Ballet des Muses, LWV 32
by Jean-Baptiste Lully 1666
Summary: (AU) Throughout Europe, Buffy Summers and Angelus are infamous vampires. Their romantic lore captured the imagination for centuries in a never-ending thirst of blood, passion, and power. They are no strangers to the changes in the world or its Slayer's protecting it. For three centuries, Buffy had never met a challenge she could not triumph until finding herself in Sunnydale, California to face perhaps the greatest Slayer she had ever come up against. (B/Aus)
Friendly Disclaimer: Remix and Reimagined
Fair Warning: This story gets pretty dark. I mean, this Evil Vampire Buffy didn't get her notoriety for being nice.
Crossover Palooza… kinda!
17th Century Chapters (1660's-1690's): the speech is kinda Shakespearean but not obnoxious Shakespearean… just… 'this is how they probably would've talked' kind of way... I promise it won't be hard to follow along.
18th/19th Century Chapters (1700's-1800's): Not as Shakespearean! Way more laid back and less 'art thou' but Victorian Era English.
If you know a wee bit of European/American history, you could have a little fun with the chapters!
An eloquent sound of a harpsichord and high-pitched-tone shrill of a small quartet of violins made its London premiere of Jean-Baptiste Lully's new composition, Ballet des Muses, LWV 32.
Two ballet dancers pranced in front of the stage as Lully continued to conduct his orchestra. The two dancers moved in perfect synchronicity. Their arms delicately waved over their heads and lowered to their front.
Lady Elizabeth 'Buffy' Summers, daughter of Puritan merchant wealth sat in the eighth row from the stage. Her eyes were glued to the dancers watching them spin on the tips of their toes to the melodic music. She felt the urge to sink in her chair, desperate for a moment of relaxation after sitting with perfect posture for the last forty-five minutes. Buffy felt the constant stabbing into her ribcage of ivory, which held the stiff bodice together.
In her head, Buffy counted the seconds until this concert was over. She was in need of movement and a glass of water.
It's dreadfully warm in here, she waved the fan in her hand suddenly feeling overheated under the thick layers of the heavy gown.
She glanced to her left, her mother and father two rows ahead on the opposite side of the music hall.
It was then, Buffy felt a chill over her body feeling Lord Owen Thurman's fingers slide ghostly over her forearm. Buffy shifted and successfully pulled her arm away from her potential suitor her parents—namely her father, Hank Summers, 1st Earl of Revello was trying to fix her with.
The Thurman family came from old money which dated back to the Plantagenet Period of the twelfth-century when King Henry II was on the throne.
Her father had a knack for introducing his only daughter to wealthiest families in Parliament. He wanted to marry her off to the highest bid. Despite all of the country's opposition with the Puritan faith, Hank did not have any problem finding suitors for his daughter.
"Music is my delight." Owen whispered to Buffy, which sent an unpleasant shiver straight down Buffy's spine after the feeling the warmth of his breath touch the skin of her shoulder.
Remaining polite, Buffy tossed him a small smile and stared straight ahead, pretending to be enthralled by the performance.
"There are few people in England who could possibly have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or natural better taste." Owen's dark brown eyes studied her profile then dropped to her cleavage. He swallowed, desperate to control his virginal arousal. "Have I mentioned this evening, Lady Elizabeth, thou art indeed the most heavenly creature in all of London?"
Wearing a tight smile across her face, Buffy replied, "Yes, you have. Thank you, Lord Thurman." She shifted her gaze back to the dancers twirling around and jumping gracefully into the air.
Owen leaned over towards again and sheepishly whispered, "Lady Elizabeth—"
"—Please, sir, call me Buffy." Buffy whispered.
Owen smiled at her polite command, which only added his confidence in courting the young Miss Summers. "Lady… Buffy," Owen began, "may I accompany you after the performance. It is my intention, if I may remain close to thee throughout the rest of the evening."
Buffy released a small breath and looked forward. In the corner of her eye, she could see her parents looking back at her and Owen, curious of how the interaction was going.
Internally praying to the Powers That Be for an escape, which she knew did not exist, Buffy collected herself and replied with forced politeness, "If God is willing. But that would delight me greatly, Lord Thurman."
Gleaming with pride at himself and the outcome of Buffy's response, Owen smiled and reverted his gaze back to the performance happening in front of them.
