27 decembre 1803
Roma, Italia

Dearest Journal-Friend,

It is that day, the point in time when what must be done cannot be undone. I did not have the strength I needed and proved a failure. As is so often the case in the world I inhabit, one who fails must die. 

I ride, fully cloaked and with a red wig and beauty patch that does well to hide my identity. There is little to be done about my eyes, the unmistakable blue eyes of the Roi's lineage, only darker and much more intense. I look at the world that passes by through a wispy veil of black lace that shades my gaze from view.

Yvonne and I are what we once were, the bourgeoisie mother and daughter stealing off in the night. Yvonne and Delphine Abriele, taking a journey from the austere gaze of Rome that revealed itself to be as dangerous as the frivolity of Versailles and the politics of Paris. We are fugitives twice over now. We are Monarchist exiles whose asylum became espionage, treason, and murder. 

I suppose it is fitting to say what happened. I kept my date and my promise to Orlando. He trusted me without any hesitation, and even slipped a beautiful ruby ring on my finger to be worn next to the one symbolising my marriage to Antonio. "You are as much my wife as his now, Eleonore."

His whispers sent shivers down my spine and gave me confidence to do what needed to be done. For those who are like me, the hunt for blood and the art of seduction are one in the same. The more he spoke, the more he trembled like a young man who had never before touched a woman, the greater my desire became.

I do not know where such strength and confidence came from in one so young, but before I did it, I entwined my body with his and stroked and kissed him into the frenzy that so often occurs when we are together. This time, though, I whispered, "I am here to show you not only Heaven, but what bliss awaits above even that."

He believed me, and I kept my promise. Our bodies were both locked together, consumed by the power of the most tempting kiss one can give to another. I was lost to even myself, far within the throes of ecstasy when I felt the blow on the back of my head. It was Antonio, who had come into Orlando's rooms uninvited.

I was so far outside of the realm of this world, the blow did not touch me. It did, of course, enough that the blood I was willing to take from another ran from the side of my ear. The second blow was harder and aimed at the base of my skull. I felt the blood down the back of my neck and came to, though not in time. Antonio had the upper hand and when my fangs went for his throat, his hands locked around mine. He held my head immobile as it bled and pain returned like a blackness.

It took pain to remind me how much I hated him. He was the first man to ever offer me the choice to love him. He was the first man to ever offer me a kind of freedom, and I ended up hating him more passionately than even I knew. If I had chosen to love him, he would have shattered my heart. No man should be given that level of vulnerability. Oh, how I despised him for making it all seem so reasonable.

I did not mean to kill him. Antonio was once good to me, in that time before he changed. I remembered that, but cared far more for the present. It was Orlando who lay lifeless on the bed while his brother's hands strangled me as if I were a fragile human. I cried without tears and begged him to save Orlando, but Antonio cared more for making me suffer than for his own brother. He would fight me until he managed to snap my neck. Life and time had made Antonio cold so quickly and toward his own flesh and blood.

Oh, how I despised him, and he deserved my wrath.

To be clear, I did not kill him. A dagger through the heart is not a fatal wound for us, though it is incapacitating. This was necessary. It was simple self-defense.

I should never tell anyone but it was Yvonne who killed him. It was the woman who protected me since my girlhood who took a snifter of wine and a torch and threw both upon his body. I was so out of my senses, I reached into the flames for my dagger. Now I wear heavy gauze and long black opera gloves, but at the time, I did not care.

I needed it. I would sacrifice my own flesh to save Orlando. I promised him.

I used it to open my own wrist, already in agony from the burns, and placed the blood to his lips. I ordered him to drink. I cooed, I moved my body onto his as if to make love once more, I even slapped his face a few times. Nothing was of any use.

Orlando too was dead. I plunged Antonio's sword through his heart to make it look as though they'd fought.

