By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
Copyright © June 6, 2004 L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
All Rights Reserved c/s
Although a great fan of many of the stories that were in the market at the time, I noticed that there seemed to be very little lesbian
representation within the genre. This story was my way of attempting to bring lesbians into the gothic horror myth, however,
life must have taken over and I never finished writing this little tale. As the years passed, I quickly forgot about it until one recent
weekend when I happened upon it again. After reading through the pages, I quickly realized that I had a complete story, sans the
final chapter. I can’t remember why I never finished it but I decided that since it was almost complete, I should go ahead and
rework it. So I took it out and, forgive the phrase, “revamped” it for the year 2004. What you are about to read is the first
chapter of an entirely revised version of an original story I wrote back in the 80’s. Since reworking this little tale, I have signed
a contract with Limitless Dare 2 Dream Publishing ( http://www.limitlessd2d.net/ ) and look forward to turning the entire tale
over to them as soon it is completely edited.
Sexually explicit material: This is a vampire tale, so I guarantee that in future chapters, there will be explicit lesbian scenes,
some might even border s/m, and others will dive into s/m with full force, excuse the pun ;-) As with all of my stories, I only
include it when necessary for the characters or plot. If any of this is upsetting to you, please don’t send me hate mail, because I
have warned you.
Let me know what you think of this little vampire tale, and if you’d be interested in reading more: CrystalMichallet@yahoo.com
I. Madame Tuscany
A blanket of darkness fell over the downtown high-rise buildings. In the center of this sprawling metropolis stood historical
homes. While some lay in ruins and disrepair, others were well maintained, their neatly manicured lawns a stark contrast to the
dilapidated abodes that speckled the cityscape. The scattering of Victorian houses that were occupied became suddenly aglow
with light. High above in the heavens, a myriad of stars twinkled in a steady cadence. As night covered the city, a luminous
glow emanated from the yellow street lamps.
San Madrone, California was not unlike many growing cities. By day the sun-loving mortals moved in a haphazard manner, their
numbers clogging the already congested byways and main streets. With seemingly little care for those around them, they each
attended to their own affairs. Yet when the sun vanished from the sky and the darkness of night bathed the city in a dark sea of
gloom, another form of life emerged. While the living tucked themselves safely away behind their locked doors, the children of
the night awoke to claim the darkness as their own.
Few humans knew about the mystic world of darkness. Those who did kept the secret safely guarded from outsiders. Like
diligent centurions guarding their leaders, the few chosen maintained their silence. With their silence and devotion they protected
their masters’ existences. By their loyalty, they earned a wealth of benefits. Those who turned on their masters quickly learned
the price for their betrayal because every servant knew that the clan of the Night People was vast in numbers and sparing with
forgiveness.
Throughout the city, the well-rehearsed routine of waking began. From the depths of their crypts, the children of the night
awoke from their deep slumber. As the moon hung in the sky and the songs of the crickets ascended through the crisp cool air,
the clan of the night arose from their safe entombments. Like a patient newly awoken from a deep coma, they moved in slow,
stiff movements.
In a well-maintained Victorian mansion deep in the heart of the city lived the clan matriarch. With wizened features and leathery
flesh, Madame Tuscany was the last in the house to awaken from her sleep. While the rest of her kin moved about the house,
she lay unmoving in the safe confinement of her encasement; her head nestled securely on the soft silk pillow. Around her fragile
looking body was the elegant structure lined with velvety luxurious fabric. Below her was the thick, goose down feather bedding.
Slowly, slowly her mind soared through the dreams of the aged. She saw the image of her childhood. So young and innocent,
so pure of heart as she danced in the sun before the sound of her mother’s voice called her. There was no time for play right
now, her mother had said. No, among the Tenochcas there was no time to play, especially not today.
While the old woman dreamed, she tried to remember her real name, the name at her birth. But try as she might, this part of her
life seemed to all but vanish. And why wouldn’t it? Although she did not know it at the time, it was to be the last time that she
would ever see her family. The smiling faces of her little brothers and sisters, the voice of her mother as she sang a melodic
song while grinding the maize in the lava stone mocahete would never again be seen nor heard because the invaders had arrived.
Like savage animals, they raided her father’s Chinampas; the wet garden marshes were no obstacles to the creatures that they
rode. Once they took what they wanted, they burned the remaining maize, leaving nothing for the village to live on.
In her sleep, the aged matriarch winced at the images of that time from long ago. The smell of the burning village, the sound of
women and children weeping could never be wiped from her memory. She would never forget the sight of her people as they
were herded like animals into one area. While the gods from the sea gloated, the macehualles, the common people, were forced
to give all that they had – including their children. In the manner of a tlacatecuhtli, a chief of man, the ruler of the invaders,
Cortez, divided the people and distributed them to his men. Long before she was ready for marriage, she had been given to a
man who would rob her of everything - Her family, her happiness, her maidenhead, and later, her mortal life. After having
everything taken from her, how then could she be expected to remember her first name?
