Noël didn’t know what to expect upon stumbling across a cemetery so far off from town. It was a terribly long trek, one with many detours and dead ends. Centuries had passed by in a whirlwind of faded colors and lost memories, and all was lost on him—save for a journal he inherited from his Aunt Delia. He’d been traveling for so long with no one else but a dead witch and a book filled with faded writing for company.
Days blended into months into years. How long has it been since he left home? Certainly, he couldn’t have been any younger than he is now.
He was 12 when he’d do his homework in the foyer, listening as his father would play show tunes on their gramophone. They were songs from overseas, but Noël couldn’t quite remember what they were. It was all above his paygrade, but Noël didn’t mind.
Mother hadn’t liked it when he would sit right next to door’s entrance. “Someone could open the door and knock him over,” she warned him. But it was fine as there was no one else to open that door. Most of their relatives had disappeared. Noël asked what happened to them, but his parents refused to budge. “You’re too young to worry,” they said. But he had a lot to worry about. They were all worried about the threats of war looming over their heads. It was raging on for years with no end in sight, but at least they were safe.
Nothing bad happened, but they had no visitors…not even that kind old lady who lived down the street. But with her gone, he knew their home would never receive visitors ever again. He was also 12 when he met a fellow vampire with a strange attachment to mirrors. And he also remained the same age during the plague, during the witch trials. He was certain he would not age. Could not age, as he was a vampire.
Afterall, it is now October 31, 1631. Countless years were lost on him, but if he could find her and end this quest once and for all, why—
This entire journey would all have been worth it.
Bright blue skies cloaked the cemetery. His eyes stared up at the marble ruins which were eerily perfect despite large amount of leafy vines snaking around them. Noël assumed they were old, but somehow, even time and the elements did not erase the pillars’ etchings.
“This must be the place,” Noël murmured as he adjusted his cape. Throughout the last century, he retraced Aunt Delia’s steps. The journey took him through many countries in Europe, but he hadn’t been any closer to finding her until now.
His crimson eyes trailed once more through the journal. Pages upon pages were dedicated to her travels, but most peculiarly of all, she seemed to have a fascination with birds and fish. But what captured the vampire’s focus was an elaborate sketch of a mansion aptly titled, ‘Rosewood Manor.’ “I mean, there are many cemeteries filled with roses, but…”
The vampire glanced down and carefully studied a pure white rose. It was pretty, but he had no desire to pick it up as the stem was covered in thorns.
“Oh, this trek has been dreadfully dreary,” he sighed. If only his witch companion could speak to him, but he couldn’t reach her. With nothing more to do, he trotted over to a stump and collapsed onto it in exasperation. “I’m sure Aunt Delia’s not dead. Neither are mother and father, but it’s been too long—what more do I have left to search for?”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Where else could he search when he exhausted all of his options? There were other places in his journal…lands beneath the sea.
Mermaids, strange golem-like creatures, but they all sounded too fanciful.
It would have been wonderful to visit all of those distant lands, but he is quite certain his Aunt merely had an active imagination. He lived for over a century, so he’d imagine that if they existed, he would have already met them.
Noël thought back to those people he once knew long ago. Lila the witch, back when she had been someone more real. That older vampire who was obsessed with seeing his own face in a mirror. A fellow traveler who Noël is still certain must have been a werewolf. And…Henrietta and Adelaide, two girls who were like family to him when he couldn’t find his own. But he tried to forget about all of them. He’d never see those kind faces ever again, but it was alright. As long as there was that hope Aunt Delia was out here, it would be enough.
He lightly tapped his shoe against the ground as his fingers dug into the mossy stump. Upon noticing a butterfly he leaned forward, obviously entranced. Its white wings were delicate and nearly translucent.
“How odd,” the vampire noted. It was the only living creature he had seen in this cemetery. Of course, he didn’t count as he already died ages ago. His thoughts drifted even further, away from this land, away from this time. A memory entered his mind; a faint glimpse of that life he once lived.
Summer break just started and all was well. Another record was playing in their kitchen. His memories were hazy, but Noël found himself humming along to a song he hadn’t head in centuries.
Slowly, the vampire closed his eyes as memories washed over him, but the rustle of fabric and the crackle of leaves interrupted his song.
“What are you doing here?” an unfamiliar voice called out.
There was a woman staring down at him. She wasn’t big; probably couldn’t be more than five feet tall, but she was still a great deal taller than him. Auburn hair, a red dress and veil, and glasses that glinted gold in the sun. Noël knew he never met her before, but she looked familiar. Her facial features were similar to someone he knew long ago, but it was her eyes that truly captured his attention.
Crimson red, the color of sunset, of blood…it was a color he knew to well. Noël barely knew what he looked like, but he was always met with cries of horror. “Demon child,” was what many had taken to calling him upon seeing his so-called blood-red eyes. “Cursed boy” was also another name, one of which he wasn’t all too fond of.
He never met her before, but he is certain. This woman must be Aunt Delia.
She has to be, because if not, then……
“I’ve spent a century looking for you,” Noël said, smiling up at her. “But finally, I’ve found you at last.”
It really has been too long. He left Procession’s Way in the 1500s. He had been wandering for eons. The auburn-haired woman looked stunned. Her hand reached for the ruby brooch in her hair, only for her crimson eyes to fall upon his journal. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he’d say Aunt Delia seemed almost fearful.
“Are you a devil sent to collect my soul?” she asked in a monotone. Aunt Delia stared down at him, her face completely devoid of any emotions. “The Fall Equinox is upon us.”
Noël shook his head, “No, no, I’m not the devil. Why, I’m your nephew.”
He was bewildered. Why on earth did Aunt Delia think he was the devil? He would have understood her fear had it not been for the fact that she possessed red eyes as well. “I’m positive you have nothing to fret over. I’m your nephew, Noël Rousseau. You must believe me,” he earnestly pleaded.
“Do you believe I could be saved?” Aunt Delia questioned out-loud.
The white-haired vampire tilted his head, confusion plastered on his features. “Whatever could you mean? I know we’ve just met, but you’re a good person. Anyone bad wouldn’t have made this journal,” Noël exclaimed as he pointed towards a sketch of a giant owl in a cape. “You’re like a real life Robin Hood—I want to be like you when…” he falters. “If I ever grow up.”
“I’m no Robin Hood,” Aunt Delia sighed. “You wouldn’t want to be me. I’ve made far too many mistakes; far more than you could ever fathom.”
She merely looked at him with distrust that day. He took to visiting that lonely old cemetery every day for months on end. Aunt Delia didn’t talk much back then, but he was quite sure that little by little, he was regaining that which he had lost. He finally found his family, or what little remained of it.
Their life wasn’t ideal, but it was enough.
He’d find mother and father one day, but at least Aunt Delia was still here. Still alive. Still breathing…until she wasn’t.
When was the last time he had seen her? It couldn’t have been that long ago, right? She always left on trips; why would this be any different? Aunt Delia said she’d return, but it’s been decades……
What were those parting words that she said?
“Why, you are the worst of us all, for you killed—”