It was a pleasant death, at least, and no blood came from the sword. The holy ones in Rome would gossip about the death of the two brothers, vampires living in a sanctified land. At least, that is what I hoped. My wounds shall heal, but the way I failed Orlando shall haunt me for a lifetime.

As we exiled our souls from that place, it seemed obvious to me that we were never taken into sanctuary. We were set up as bargaining chips,  little more than dangerous pawns on a chessboard that Rome was willing to sacrifice. Everyone was always expendable and the way we so easily turned on one another reminded me of the days of the gladiators.

The Romans were always ones to live and die in a blaze of glory, and so in that respect, we gave the brothers an admirable death.

I am no pawn, not for anyone. I was born to become a Queen, or the closest thing my station and ambition could do for me. I shall die nothing less. Maman should weep in shame if I did. 

Yvonne yelled to me to escape through the window as she set more fires.

Even as I prepared to flee, Yvonne and I both remembered Lucretia's words. She threw furs upon herself that would conceal silver and gold while I took every last jewel and apothecary's vial that belonged to Madame de Roussel. When that was done, I collected what little belonged to my husband and his brother. There was not much in the way of coins to be had, but it is Lucretia that taught me jewels and fashion open more doors than a sad purse of coins. Appearance is everything.

Yvonne was shocked at what I was doing as our quarters burned, but quickly saw the sensibility. "Madame, it is treason."

Some sort of fear dawned upon her as I picked up the Duc's signet ring from the ashes. It no longer mattered. The time for fear had long passed.

Her words sent chills down my spine, but I had murdered two Italian aristocrats, one my own kindred. I shall be wanted for treason by three rulers should the truth ever come to light. One does not survive treason, and she does certainly not survive twice. Once the act is done, there is little harm in anything else needed for survival.

We will not able to go far for fear of discovery, yet must go far enough where it is possible to blend in. We head to Venezia, which is said to be as lively and decadent as Versailles once was. It has not met the ill fate of my homeland, and is not a sanctuary but a place where we might simply blend in. For once, I shall be grateful if I am little more than another pretty face in a crowd.

It is not for the first time that I owe my life and safety to Lucretia and Henri. They had the coach packed with the trunks of belongings I'd spent weeks smuggling, as if I knew I would leave. My flamboyant, unsuitable gowns with jewels and money and potions sewn into the fabric shall allow me to have a new life. They shall allow me to retain everything I have of home, of Versailles, of Maman and Papa. That is everything. Dignity and family is everything.

Lucretia said nothing as we stuffed things into an open trunk, hidden beneath an ugly floral coverlet she had provided. Could Lucretia see that I would fail? I wept without tears as I hugged her, and even more so as I bid adieu to Henri.

"You take my country and I shall take yours, Eleonore. You take my servant, and I shall take yours. In this way, we are all safer. When you arrive in town, lie low until you find a powerful man of means and appreciation of beautiful widows named Monsieur Gaetano. Whatever his price, deal favourably with him. You need to be protected, Eleni." Lucretia was the most sensible woman I knew, aside from Maman.

I tried not to tremble, and nodded my head. Favourable dealings with powerful men had thus far not worked to my favour. "You shall be fine, ma petite. I shall have only a day or two before they come for me. I leave not far behind you."

When I whispered desperately to ask where they were going, she stroked my hair like a mother caring for a child. "Where else? Paris." My eyes must have looked frightened,  because she replied, "One day soon, when you are again the most honourable Madame la Duchesse of His Majesty's Court, I have no doubt you shall repay my friendship."

I longed to weep like a child for her strength and her faith in me.

I owe much to first Henri, and then Lucretia. They both saved my life. They are well-suited for one another. In fact, he does not travel with us, for he has so recently become hers in more ways than just the flesh. Nothing can break the type of bond they share save a very dark ritual it is cruelty to use against one's saviours. I do not know if the coachman who now helps us escape to safety can be trusted. If he betrays us, we shall die, as simple as that.

