Post by Anniese Katherine Tremaine on Jul 22, 2012 11:52:41 GMT -7
anniese k. tremaine
345. FEMALE. VAMPIRE. STRAIGHT.
Bits and pieces of my human life are vague and have slipped from me, but I suppose that can be expected when you find yourself alive as long as I have been, though I don’t feel as though alive isn’t an appropriate word to use when describing my life for the last three hundred and twenty-five years.
Bravo to you if you were able to understand the figures there. For those whom couldn’t figure that out, I would have been twenty when my mortal life ended.
Then it was 1665 England, and the world held much more beauty than it does now after the population grew along with the technologies. Though, don’t get me wrong, life itself wasn‘t beautiful nor simple. Back then as a female you were degraded and traded like cattle, and even then I wasn’t one to comply with the rules of the time. My family you could say was of the middle class as my father was a blacksmith. We had money, and lived comfortably enough. When I was sixteen though, my parents were stolen from me by the plague and our assets were sold due to my refusal to marry, so I was left homeless. I was stubborn and did not want to conform to what these beastly men expected of me, and took the beating that I received from speaking out against them.
It took some time, but I worked my way up in the world in a sense by stealing from sleeping bums or drunkards. My streak as a thief caught the eye of what you’d call a brothel, a whore house. I had made a name for myself on the streets enough to catch the attention of a French woman that ran the establishment, Madame Genevieve. I remember the woman like I had just spoken to her yesterday, she smelt strongly of the lavender oils a lot of the women used and had polished skin that looked of porcelain. Her eyes were cold but danced with mischief, there was something off putting about her but she had approached me one warm night in July with an offer that I wasn’t able to refuse, and she welcomed me with open arms.
That was when I went from Annie, to Anniese Katherine. Genevieve along with other girls the filled the lavish home had advised me to change it to something that was more fitting of womanhood, something that gave me an edge of mystery and allure. Now my profession to this day has never been something that is looked highly upon, and it wasn’t then either unless you were a nobleman that had enough money to toss around to afford a night with one of us. Back then, we were still courted and treated like the ladies we were by most of the men. I remember there was one man that I was rather fond of, he the son of the duke. His father was a man that could be found regularly escorting one of our ladies around town, and one night his father dragged him along and gave him his pick of the women. I was nineteen at this point, and he looked to be no more than twenty-three. He intrigued me in a way I have never been able to pinpoint. I remember that before he’d had an opportunity to make his choice, I forced myself into his vision, I have never been one to shy away from something I want. At that moment, he was all I wanted.
The thought of marriage never appealed to me, nor children. I was a free spirit, if you will, and this career choice seemed to give me the things I wanted. Love was a silly idea, and it wasn’t something many experienced at that day in age. At the start of our ‘relationship’ everything was very sexual, that’s what my purpose was, and I enjoyed it, it gave me a sense of control I didn’t before. But soon enough, I found myself falling for the young duke-to-be. He took me all over, there was a time that we traveled to London, to his home in the countryside, all over. I was showered with lavish gifts, fine dresses and jewels. I think there was a point that I had actually forgotten I was being paid for my company, and that is when I think I figured out what love was.
That was the only time I’ve loved another.
It was cruel how he was taken from me, and I will never forget that night.
It was fall, and the nights were starting to grow colder. The young duke had taken me to the infamous play by William Shakespeare called Romeo and Juliet. I was fond of the theatre, and still am, but there has never been a performance that will ever rival that one. We were leaving the theatre and the night overall was fairly quiet, and there was a faint scream off in the distance, followed by many more. Soon enough, it looked like a massacre. There were people, or so I thought t hey were, attacking others in the town with blood dripping from their mouths making them look like rabid animals.