It felt as if the music faded into the ether when Buffy felt a strange sense of being watched.
Her green eyes shifted across the aisle to her mother and father, their attention was focused straight ahead.
Buffy's brows pinched together as she slightly darted her gaze around the room without raising interest in her new averted attention.
Unable to find the source of the strange feeling of being watched, like most things in Buffy's life, she swallowed the discomforting chill that shimmied down her spine and gave what was left of her attention back to the performance.
During the afterparty, Buffy walked with Owen. Her hand placed over his and went over to their parents conversing in the dining hall.
"Art thou saying Hank that you disagree with the Cestui que Vie Act?" asked Ellis Thurman, Duke of Dickinson and the patriarch of the Thurman family raised a snide highbrow at Hank Summers.
After making his wealth as a well known and successful whiskey merchant Hank Summers, quickly climbed the ranks of English nobility to be the 1st Earl of Revello in Essex. This wealth provided sufficiently for his wife and daughter, but he was living excessively, which was more than they could afford. Hank's debts piled. He urged his daughter to marry quickly and save them from impending mediocrity.
"Nay," Hank chuckled. "For the amount of time given to the missing persons to take their property—everything they've worked their entire life for is a bit too sudden."
"Than what dost thou suggest, Hank?" The Duke sipped the port in his glass, cockily waiting for Hank's reply.
Ellis did not care for Hank Summers. There was something shady and slimy about the head of the Summers family. Ellis knew Hank paraded his daughter across England and France like a show horse.
Honestly, Ellis wouldn't have bothered giving the shady merchant a chance if it weren't for Buffy. Honourable, charming, obedient, and very handsome, Lady Elizabeth Summers would be the perfect bride for his son, Owen. The children she'd bear would be strikingly beautiful. Ellis had no doubt in his mind that with Buffy at Owen's side, they'd be accepted into court just for King Charles the II to bed the future Duchess of Dickinson, which would solidify the Thurman family's place in Royal company.
"I'd say, they are quite a match, Lady Revello." Rose Thurman, Duchess of Dickinson whispered to Joyce as they watched Buffy, escorted by Owen walk closer to them.
"I dare say they are, Duchess." Joyce agreed, pleasantly happy with this arrangement. There have been many men, her daughter had been presented too, but Owen seemed likely to treat her Buffy honourably.
The Thurman's are a high-class and a respected family.
But despite all of this, she could see the look in Buffy's eyes. Joyce is able to recall all of the many fantasy stories she'd tell her daughter about magic and a Prince that she'd marry for love. Sadly, those were only stories.
If Hank died, Buffy would not be able to inherit the Summers property unless she was married, then it would go to her husband.
Buffy needed to marry. It was pivotal that she marry extremely well in order to avoid living in total destitution. She was already twenty years old with no time to spare.
Arriving into the conversation between the Duchess and Joyce, Owen gave Buffy a small and cocked his chin up high, proud to present the woman that could be his wife.
He could feel the eyes on him, gleefully happy to display the beautiful yellow-haired woman in his company.
"Owen, my boy," Lord Owen turned to his father's voice. "Come here and tell us your views on the Cestui que Vie Act."
Apologetically, Owen looked at Buffy then removed his hand from hers, turning away to join the conversation with the men.
Buffy barely listened to the empty conversation between her mother and the Duchess of Dickinson. She wanted to go and take off this ungodly heavy gown and crawl into it in only her shift.
The odd feeling of being watched lingered over Buffy once more. It felt as if the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up and a chin spiralled down her spine.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Buffy turned her eyes about the room, in search of a gaze that was on her, but found no one. Looking to the left, Owen was lost in conversation with her father and Ellis.
"Excuse me," Buffy curtsied to be excused of the conversation with her mother and the Duchess.
She eyed the hall, where the performance had happened but instead, Buffy rounded the corner to the courtyard gardens.
The nighttime air was becoming crisp as the seasons were beginning to change. Buffy rather preferred the autumn. The colours of the changing leaves on the trees to a red and yellow glow felt soothing.
Walking slowly down the cobblestone pathway, Buffy studied a small bushel of pink Lady Slippers.
Her brows quizzically furrowed together, Buffy figured it was quite late in the seasons for Lady Slippers to blossom.
Picking off a dried dead leaf, Buffy continued down the pathway, heading towards the large tree.
