Charmagne Winter

The life span of the mortals was considered long, only if one didn't know any better. Average age of death was eighty to ninety, if an individual took extra care of him or herself, with no history of any family disease (which was rare), one might be able to pull off one-hundred. Not that it was a guarantee, history had seen many people of poor health live past one-hundred. It had actually just been recently recorded that a woman who had smoked a pack a day, her entire adult life, lived to the age of one-hundred and fifteen. Truth be told, the health or history of disease had no bearings whatsoever on the longevity of life. But the track has been temporarily thrown off course, to get back to the point. To a human, one hundred years was long enough to go through all that life had to throw their way, maybe even too long for some. To others, one-hundred years was a pathetic excuse for a life, those that had too many dreams, too many wishes, could not possibly see how it could all fit into one-hundred measily years, especially when one took into effect, that the last twenty to thirty years was spent in feeble weakness. There were many who spent most of their lives, trying to find a sort of immortality, an extension of their lives, an extension of their youth. Whether the answer was medical, mythology, or just down right obsurd, it didn't seem to matter, but what mattered was whether or not such answers were true. It did no good for these... fanatics-of-life, if they could not find a real and true solution to their problems. Vampirism had become a popular solution, whether or not these fanatics actually went through with their plans for eternal youth, it was never documented. One would have to track down each, and ask of them, if they had been truly turned into the walking dead.

But lo-and-behold! What if such love for life, starts to dim in the long centuries that followed? Eventually every dream and wish would be used up, every excuse to continueing to love eternity started to vanish, the body would tire though it would never show age, the soul would wear down from the findings of friends, and at the same the death. Not one 'vampire' could say that after so long, life or non-life, began to bore. To stay still in the stream of time, and watch everything change around, it could not be an easy thing to witness after so many years. One of the greatest ironic pieces of all time. Those life-fanatics, turned immortal, start to wear, and wish for death! That in no way goes to say that all immortals were turned for their love of life. There were many excuses for the change. Maybe they feared death, and had made a pact with the undead to flee it, maybe they had been nothing more than a mistake, or maybe even they had been born of a union between an undead and a mortal. It was near impossible, but there were a few records of such a birthing. To be sure, whatever child was created from that union, would be undoubtably wretched. To get back on track, there were very few solutions to a life-loving vampire suddenly turned venomous towards living any longer. Their brains would start to falter, an insanity from so many lifetimes lived would wear upon them, the need to die evident, but the inability to kill themselves drilled into their very brain. But this explanation would probably be better towards the end of such a person's story.

The age of both Enlightenment and Revolution. France during the 18th century. Such a time created many philosphers and literature-extraordinaire's, it was a time where the working class was so much more free. Blessed be Voltaire and Rousseau for their defining teachings, which replaced such a stiff and rustic aristocratic order among the people. They actually defined the standards and the framework of the order, giving more importance and hopefully more power to those that had in earlier times been ignored, and trampled upon. Being born in the 18th century gave Charmagne a chance at a life, she would have originally been denied. A daughter of a lowly merchant who showed his wares at the bazaars, and barely made enough coins for food. Her parents were already sealed in their life and fate, but her's could still prosper if she played her hand of cards carefully. Leaving her family at the age of 12, she went into servitude for a Madame, choosing of course which Madame she went to. House of ill-repute were left in the dust of her thoughts, no, for a shot at a decent life, she would have to go elsewhere, and that is why she choose a Madame Etiqu, that taught a small handful of young women, the art of etiquette. Showing up at the Madame's doorstep, clean-faced with a simple gown on. She gave over her entire being, there was not one sentence out of her mouth, where she did not spew some form of respectful speech. She had asked the Madame, if she could be allowed to work for her, she did not need a daily pay, only house and board. To top such a proposition off, she would stay in the woman's servitude for as long as she was wanted. Charmagne was young and already she was used to physical labor, she had the spirit and the energy to replace three of the servants the Madame already possessed, and without their costs.