I remember running, as fast as my feet would carry me on the cobblestone and dirt streets. I had tripped and fallen, and glanced back to see the young duke amongst other men aiding him in fighting back whomever these people were. Everything passed before my eyes too quickly for my memory to accurately recall at this point, but I do remember some man attacking me. He had grabbed me from behind with a cold, hard grip and pulled my head back by a handful of hair. I remember screaming until my voice cracked and felt the sharp pain of him biting my neck, that’s when I realized that the lore of vampires mustn’t have been just a fairytale. The young duke ran to my aid, struggling to get through the masses of people and tried to fight the man off me. It’s all so scattered now, but I remember falling to the ground and having a hard time keeping conscious, and everything went black for awhile. I was cold, and it was quiet when I managed to wake. I could hear the faint crackle of fires that still engulfed some homes and saw just a few people still running through the deserted streets. I heard a cough, and saw my young love a few feet from me, a dark pool around him. It took all I could muster to crawl over to him and pull his head into my lap, and all I remember was stroking his hair and face, whispering sweet nothings til he stopped breathing. Needless to say, he died in my arms that night, we both died.
Becoming a vampire was the easier part, dealing with my anger and hurt was difficult. It turned out that Madame Genevieve was a vampire, as were a few of the girls and a lot of the men that came in paid them extra for their blood. I was young, reckless and strong, and Madame Genevieve underestimated me. That was the cause of her death, and I didn’t really care whom that angered but I ended up running from that town and have yet to ever return even after all of this time.
Over the last few hundred years I spent a great deal of time wandering Europe til I found myself bored, and established myself in America. I remember the huge fuss the humans were making of the developments there, and figured I’d follow the trend and the food. It took some time getting myself established and settled in, and I’ve been here for quite some time. I haven’t found myself growing bored of the people, nor has my curiosity faded from those other creatures that lurk in this area.
Now I am what you’d call an escort, and a damn good one at that. I like to think of myself as a modern day Madame Genevieve with my own girls working beneath me, and I do treat them with a respect that was lacking from the profession when I first started in this business. I have a great many respected, powerful, and well known clients that visit my bed regularly or call upon me. Why abandon something that you’re used to, and good with?
I’m ‘young’, successful, and powerful in my own regard. I have loved once, died long ago, and have made my way here without issue, nor will I ever let someone stop me from continuing down my path.
Bravo to you if you were able to understand the figures there. For those whom couldn’t figure that out, I would have been twenty when my mortal life ended.
Then it was 1665 England, and the world held much more beauty than it does now after the population grew along with the technologies. Though, don’t get me wrong, life itself wasn‘t beautiful nor simple. Back then as a female you were degraded and traded like cattle, and even then I wasn’t one to comply with the rules of the time. My family you could say was of the middle class as my father was a blacksmith. We had money, and lived comfortably enough. When I was sixteen though, my parents were stolen from me by the plague and our assets were sold due to my refusal to marry, so I was left homeless. I was stubborn and did not want to conform to what these beastly men expected of me, and took the beating that I received from speaking out against them.
It took some time, but I worked my way up in the world in a sense by stealing from sleeping bums or drunkards. My streak as a thief caught the eye of what you’d call a brothel, a whore house. I had made a name for myself on the streets enough to catch the attention of a French woman that ran the establishment, Madame Genevieve. I remember the woman like I had just spoken to her yesterday, she smelt strongly of the lavender oils a lot of the women used and had polished skin that looked of porcelain. Her eyes were cold but danced with mischief, there was something off putting about her but she had approached me one warm night in July with an offer that I wasn’t able to refuse, and she welcomed me with open arms.
That was when I went from Annie, to Anniese Katherine. Genevieve along with other girls the filled the lavish home had advised me to change it to something that was more fitting of womanhood, something that gave me an edge of mystery and allure. Now my profession to this day has never been something that is looked highly upon, and it wasn’t then either unless you were a nobleman that had enough money to toss around to afford a night with one of us. Back then, we were still courted and treated like the ladies we were by most of the men. I remember there was one man that I was rather fond of, he the son of the duke. His father was a man that could be found regularly escorting one of our ladies around town, and one night his father dragged him along and gave him his pick of the women. I was nineteen at this point, and he looked to be no more than twenty-three. He intrigued me in a way I have never been able to pinpoint. I remember that before he’d had an opportunity to make his choice, I forced myself into his vision, I have never been one to shy away from something I want. At that moment, he was all I wanted.