It was quiet.
Buffy very much enjoyed the quiet.
Her life was anything but quiet.
But soon, Buffy was confident that this would be the last of it. Owen seemed already in love with her. She predicted that he'd propose and of course she'd accept. They'd have a springtime wedding. Her father would certainly drink himself into a stupor and make a fool of her mother. Joyce will take the public humiliation in stride, so loyal to her drunkard, gambling husband.
Buffy prayed that Owen would not turn out to be like that.
She liked him. Owen was sweet, sensitive like a poet, and handsome but she wasn't in love—or even a bit attracted to him in the slightest.
Since her childhood, Buffy always dreamt of marrying a man for love, not out of custom or convenience—certainly not to save her father from financial ruin.
Looking up at the starlit night, she quietly prayed, God, please hear my prayer. I beg of you to help me. Give me the strength to keep standing forth and not fall to dolefulness for which I have no control over. Guide my hand towards the Garden of Eden and—
"Thou art magnificent."
Buffy whirled around to the deep Eastern European voice purring into her ear.
The man behind her had striking blue eyes and pale white skin. His features were dark and his hair, jet black, long, and falling wistfully over his shoulders. He wore a long, fitted maroon coat that reached to his knees. The coat was decorated with an elaborate gold embroidery down the fronts of the coat, and cuffs of black wool. He wore a black shirt underneath with a matching black cravat, a pair of black breeches, and buckled leather shoes. The man looked elegant—royal.
"I wonder what a woman of your eminent station is doing out here alone in the darkness of night."
Reminding herself to continue breathing, Buffy was entranced by his piercing eyes. Her lips parted softly. "Perhaps she's lonely," Buffy replied breathlessly, taken aback by the strangers haunting voice and hypnotising eyes .
The man cocked a slide smirk taken by the young woman. "I have searched the world over for you. I have yearned for you."
Buffy shook herself from her transient state finding his statement odd. "That could not be, sir, since we have never been introduced."
"I know this to be true, that thou art, Lady Elizabeth Summers."
Taken aback, Buffy looked at the stranger with surprise and confusion. She did not expect him to know her since she had not once had ever seen him before. "How dost thou know my name?"
The smirking man stood silent.
"I really must be going." Buffy began to curtsy when the man reached out his hand and placed the tips of his fingers under her chin, lifting her head to look at him.
"I apologise," he bowed his head, "I failed to introduce myself to thee. I am Vlad Țepeș III."
Buffy swallowed with an uneasy feeling twisting in the pit of her stomach. She took a step back.
"Do not shy away from me, Lady Elizabeth. None of them deserve you," he said.
Buffy eyed him strangely.
"They are not worthy to be in your presence. They will never be able to understand, Lady Elizabeth."
Dracula nodded. "There is a fire inside of you. Thy spirit is bright, brilliant… blinding," his whispering voice hit a hypnotic crescendo, leaving Buffy stunted in a trance. "It is thy gift."
"My gift?" Buffy heard a voice in her ears.
Smiling slightly, the strange man trailed his fingers over her cheek. "Such a glorious gift."
Unblinking, Buffy licked her lips. "What is my gift?"
He looked deeply into her green eyes and slowly caressed his hand down her cheek and gently over her neck. "Death is thy gift."
Seemingly snapped out of the trance, Buffy took a step back, away from the man. Her lips tightly pressed together and her eyes piercing with annoyance. "Death is not a gift. And it is certainly not a gift of mine." She scowled.
"You think you know… what you are… what's to come… you haven't even begun," he whispered and tore his blue eyes from her neck to reach her face. "I can show," Dracula began to offer, "an eternity of placeth thou hast never seen and pleasures you have never felt. The darkness…" the tip of his index finger lifted her chin, "… is thy true nature."
Unable to free herself from the trance she was in, despite the voice in her brain screaming at her to run, Buffy slowly nodded her head. "Show me," she said.
The mysterious man cupped the side of her face with his hand. He took a step closer to her, forcing Buffy to take a step back. Her back pressed against the trunk of the large tree.
Lowering his head, hovering over the side of her neck, Dracula whispered, "I can feel your hunger."
Buffy's eyes slowly closed as the man's fanged mouth impaled deep into the artery of her neck.
Dracula pulled her around the tree, obscuring them from the party's view.