The life of servitude was not hard for Charmagne to fill, she was as good a servant as she could be to the Madam, doing as she was told, and even more than that on most occasions. Her years spent there were treasured, as she quickly became Madame Etiqu's favorite, and as a treat for doing her chores and tasks with profieceny and detail, she was given lessons in etiquette. The Madame kept Charmagne in her cloister of servants for many years, and even promised the young woman that she would be paid at the end of her service, as well as given a job that would be able to place bread and meat in Charmagne's cabinets. While it could not be considered an extravagant existence, Charmagne could not complain. Of course when such a life is found, something must come along to ruin happiness and peace. Madame Etiqu was growing older, her hair had started to gray years ago, and the debt of France was starting to grow, tension was building up all throughout the terrain, and all the people knew it. Finally in the year of 1789 a Revoluion swept all over France, reaching far into the rest of Europe with a heavy impact. Turmoil was wrought on all the citizens, and even the need to escape reforms and wars, those said citizens boarded ships of all different shapes and sizes, so that they may flee to the United States. With her students now scattered, and dwindling finances the Madame was one of the many that used the ships for escape. Packing as many bags as could be taken, Madame Etiqu and Charmagne were loaded onto a creaking ship, leaving behind all that they had known. It was for the best, as civil unrest had reached it's peak, and not even the daylight hours were safe to walk the cobblestone streets.

Their journey to the United States was assuredly supposed to be an easy one. There were no stops designated, since the boat was furnished with enough food to last the entirity of the time, and accomidations were well to-do, if not a little rickety. The Madame didn't seem to mind, and neither did the loyal Charmagne, who by then had reached her twenty-sixth year of breathing. As life enjoyed to play tricks on those that had already experienced turmoil, the water-journey did not go as smooth has it had been originally described. The passengers aboard the ship started to sicken, their energy and life it seemed had been drained with each night that they slept. Within a few weeks many had died, their bodies dumped over the side, to rest in the depth of the sea forever. Madame Etiqu cowered in her room, while Charmagne tried to keep her wavering health at it's best. There were rumors of the plague returning, whispered at best, but many of the crew shot down that option, since it had been recorded that the plague had been destroyed in the 1600's. The great fire of London had supposedly burned the remnants of the destructive Red Death, and hadn't been seen in large masses since. Taking to the deck, or the hold where many spoke of rumors and such about what it was that had slowly started to kill away with passengers, it was there that Charmagne had first heard about the vampyr, the undead that drank the blood of the living, sinking long fangs into the neck's of it's victim. This remained the object of all deaths for the remaining weeks, though whenever another dead body was found, there never were marks on the victim's neck. Confused, in fear and suspicious of every person, the remaining passengers and crew secluded themselves from each other, even the Madame, who had come to love Charmagne kept the woman from entering her cabin, to tend to her aging needs.

Weeks passed by in solitude, Charmagne confined to a corner of the hold, huddled against the wood, trying to cover herself with rags. Whatever food that remained had been infested with maggots and fever had broken out across those that remained, even the calm-headed Charmagne was sick and burning from the inside. Death was guaranteed to all that remained, it was inevitable. With no one to guide the boat, as the Captain had died, along with Madame Etiqu, they were adrift and extremely off course. No longer was there any mention of time, or the arrival to the States, there was only the stench of death and a growing amount of carcasses. Charmagne had been the last alive, somehow retaining as much health as she could in her dying condition. Her youth and her spirit had kept her alive, but not for very long. The day that her death was appointed, where her weight had diminished in such a way, that her stomach was bloated, her entire system of bones poking through translucent skin, her hair falling out by the clumps. It was the day that her life changed, in the most literal of ways. Half-blind and deaf, she could still feel the vibration of foot-steps across the wooden floor of the hold. At first she thought of it as a hallucination, the others were already dead, and she had been left in her corner for weeks. But the crushing grip that snaked around her wrist, and the leering face that had bent over, staring into her clouded eyes could not have been less than real. The force of the grip started to grind her bones, and with a sickening snap, crushed her wrist, whatever pain there was, could not be felt, as Charmagne was already half dead. She could hear a voice, but she could not hear the words, she did not struggle, and neither did she even move in such a strong grip. It was pointless, whatever it was, that this person wanted they would never get it. Her breathing was slowing, and in her chest she could feel her heartbeat start to falter and die, missing seconds worth of beating.