The thought of marriage never appealed to me, nor children. I was a free spirit, if you will, and this career choice seemed to give me the things I wanted. Love was a silly idea, and it wasn’t something many experienced at that day in age. At the start of our ‘relationship’ everything was very sexual, that’s what my purpose was, and I enjoyed it, it gave me a sense of control I didn’t before. But soon enough, I found myself falling for the young duke-to-be. He took me all over, there was a time that we traveled to London, to his home in the countryside, all over. I was showered with lavish gifts, fine dresses and jewels. I think there was a point that I had actually forgotten I was being paid for my company, and that is when I think I figured out what love was.
That was the only time I’ve loved another.
It was cruel how he was taken from me, and I will never forget that night.
It was fall, and the nights were starting to grow colder. The young duke had taken me to the infamous play by William Shakespeare called Romeo and Juliet. I was fond of the theatre, and still am, but there has never been a performance that will ever rival that one. We were leaving the theatre and the night overall was fairly quiet, and there was a faint scream off in the distance, followed by many more. Soon enough, it looked like a massacre. There were people, or so I thought t hey were, attacking others in the town with blood dripping from their mouths making them look like rabid animals.
I remember running, as fast as my feet would carry me on the cobblestone and dirt streets. I had tripped and fallen, and glanced back to see the young duke amongst other men aiding him in fighting back whomever these people were. Everything passed before my eyes too quickly for my memory to accurately recall at this point, but I do remember some man attacking me. He had grabbed me from behind with a cold, hard grip and pulled my head back by a handful of hair. I remember screaming until my voice cracked and felt the sharp pain of him biting my neck, that’s when I realized that the lore of vampires mustn’t have been just a fairytale. The young duke ran to my aid, struggling to get through the masses of people and tried to fight the man off me. It’s all so scattered now, but I remember falling to the ground and having a hard time keeping conscious, and everything went black for awhile. I was cold, and it was quiet when I managed to wake. I could hear the faint crackle of fires that still engulfed some homes and saw just a few people still running through the deserted streets. I heard a cough, and saw my young love a few feet from me, a dark pool around him. It took all I could muster to crawl over to him and pull his head into my lap, and all I remember was stroking his hair and face, whispering sweet nothings til he stopped breathing. Needless to say, he died in my arms that night, we both died.
Becoming a vampire was the easier part, dealing with my anger and hurt was difficult. It turned out that Madame Genevieve was a vampire, as were a few of the girls and a lot of the men that came in paid them extra for their blood. I was young, reckless and strong, and Madame Genevieve underestimated me. That was the cause of her death, and I didn’t really care whom that angered but I ended up running from that town and have yet to ever return even after all of this time.
Over the last few hundred years I spent a great deal of time wandering Europe til I found myself bored, and established myself in America. I remember the huge fuss the humans were making of the developments there, and figured I’d follow the trend and the food. It took some time getting myself established and settled in, and I’ve been here for quite some time. I haven’t found myself growing bored of the people, nor has my curiosity faded from those other creatures that lurk in this area.
Now I am what you’d call an escort, and a damn good one at that. I like to think of myself as a modern day Madame Genevieve with my own girls working beneath me, and I do treat them with a respect that was lacking from the profession when I first started in this business. I have a great many respected, powerful, and well known clients that visit my bed regularly or call upon me. Why abandon something that you’re used to, and good with?
I’m ‘young’, successful, and powerful in my own regard. I have loved once, died long ago, and have made my way here without issue, nor will I ever let someone stop me from continuing down my path.
PO - ADMIN EDIT - AMBER HEARD.