Releasing a gasp of pain, Buffy's eyes flew open as the pain grew more intense. Opening her mouth, Buffy was unable to cry out for help. She gasped as the agonising pain released into a bewildering euphoria of pleasure.
She could almost hear her beating heart slow to a stop in her chest as the blood rushed out of her body.
Removing his fangs from her neck, Dracula sliced a cut over the side of his wrist until blood welled up and began to drip into the grass.
"Drink," he told her and held his wrist to her mouth.
Near death, Buffy took his wrist in both of her hands and placed her mouth over the bloody wrist.
"Find it. The darkness." Dracula smiled, flashing his blonde stained fangs. "Find thy true nature."
Buffy weakly sucked the blood from his wrists until her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She lifelessly collapsed in Dracula's arms.
Back inside the dining hall, Owen moved around the afterparty in search of the woman he wanted to call his wife after tonight. He turned back to his mother and Joyce asking them where Buffy had wandered off too. The two middle-aged women shook their head and also began to look around the hall for Buffy Summers.
Three Days Later: Night
Cloaked in the darkness, the full moon lit the black nighttime sky.
A man in a long black cape stepped up to the headstone. His fingertips touched together making a steeple with his hands. He stood at the headstone, waiting patiently.
There was a small bunch of flowers lying over the fresh dirt in front of the headstone which read:
Elizabeth Anne Summers
1646 - 1666
Smirking to himself, excited for the eternity that awaited for them, Dracula could hear the rustling underneath the dirt.
A hand broke through the earth. Buffy slowly crawled her away out from the grave, gasping for air that was unneeded. She pulled herself from the dirt and noticed a hand holding out for her to take.
Taking the extended hand, Buffy pulled herself to her feet with Dracula's assistance.
Breathing hard, Buffy's eyes moved around the darkness with a shock. Confused as to what had happened. She remembered leaving the afterparty to get some air in the gardens then it all went black until she found herself buried in a coffee six feet under.
"Welcome to my world, Lady Elizabeth. It hurteth, I know, but it shall soon pass. Birth is always painful." Dracula said.
Dracula let his blue eyes dance around her. Even stained with dirt, his new Childe was just as mesmerizingly beautiful. "You have been reborn into thy gift. It took three days, which is quite long. I knew thy soul was pure."
"My soul?" Buffy whispered her question to herself. The words sounded foreign to her ears.
"The darkness is where thou wilt rule. The darkness is thy power."
Taking a step on wobbly legs, Buffy released the hold on Dracula's hand and stood up straight. She felt a string of untapped power run through her dead veins. She felt strong—very strong. But more importantly, the pain of emptiness and the suffocation she had felt throughout the course of her young life was gone. Free at last.
"You feel it… thy power," Dracula smiled with pride, watching his fledgling closely.
"Yes. I can feel it." Buffy faced him with a look of question on her face. "I can hear heartbeats…" the thumping of heart beats only a few miles from the county, "… and the blood coursing through their bodies… It's deafening." Buffy felt a stomach cramp of starvation. She faced her Sire and asked in a soft child-like voice, "Was it a dream?"
Dracula stepped towards and took her dirty hand at her side. He held her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over her knuckles, "It was not a dream." Dracula slowly circled her, toying the loose strands of her messy yellow hair. "You can now truly have whatever you desire, my Lady Elizabeth. The world will fall to their knees for you. What do you desire?"
A sinister smile tugged across Buffy's lips. She knew exactly what she desired.
Revello Manor: Dining Room
Hank and Joyce sat at either end of the long wooden table, eating their meals in complete silence.
Hearing Joyce's sniffles from crying for days from the loss of their daughter, Hank lifted his grey eyes from the plate he had been blankly staring at and glared at his wife.
Masking his sorrow for the loss of his only child with brash annoyance, Hank clenched his jaw. "Will you stop your feeble tears?" His voice was low and threatening. The anger he felt for the death of his daughter riddled his bones. Fear also weighed heavy on him now that his only ticket out of debt was six feet under.
Joyce quickly wiped her fallen tears, trying desperately to gain control of herself.
Hank was furious and stressed, which meant he'd need something or someone to take it out on. Never in his life did he violently touch a hair on Buffy's head in fear of ruining her beautiful face and unblemished skin. Joyce took the thrashes from her tyrant husband.