"I am hungry, but I dare not drink from someone as infested as you have become. Not even enough blood to fill my stomach I would think..."

Even in her dying condition, the one part of her body that still worked was her sense of loss, and that hit her harder than her own death. Her dear Madame was gone, and the new life they would have in the States was gone. At the thought of all that had been lost for no more than Fate's cruel nature, made tears come to Charmagne's eyes, spilling down her spotted and torn flesh of her cheeks. She had wanted so much to stay with Madame Etiqu until the older woman would have passed away of natural causes, instead of dying by malnutrition and lack of any medical treatment, which Charmagne had heard was spectacular in the States. She had wanted to continue to live herself, experience the rest of her years, and know what a full life was and what it entailed. And now, she was going to be stripped from her own natural death, as she felt those same hands that had crushed her wrist start to wrap around her throat.

"As much as I would enjoy watching you die of disease and the faltering of your heart... I cannot wait for that long. The ship has floated into view of the harbor, and soon there will be boats drawn out to investigate this Ghost Ship. I cannot have you remain for even a few minutes to give away my presence..."

Pressure was starting to close her air-pipe, cutting off her breathing, and leaving her mouth to gape open, her lungs bereft of fresh air. She winced, pulling her eyelids together in a squint. Her body wouldn't be able to struggle even if she tried to escape his grasp, she was weak, and she knew that if she moved too much, she might just break her entire body from trying. But she managed to put the remants of air to good use. Her vision cleared only enough to see the person that crouched over her, instantly taking in the fangs that protruded from his lips, and the blood that had stained his chin and neck a dark brown color, old blood. Vampyr. Her voice was ragged and thin of any emotion or color, but her words were enough to be understood. She did not speak in response to his own words, since in her dying condition, she had not been able to make out what his voice was saying, but only could hear the cadence of his speech. she spoke more in a last-ditch effort to keep her dignity.

"Get your hands off me bastard of life, let me keep my death as it was intended...and do not steal it in your morbid fascination with death and to be the causer of it as well."

Anger flared in the vampyr's eyes, though Charmagne could not distinct what color they were, nor any clear definition of his face. But just as brightly as his apparent anger shone, something else had nestled itself in the depths of his eyes. No, the way he would kill her, would not be the absolute definition of stealing her life, because her soul would fly to the afterlife, and there she would enjoy all the peace and harmony that she could have. No, he knew a way to steal her life, and the joy she would have as a part of the dead. A snear transifixed itself upon his pale face, as his hands slide away from her slender throat, resting on the caps of his knee's. Yes, it was fitting. She wanted her death so much, he would give her death, but slap it back into her face, by making sure that she awoke later, to find herself alive, at least in some regards. By the looks of the woman on the ground, she would not be alive for very much longer, and the skipping sound of her heart was just another detail that strengthed her death. He would not even have to drain the woman to the point of death, as she was already at that point, his only concern, feed her the blood that would infect her system, revert it's whole process, and turn her into the undead. Charmagne's eyes were closed, her body laboring to breathe, her heart laboring to beat, she was already unconscious and the very seconds of her life were ticking away. With a forceful hand, he forced her mouth open, wide as it could go so that the blood could drip in. Already her body was starting to stiffen, her skin becoming weak enough to break open by a single touch. Rot had already started to set into her legs and lower abdomen. Now there was shock that she had even lasted this long in the vampyr's eyes. He turned his arm over, eyeing the delicate skin that stretched across his wrist, and the veins that stood out starkly against his pale skin. Pressing a sharp nail against the skin, he kept with the pressure till the skin was punctured and blood started to drip from the small wound. Not much blood was needed to turn anyone, the only mistake, was that there was not a fresh victim present to fulfill her new need when she awakens as a vampry. He tipped his arm, so that the drips of blood would fall into the woman's open mouth, she would swallow whatever fell, and then she would die, and awaken as one of him. At one second the woman was breathing, the blood hitting against her lips and teeth, but pooling in her mouth, and then the next she stopped. Her heart was dead, she was dead. Denying failure, he let more blood drip into her mouth, but he noticed that it only pooled, and did not actually get swallowed. The wench had died before she could consume his blood! Pulling his wrist away with a growl, he labeled her a mistake and stood up. It was just as good he thought. She was dead, and when the Officers from the States entered the boat, they would find no one to speak of his existence.

