly sat down again.
“For a new beginning.”
Francis looked at us calmly now.
“And that… is how I became what I am today.”
Francis leaned back slightly in his chair, pale fingers resting lightly on the table.
“So,” he said calmly, his sharp eyes moving between us, “what is your story?”
For a moment none of us spoke.
We exchanged brief glances, silently asking the same question.
Can we trust him?
The silence stretched for a few seconds before Timi cleared his throat.
“Our story isn’t nearly as interesting as yours,” he said casually.
Francis raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Oh?”
Timi leaned back in his chair, speaking with the same calm confidence he always had.
“We were all siblings studying at the same university,” he began. “Back then we were just normal college students.”
He gestured slightly toward the rest of us.
“One of our professors turned out to be a vampire. Apparently he had been hiding among humans for decades.”
Francis listened quietly.
“One night he invited a few of us to his house,” Timi continued. “Said it was for a small private gathering.”
He gave a small shrug.
“Turns out he had other plans.”
Timi’s tone stayed casual, almost bored.
“He drugged the drinks.”
Juliet, Ayara and I remained silent as he spoke.
“By the time we woke up,” Timi said, “he had already turned us. One after another.”
Francis tilted his head slightly.
“And why would he do that?”
Timi smirked faintly.
“He claimed he was a pureblood. Said the rest of the vampire world had grown weak.”
Timi tapped his fingers lightly on the table.
“He told us he was giving us a gift. That by sharing his abilities with us we could finally become our true selves.”
He shrugged again.
“Apparently he believed vampires shouldn’t live by rules.”
Francis watched him closely.
“So after that,” Timi finished, “we started traveling the world.”
His voice was calm.
“And eventually… we ended up in Paris.”
The room fell quiet again.
I glanced at Timi, amazed at how easily he had invented that entire story without even hesitating.
Francis studied us for a long moment.
“Is that all?”
His tone suggested he expected something more.
Timi nodded.
“Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
Francis leaned back slowly.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose not everyone is turned through tragedy.”
Then suddenly—
Footsteps echoed from somewhere near the front of the mansion.
Francis smiled faintly.
“Oh… right on time.”
He glanced toward the door.
“Our meal has arrived.”
He stood up slowly.
“I do hope none of you rip anyone’s head off while feeding,” he added lightly. “That would be… rather inconvenient.”
The door opened.
The butler entered.
Behind him stood four young women.
They looked nervous… uncertain… clearly unaware of what they had just walked into.
The butler bowed slightly toward Francis.
“These are the remaining guests,” he said politely.
Then he turned and quietly left the room.
Francis smiled warmly at the girls.
“Welcome,” he said smoothly. “Please make yourselves comfortable in the living room.”
The girls began walking past the doorway toward the hall.
I glanced at their faces casually.
Then my heart nearly stopped.
Among them…
I saw her.
Collette.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
“Collette,” I stood up and said before I could stop myself.
The girls paused as they reached the hallway.
She turned.
Our eyes met.
Shock filled her expression the moment she recognized me.
For a second neither of us moved.
Then shame crossed her face.
She quickly lowered her eyes and turned away again, silently following the others toward the living room.
I stood there frozen.
Slowly I turned my head.
Timi was already looking at me.
We exchanged a silent look.