But Joyce couldn't protect Buffy from Hank's verbal abuse.
Buffy was a quiet child that blossomed into beauty in her early teenage years. It was then, Hank began conning rich families in payments for their son's to marry her handsome daughter. Once the fee was paid, Hank took Buffy and the money and high-tailed it out of there and went to the next family.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Startled, both Hank and Joyce looked into the direction of the front door with a frown on their faces.
"Who the bloody hell could that be at this hour?" Annoyed at the visitor, Hank tossed the fork onto the plate.
Joyce stood from the table and excited the large dining room.
Walking through the great hall leading to the front entry, the butler opened the door just as Joyce lifted her head with a gasp.
She paused mid-step and stared at her disheveled daughter standing on the other side of the doorway.
Quickly, Joyce crossed the distance to the front door.
For a long moment, they stared at one another without saying a word until Joyce suddenly wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. "Oh, my dear girl…" Joyce cried, "… My sweet Buffy."
"Joyce!" Hank's called out from the dining room. "Who the devil is it?"
Pulling herself slightly from the hug, Joyce cupped Buffy's face as tears glistened in her blue eyes. "Come in, my darling. Please, come in." Joyce grinned happily and wrapped her arms around Buffy again. "Grigg," Joyce addressed the butler, "please go and find MacClare, Lady Buffy would want a bath and new clothes."
"Right away, my lady," Grigg bowed his head and walked to the servants door to find the lady's maid.
"Joyce?" Hank stood at the entryway. His grey eyes widened in bewildered shock.
Joyce wrapped her arm around Buffy's shoulders and hugged her into her side. "It's a miracle. The Lord hath answered our prayers. She's back. Our little girl is back to save us from destitution. Praise be in the Highest!" Joyce pushed the fallen strand of Buffy's dirty hair behind her ear.
"Hello, Papa," Buffy smiled sweetly at Hank and took a step towards him.
Skeptical, Hank took a step backwards, weary of his resurrected daughter. There was something not quite right with her. For the life of him, Hank didn't know what was missing.
The daughter that he knew had a certain kind of 'light' in her. Her beautiful green eyes were always so vibrant with life but the eyes he looked into now were different. They were filled with nothing but an abyss of emptiness.
"I buried you." He said, glaring narrowly at the blonde standing in front of him. "How dost thou walk?"
Buffy looked him in the eye and said, "God's hand guided me through the darkness where I was lost. I wandered in the night and could not find you."
"You were touched by an angel." Joyce stared at her daughter with wide eyes of awe.
Slowly, Buffy turned her chin in Joyce's direction and paused. Buffy's green eyes hauntingly lingered on Joyce.
After a minute, Joyce uncomfortably shifted on her feet as a chill shot straight down her spine. The middle aged woman took a small step back, away from her daughter.
"No," Buffy replied.
Joyce took another step backwards, moving towards Hank.
"I've been touched by the Devil." Buffy turned her chin back to her father wearing her true demonic features.
Hank and Joyce yelped with fright and stumbled backwards into the dinning room trying to get away from their demonic daughter.
Buffy flashed them a fanged tooth smile, enjoying the melody of their racing hearts.
"Be gone, unclean thing!" Hank threw whatever was near him at Buffy. "A demon is unwelcome in a house loyal to our saviour, Jesus Christ!" He shouted as if his words would magically eject Buffy from the home. Hank then ripped a wooden crucifix from the wall and held it into Buffy's face.
Calm and unaffected, Buffy slowly walked into the dinning room and followed her mother and father into the next room.
Hank grabbed a knife on the table and charged at his daughter.
Buffy caught him by with a hand wrapped around his throat. "You can't hurt me anymore, my dear papa. You can't use me or make me a whore." She clenched her hand tighter around Hank's neck, listening to his gasps for oxygen. "You shan't hurt anyone again." Buffy dropped her hand away.
Hank plummeted to the ground with a thud.
Crawling away against the wall where Joyce huddled and cried, he wrapped his arm around his wife and they began to recite, "Our father which art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in Heaven…"
Buffy tilted her head to the side and watched them as they prayed to their Lord. She smiled.
Moving closer to her parents, Buffy reached out a hand and grabbed Joyce by her hair, forcing her onto her feet.