She was half-dead before he even approached her, it did not matter that now her other half was dead. Not even giving her carcass another glance, he walked off, exiting the hold and the boat. His other mistake, that he would not know about till much later. He left her before truly knowing whether she would stay dead. No, the blood had not been completely swallowed, but a few drops had started to trickle down the back of her throat as she still breathed, and though small, it was enough to jump-start her system in reverse. There was no sudden breathe of air, nor was there any abrupt movement, but the blood pooled in her mouth started to sink down her throat, being consumed by her body. When only a thin film of red was left in her mouth, no other movement could be seen, maybe she had really died, without a chance to revive.

For all of the vampyr's caution and fear of being discovered, or having help come to the boat to find a survivor, it took another day or two before anyone became curious enough to row out to the ship. With that even, it took a full three more days before the whole ship was inspected, and the casualties counted. Officers came out to the ship, took the Captain's log, and went about the gruesome task of locating each carcass and throwing it over the side. The passengers had been nothing more than immigrants trying to find new homes in the States, and therefore were none of the States concern, they did not need to be buried. By Captain's log there were ten of crew (counting himself) and thirty passengers. Twenty-one of the passengers were thrown overboard when found dead, five crew had joined them in the sea, but that had been the most they could get rid of, as soon after the remaing crew became too sick to muster enough strength to do so. By all calculations, that should have meant that fourteen bodies remained somewhere on the ship. With a week of searching the entire ship, only thirteen bodies had been found. Further investigation of the Captain's logs from when the twenty-one passengers that had been dumped over, were recorded in the page following. By the elimination process only, those that investigated came to the conclusion that the body that was missing belonged to a woman in her late twenties, that went by the name Charmagne DelaFay. Of all the bodies that remained on the ship, not one in the form of a young woman came up, so it could only be assumed. After the ship had been destroyed, as well as the Captain Log, she had been forgotten. As stated earlier, it was no concern of theirs.

And so now, her footsteps are silent as she walks down a conrete side-walk, her slender hands pushed deep into the pockets of her pale jeans, her upper body is clothed in a simple white-tee. There is nothing about what she wears that draws any distinct looks from those that she passes by. Blonde hair that shows no sign of thinning, but remains healthy and thick has been pulled back to rest behind slender ears. Her eyes and their color are hidden underneath half-closed lids, a sleepy look to any that would have seen her up close. She has a petite body with enough shape to label her a woman without much doubt, and there is no sign of rot, nothing but healthy and smooth skin. No signs of bloating in her belly, which is flat, and would seem almost muscular under her shirt. She looks like any other human that walks the street, and by any standard she could be considered beautiful. The only thing that faults her entire appearance, is the dark blue and slight green bruise that wraps around her left wrist. If anyone took a chance to inspect it further, it would be in the shape of a man's hand. Charmagne DelaFay was pronounced dead by assumption over two-hundred and fourteen years ago, a passenger on a rickety ship heading towards the States. The boat had been out to sea for four months before it was spotted by a State harbor. Proclaimed a Ghost Ship and destroyed, all evidence of what was on the boat, and the reasons for it's strange condition were lost forever in the dark waters of the sea. Charmagne DelaFay had perished on Febuary 15th, 1790, and awoke Febuary 17th, 1790 a vampyr. By modern days she would be called a vampire, and in modern times she was called Charmagne Winter, of which there would be no records found.