Despite the trauma, there were certain memories that she did not forget. Although she was born into a common class, she
always remembered that she was a descendent of the Tenochcas, a long line of proud people. While they did not seek war,
neither were they afraid to fight, and this is how she had survived. Through the years of toiling for the man who would be her
husband, she kept her memories alive. As time progressed, she lived through his beatings. Through the many labors of birthing
his children, she never forgot who she was or where she came from. Not even when she began to suffer with age did she allow
him to break her spirit, and cruel as he was, he cursed her with the only thing he had left – he gave her immortal life. Despite her
new existence, she retained her inner peace and waited for the right time to seek her revenge.
Madame Tuscany. This was not the name of her birth but a title that he had given her. She had discovered many years later that
it was not even his. Like the pompous man that he was, he donned the surname of the city of his birth – a city that had run him
out for the many transgressions he had committed against the citizens. So it had become his surname and then eventually hers.
As far as anyone knew, she was the oldest night person residing on the west coast. If she had been taken at a younger age the
title might not have been a burden to her, but like an evil trickster her husband, her initiator, took her mortality when her body
was well beyond its prime. Although she thought that her tormentor would finally allow her to pass into the twilight of her years
and end his abuse, he had not. So horrid was he that he had planned to mistreat and abuse her for the rest of eternity.
She could not remember the exact year when his life as a mortal ended. All she knew was that in between his beatings and
curses, he would ride away for many days at a time. Sometime after their ninth child was born, he returned late one night a
changed man. His warm flesh was now cold to the touch and his olive complexion gave way to the ashen color of the dead.
The retched man would no longer walk in the sun and would sleep the day away. Had she known better, she would have realized
that he had been cursed, and she would have taken her children as far away as she could.
At the memory of his final demise, the corners of her lips curved into a slight smile. Even after being initiated into the darkness,
he would give her no peace. Just as he did in life, he continued the beatings through their immortality. It took many years and
the passing of a few generations, before she could take it no more. After the final beating, she waited until he left their home.
Once alone, she crept down to his coffin and with a small, hand-held drill, she bore holes in the top and side wood panels.
Although they were large enough to be seen, she knew that when he returned after a night of drunken debauchery, he would not
notice the change. All that remained was for her to wait for his return. When he retreated to his private chamber, she made her
move. She was so stealthy that he never woke from his sleep. Before the dawning of the early morning sun, she removed all of
the curtains that abated the searing rays. If she had any doubts about her plan, they all vanished as she lay down to sleep the day
away. The
sudden sounds of his screaming pain roused the mortal house servants to his side. But by then, it was too late. Nothing would
bring him back from the smoldering ashes that were left. After her husband met with his unfortunate demise all servants were
given the opportunity to leave. While some left to find their own ways in the world, many had remained to care for the aged
matriarch and earned a new found respect.
Yes, Madame Tuscany had reason to smile on that day, not only had she liberated herself from her tormentor, but she became a
wealthy widow who was now free to move wherever she wished. This is how she ended up in San Madrone. She and a few of
her mortal offspring moved here with their servants when the land was still open and free. Preferring to remain in the shadows,
she kept to her own affairs as her progeny continued to live around her. While the generations may have passed, for the elder
lady, nothing mattered except the care and protection of her family, both the living and the un-dead.
As she lay safely entombed in the cocoon of sleep, her dreams took her down a strange path. Like visions of the future and the
past, the images of her clan swirled past her. She recognized her children’s familiar faces. With a slight smile the elder watched
their predictable actions as they dealt with the mortal world. Just as she felt a dark foreboding shadow, she saw the image of a
Gypsy soothsayer entering her visions. Although Madame Tuscany knew that the mysterious dark haired woman was not to be
feared, she could not help the shiver that crossed her spine. Nowhere in her past had she ever known doom to not follow in the
wake of this Gypsy woman. The matriarch feared that this enigmatic woman could hold a power over their clan’s future.
Fearful, she pushed the Gypsy woman’s image from her mind and turned her concentration to the visions of her immortal
children. The sleeping elder inwardly smiled when she saw her cherished granddaughter. Like a wayward nymph, the child
seduced her prey then devoured them, only to take her insatiable needs back to her two lovers. Madame Tuscany also saw the
images of her other children of the night. She watched the rebellious women riding through town on their noisy motorcycles.
Hoping to send fear into the hearts of mortals, they toyed with their prey before devouring the source of life.