"An-an-and lead us not into t-temptation, but deliver us from evil..." Joyce continued to recite with a shaky voice terrified of her impending death, "... and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors…"
Buffy grinned, "Oh my dear mama, why dost thou look so lachrymose?"
Joyce screamed as Buffy sank her fangs into her neck. The taste of the hot blood being sucked out from her mother's body felt euphoric.
Buffy felt strong and powerful as her starved body regenerated its strength.
She could hear Joyce's heartbeat stop.
Ripping her fangs out, Buffy tossed Joyce's dead body aside and looked down at her father.
"Abomination!" Hank screamed out, terrified for his own life.
"You are a weak little man, thou art nothing but a waste on this earth." Buffy said. "Thou hast never deserved to live, my dear papa." Buffy knelt down in front of Hank and smiled at him sweetly.
Hank crossed himself again, "I pray to thee, my Holy Saviour. Give me strength and protection, Father."
Buffy lifted her eyes to the ceiling and waited for the act of God's hand upon her but nothing came.
She lowered her gaze back down to Hank and smirked, "Hm, I fear He doth not hear you." Buffy held up her finger, pretending that she heard a sound but it was nothing. "God hath never looked at this house. He hath been ignoring us for a long time. If He was listening to my prayers, well, then, God would have killed you long ago, but, alas, it is what I must do."
Grabbing Hank by the back of his head, Buffy violently bit into the column of his neck and felt delighted by his cries of agony.
Buffy jerked Hank's head to the side when it snapped from the force.
Buffy removed her mouth from Hank's neck then shoved his body away. Moving to her feet, Buffy stared down at her dead parents.
Tilting her head slightly to the side, Buffy noticed the knife on the floor. She bent down and picked it up from the floor and slowly approached her father with an idea in her mind.
Stepping back to observe her work, Buffy squinted her eyes and smiled with satisfaction.
"Thy beauty only becometh more breathtaking." Dracula appeared behind Buffy, looking over the display left out in the centre of the town square for all to see once the sun rises.
"I felt inspired," Buffy said, pressing her back against his front as his arm slowly wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. Tilting her chin up to look at him, Buffy fell into the depths of his blue eyes that shined under the bright moonlight.
Slowly lowering his head, Dracula gently brushed his lips over hers in a kiss that promised her an eternity of adventures and wonderment.
Smiling to the new undead life that had been gifted to her, Buffy buried herself in his arms wrapped around her.
Together they stared at the display in front of them.
The blood still dripping out from the decapitated bodies diced apart and strategically laid on the ground slipped between the cracks and crevices of the cobble stones. Above the bodies were two heads impaled onto two different spikes.
Reaching for Buffy's hand, Dracula turned her attention back to him. She watched as his lips brushed over her knuckles. "Come, creația mea întunecată (my dark creation), sunrise is upon us." He held out his elbow for her to take.
Buffy accepted his hand and let him wrap it around his elbow.
In the horizon, Buffy could see the sun beginning to rise. Excitement flowed through her deadened veins though she wished she could witness the reactions of the people to see her artistic creation.
Revello Manor: Master Bedroom
The scent of the early morning sunrise had a certain damp smell to it, Buffy discovered lying in bed staring at the thick black curtains covering the large windows. She felt bored and much too excited to sleep, wishing that she could see the town's reaction to her horrific display. She wanted to hear their blood curdling screams and bask in their expressions of horror.
Taking a deep unnecessary breath, a habit she doubted she'd ever stop, Buffy sat up in the four-poster bed. The red bedsheet fell from her naked body. Her eyes lifted to the ornate fanciful carvings in the wood which was also decorated by a colourful trim and luxurious heavy fabric curtains to enclose the bed on all four sides.
Pushing her long tousled blonde hair out of her face, Buffy's eyes went to her sire asleep beside her. The bed sheet covered up to his waist. His white skin was pale, he looked dead unlike her. She looked down at her arms noting that her skin kept its sun-kissed hue. Buffy wondered if it would fade in time.
Her gaze went back to her sire turned lover. Dracula was quite handsome with high and defined cheekbones, dark low hanging brows, and full puckered lips. Dracula was thin but athletically built with defined outlines of muscles. Buffy felt a sudden urge to push the strands of his long black hair off of his forehead but she refrained.
Carefully, Buffy got out of the bed and grabbed a thin silk kimono robe. She walked across the large master bedroom putting on the robe but did not tie its belt around her waist; she didn't care about her exposed nude body.