As always, it is in the hands of the most menial of servants to decide the toss of the coin between life and death. The silence of coachmen, innkeepers, the officials who patrol the crossings is salvation. It was truly meant when the priest read "Blessed are the humble".

I sometimes wish I had been born a commoner, and a man at that. It is they who hold all the power.

We had ridden perhaps two hours in the carriage when a figure slid into our small booth, and placed herself between Yvonne and myself. "I know your secrets, and you know mine. We should be friends, Madame. Those of French royal blood who are not buried in a pit or hidden in an Abbey are few and far between."  

She could not hide her bright copper hair any better than I could hide my eyes, but tried to do so with a becoming veil. "I see you are in mourning, Madame de Roussel." I tried not to look shocked, but I very much was. I could not even remember her given name, all I remembered of her was the desire to tear the lovely locks from her head.

The woman gave a beautiful smile, one that made it hard to believe she was not an immortal. She had for hours concealed her breathing, her heartbeat, the smell of her presence from one with the keenest of senses. It reminded me of why I always distrusted her so. To underestimate her was to become her victim.

Perhaps we have that in common.

"I arrive in mourning, as do you. Thank you for the gift." There was a coldness in her that infuriated me, not just that day but every day. I do not know what it is to not feel, but this woman mastered that art. Instead of calming me, dear Journal-Friend, it makes me want to spit nails.

For that reason, and for my own sense of self-preservation, I did not shove her from the moving coach into the mud. I should like to think I had better reasons, such as being a good person with empathy, but my hatred for her runs deep. She is fortunate my taste for survival is stronger. The lady probably cast an enchantment on herself that would haunt me. I know by instinct her blood is poison.

"I shall go with you to Venezia and then you needn't be troubled with me. I know you do not care for me and I do not blame you. Yet, I cannot give you apology or regret. We all must do as we must to survive." She laughed and added, "Though I would like my potions and my jewels back."

I simply sighed and resigned myself to the fact that she would be part of my party, and despite her protests, I knew she would be part of my life as we tried to survive and recover. "We shall see. Now is not the time to speak of such things. Let us see if we live first."

I tried my best to be as cold and unshakeable as she always was, but I do not believe it was an act that fooled anyone.

"You may call me Delphine, and this is my Maman, Yvonne. You do not favour me, so we shall call you my cousin from the country. We are French seamstresses seeking better trade. Hopefully, no one asks, but if they do, you must say this story and little else."  I remember the wheels turning furiously as I schemed with the woman I had been stealing from and plotting to destroy. It gave me a petty kind of joy that my garish red wig was a mockery of her own hair.

"Why should I trust you? You were going to have me executed. I knew it would not be long before they saw your natural talent and put you to work spying not on our enemies, but our own people. Did you feel no shame?" Her voice did not hold emotion. She spoke the way others speak of the weather.

I did not answer immediately, but shook my head. "I wanted to survive, just as you did. Had you not made yourself my enemy and my rival, I should have kept your secret. "

We rode in silence for a long while, and then I spoke in a resigned tone. "What is your name, if anyone asks?"

Madame de Roussel smiles, and with an aggravating toss of her hair, answered almost immediately. "Aubrienne."

I laughed, and remembered her given name, an equally frivolous one. "I'm assuming that was the name of your Maman, with how quickly you chose it. Does no one in your family have a normal name?"

The smirk on her face annoyed me. "I wouldn't say Eleni was such a common name."  She clicked her tongue a few times and said, "No, Aubrienne de Tourzel was a legend. She was kin to my first husband, who was ancient when we wed, but a nobleman. He told a scary story about how she was a beautiful young Frenchwoman who became an adventuress. I should like to have adventures grand and legendary."

Yvonne put her hand on her mouth to hide the sound of my laughter. On my oath, the redheaded woman is so utterly stupid at times. When I could speak again, I was more composed. "My given name is Eleonore, which is a noble name for a woman of strength. I should think this qualifies as an adventure, considering we might die at any moment.."