Through the diverse personalities of her children, there were two who were not like the others. Anecita and Briannon were as
different as night and day, yet they were alike in so many ways. Neither one held a desire to hunt, nor did they take pride in the
kill. In Madame Tuscany’s opinion they were too sensitive for this way of life. It was their compassion that would help them
cope with the awesome responsibility of holding the clan together. The grande dame knew that of all her children, she could
depend on her two pseudo-daughters to unite the family as one.
Deep within her dream state, the matriarch watched the two women move through their separate lives. Despite their repulsion
for the kill, they had each lived long lives. Where one sated her hunger with a willing lover, the other took only those who
brought pain to mortals.
Through the vast images of her children, she saw loyal mortals weaving in and out of their lives. As she watched them protect
the children of the night, she was inwardly pleased at their devotion. Madame Tuscany knew that, were it not for these humans,
the Night People would not have survived through the turbulent eras of the world.
Before the dreams could progress, the vivid image of the Gypsy Queen returned to her consciousness. As the nightmare
suddenly gripped her heart, the dark, mysterious woman beckoned to her, calling her to come near. Filled with fear, the elderly
woman inhaled deeply as she tried in vain to pull free from the nightmarish scenes, but failed miserably. Within this premonition,
the clear vision gripped her sleeping dreams. Crystal clear, it repeated over and over in a never-ending image. In this vision of
the future, she saw the clear night sky overhead. Below the blanket of darkness were the dense trees that surrounded a forest
glade. In the center of the clearing her daughters stood in a perfect circle. She could not see their individual faces, but felt their
spirits close at hand. They stood in solemn silence gathering for one last time as they mourned a death.
Madame Tuscany never saw herself in the dream, however she knew her end was near. Although the aged matriarch held no
malice toward the strange newcomer, she felt frightened at her presence. Within the dream she felt the ominous power
emanating from the Gypsy woman and like an omen, her sister of the night attempted to convey an unspoken message. If all she
had experienced was the dream, Madame Tuscany might have dismissed the prevailing sense of doom, but the presence of the
stranger, the sound of her laughter, the soft and foreboding voice calling out to the old woman heightened her fears.
The Gypsy’s face swirled past her like a stalker in the night. The exotic woman’s long dark hair covered her white peasant
blouse. In the far off distance, the jingle jangle of the mysterious woman’s jewelry rang softly as her long wavy hair swirled in
the darkness to the rhythm of her dancing. Each time the strange woman smiled at the matriarch, her sharp, pointed canine teeth
glinted in the moonlight. The vision she shared was chaotic, yet very vivid in details. When the dream finally ended, Madame
Tuscany knew that her beloved daughter, Briannon, would leave the family in search of an unobtainable soul and this single act
would lead to the family’s demise.
Without Briannon’s presence how will the clan remain intact? The thought echoed through her dream.
As she moved from a dreaming state to wakefulness, she felt the years of her existence creeping through her body. Yes, she
was far too old to be living this life. But try as she might, the courage to end it was not within her. So rather than dwell too
much on her eternal life, she focused on her family and turned her attention to the children of the night. As her eyes opened
from sleep, she saw the diffused light of her crypt seeping past the lid as it began to recede. The slight sound of hinges
squeaking echoed in the room, and in a slow, almost methodical manner the clan matriarch rose with the stiffness of age from
her polished mahogany coffin.
Ordinarily, the aches and pains of a mortal body would have disappeared upon initiation, but the symptoms of her advancing age
were so severe that they followed her into her new existence. Although some of the night children told her the pains were merely
phantoms in her mind, to her, they felt real. The sharp ache in her bones and the sound of her knees popping with each move
she made were as genuine as the two razor incisors that remained after her husband’s initiation. No, nothing could convince her
that the pain of age she felt was anything but real.
By her side she felt the gentle touch of her servant, Magdalena. Glancing at the young woman, Madame Tuscany smiled as she
accepted the mortal’s help. Magdalena’s family had been in her service for many generations. While some moved on to their
own lives, this young woman chose to remain. Her loyalty and faithfulness were attributes that the matriarch would never forget.
With tenderness, the lithe servant helped her into a robe. Feeble hands too gnarled with age tried to tie the garment closed and
fumbled with the cord. With an ever-patient smile, Magdalena gently brushed the old woman’s hands away, and then easily tied
the cord into a loose knot. At such an easy feat, the older woman smiled her thanks as she gently patted her servant’s shoulder.
“Such a sweet girl for taking such good care of me,” her voice, deep with age, spoke softly.
“It is my pleasure, Madame. After all, you take care of all of us,” the young mortal replied as she held her elbow out.