Standing at the black curtains, Buffy could hear a muddle of high pitch screams from the few miles they were away. A joyous feeling fluttered her unbeating heart and a small satisfied smile crossed her heart-shaped lips.
Wanting to be out there just to witness other's 'enjoying' her creation, Buffy slowly extended her hand towards the curtains enticed to draw them back and look to the town below.
Her hand nearly drew back the black curtain when another hand, a much larger masculine hand wrapped over hers.
"What art thou doing?" Dracula whispered into her ear and pushed back her long hair off of one shoulder and began to kiss it.
"I just want to see them."
With perfect understanding, Dracula slowly pulled her hand and turned Buffy to him. He stood completely nude behind her but all Buffy could see was the hypnotic brightness of his blue eyes.
"Thou wilt be known throughout the world," he told her sweetly. "This is the beginning of a new Renaissance, Lady Elizabeth. And thou wilt be the prominent artist that will lead it." Dracula's hand cupped her cheek and let the pad of his thumb gently glide over her cheekbone. "There will be no stopping you."
Fallen into the seduction of his lithe Romanian accent and straight into the depths of his blue eyes, Buffy was powerless to not want him. She wanted to show her every luxury of the world. She wanted his hands to touch all over her body and feel him deep inside of her.
The world of sex was also an entirely new experience. She didn't realise how much she'd crave for it once having it. Perhaps it was womanhood finally catching up with her or perhaps it was her sire-lover that was showing her this new otherworld of euphoric climaxes and the art of seduction or perhaps it was the thrill of fucking whoever she wanted in the face of God.
She took a step closer to him and felt a shiver shoot through her entire cold dead body when his hand slipped inside of her kimono robe wrapping around her back. Burying her fingers into his jet-black hair, Buffy shifted to tips of her toes and lowered his head downward to meet her parted lips that yearned to taste his kiss.
Their kiss was deep and wet. Dracula pulled her tighter into his naked body and pushed off the kimono that failed to cover her anyway. Buffy jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist as she scratched her nails over his scalp that made him hiss with a side smile.
He carried her across the bedroom to the large chamber bed and laid her down. Dracula settled between her legs and violently buried his cock into her body.
Enjoying the pain, Buffy's nails dug deeper in his skin. Imagining the tears and petrified horror from the townies below aroused the fledgling vampire. She wanted to wreak havoc in her former puritan world, which had never been kind to her.
5 Days Later
Church: Midnight Mass
"We are being attacked!" Puritan Minister, John Worthington stood at the wooden podium that looked down at the God-fearing congregation. "Witches are amongst us! Every night there are liveth taken by these Satanic pagan worshipers. First, Satan's whores take the life of our God-loving and pure soul daughter, Lady Elizabeth Anne Summers. Three days later, her beloved parents, Hank Summers, 1st Earl of Revello and Joyce Summers, Countess of Revello are mutilated and beheaded and drained of blood and put on display for us all to see as a warning to us that evil is here!" He gripped the sides of the podium tightly. "For five days there are new bodies lain dead at the steppeth of our house of the Lord to what?—Taunt us? Warn us? It is a sign we all must see! The witches are here and Satan is nigh! Who shall be next?" He asked.
The congregation murmured to one another in agreement now wondering if the evil Witches had taken such a beautiful young woman before her time.
"Traileth of the witches' evils are shown from here, in our peaceful and puritan town all the way up to Yorkshire. When will it stop!" John banged his fist on the podium. "We must get rid of the evils of the Devil to save our immortal souls and the souls that are no longer with these devilish fiends."
John panted initiated in anger and fear for the evil lurking in the shadows. "I have sent word to one man—the only man that can help us. He shall separate the good from the wicked—The guilty from the innocent."
The doors of the church opened. The congregation turned to face the stranger.
A tall man with dark short curly hair and a dark sparse beard stood at the doors tugging his leather glove tighter over his hand holding the Bible. Dressed in a white collared shirt, a white cravat, black vest, long frock coat, and cape. His dark brows hung low over, his beady blue eyes. He stood confidently despite his young age. He was riding the coattails of his recent victory in Germany.
"And they shall receive their trial before the greatest and most merciful of judges," said Reverend Increase Mather with a despotic and cold voice. "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in Heaven and glory in the highest."