She shrugged her shoulders. "You might die. I did nothing. I just needed a ride to somewhere new."

I snorted, unable to keep my derision. "Do you ever speak the truth? You are an exiled French loyalist with a title, and a witch whose husband was just murdered in a Court where everyone knows you were sleeping with his brother. Have you any idea how fast they will execute you, Madame de Roussel?"

The words were vicious, I know, but somehow saying them was speaking the truth of my own life made me feel better. I wanted her to be as frightened as I was, to suffer as I was, but she did not. She was made braver than me. 

Yvonne clapped her hands over each of our mouths after that, to keep us from talking in front of the coachman. When she finally let go, I glared like a very petulant child. Out of sheer boredom, I asked, "What was so special about Aubrienne?"

The redheaded woman seemed happy to forget things by telling a story about her past. "Aubrienne de Tourzel was my first husband's ancestor. She and her family were some of the first of the French to set out to explore the new colonies across the ocean, though not willingly. Her father had two girls, and Aubrienne was of age to be married to a Spaniard. When the family met to finalise the arrangements, a group of Spanish nobles turned mercenaries and pirates abducted Aubrienne and Claudine, her younger sister. They were put on a ship to claim what would later become the new colonies established by those British revolutionaries."

Madame de Roussel laughed bitterly as she finished her story. "The British monarchy were intelligent. Their rebels and criminals and dissidents were free to get on a ship and settle uncolonised land with savages. Ours were allowed to stay put and they killed us." 

I glared at her, but she kept talking. "The men attacked Aubrienne and Claudine, and thought they fought back, one infected them with the curse. It was undoubtedly the same affliction you carry at this very moment."

It took a lot not to disturb the peace and let her finish the story. I despise that lofty smirk she wears.

Madame de Roussel continued speaking. "Once they arrived to the new land, though, the sisters aligned themselves with the tribes who'd already set up home on the land. Aubrienne killed the men who slaughtered her parents and stole her maidenhood before making her a cursed one. She protected the land from being destroyed and it would be years before Spain properly invaded again. Aubrienne married a native man and was so famous they named one of their towns after her."

The carriage ride went faster when Madame de Roussel told the story, so I let her prattle on endlessly. "What became of Claudine?"

I saw an almost pointed look in the woman's eyes when she answered. "Claudine was offered as a sacrifice to the gods. She was too young for the men to have any fun with her, so she was always meant to be given to the natives. It doesn't pay to be a virgin much. It's said she still haunts the land, a powerful spirit that casts a lifelong curse upon everything. People should learn they do not wish to be haunted by witchcraft."

Her smile seemed to brighten as she hastened to add, "Claudine had her own followers. Most were voodoo priests and priestesses, mages skilled in the dark arts. They looked to her as some sort of patron saint, creating a coven called La Avati. It means "The Reality". They believe themselves the only ones capable of knowing what lies behind the facade of most things."

After that, I did not want to hear more of Madame de Roussel's stories. I couldn't help but wonder if she was one of them, the followers of Claudine.

Ah, my dear Journal-Friend, I do not know how much longer in this carriage or when we shall stop. Curtains have been drawn for my sake and I am shrouded from head to toe besides. That tells me it is the next day and the sun has risen. It is the second time this has happened.

The urge to put Madame de Roussel inside one of the trunks is strong indeed. She knows little of the meaning of quiet.

If you do not hear from me further, it is because this was the final piece of my journey. If you do not hear from me again, know how much you were beloved by me. I shall always think of you as my one true and constant friend, my Journal-Friend. I should not have survived all these years without you.

If I arrive safely, I shall tell you what happens next when we cross into Venezia.

Orlando, I shall punish myself for failing you until the end of my days. Perhaps it shall give you some satisfaction to know the end may come very soon, for all three of the women who betrayed you.

Your beloved and regretful,
Eleni