Blighted Hope

“Marjorie,” Kolya admonished. “You wouldn’t. I’d sit outside on the street and cry and scare away all of your customers until you found it in your heart to forgive me and supply me with sweetbreads once more.” Then, as Marjorie’s smirk disappeared, his own formed- he took a wicked delight in making her blush. I see. He couldn’t help but laugh, and then had to pause in his work to laugh some more at her talk of parts to play. “Oh, my, are you saying you play with your... part often?” His tone was a mesh of amusement and faux- scandal, and he couldn’t help but laugh even more at his own terrible joke. “I suppose it’s always the ones that seem most innocent, isn’t it?” He sighed, bit down on a lower lip and tried to busy himself with the bodice of the gown once more, an amused smile still on his face as he attempted to keep himself from cracking up again. 

“Few things are as disappointing as seeing something you put your heart into go unappreciated,” Kolya agreed, commiserating. “Really?” He jerked his head around, eyes fixing on the basket. If he inhaled deeply, he could smell something fantastic- Not yet. Later, during his next break or whenever there wasn’t any risk of a crumb making it on to the clothes. “Thank you,” Kolya sang. “You’re the best.” He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her description of her sire. It was always disorienting- so many Cupiditas had such good relationships with theirs, to hear about other bloodlines having tenuous relationships always mystified him. He opened his mouth to offer sympathy, but instead jabbed his needle right into his finger as she dropped the name of her sire. He yelped, jerking the hand away before the welling blood could drip onto the coat, and stuck his finger in his mouth, turning wide, surprised eyes on Marjorie. He withdrew the finger with a pop, shook his hand in the air. “Philippe?” Kolya questioned. “Blonde Philippe? The one with the pretty eyes?” He blurted. Not that he knew of any other residing in this town. His brain was just struggling to comprehend this, fit the two together, Marjorie’s mysterious, absent sire and Philippe. What? Not that he knew the guy well, but goodness, what a surprise. “He doesn’t seem very cross to me?” Kolya wondered aloud. “I mean… when we first met, the first thing he did was imply I was rude, but…” He shrugged. “Aside from that, he’s been very nice. To me, at least. Why was he angry?” He questioned, and then stopped short. “You know you don’t have to answer that,” He reminded, inspecting her face for any signal that they should switch topics. He was curious, but above all else, Marjorie was his friend. He liked poking fun at her, but he didn’t want to actually make her feel bad. “We can talk about something else if you’d rather.”

Her eyes widen as she inhaled through her teeth, her cheeks blazing red from embarrassment. Marjorie wished she could keep her expression stone faced whenever Kolya teased her. But she couldn’t help to feel a little flustered with this sort of talk. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what sex was. She had experience in what men liked in bed. However, the very idea of embracing one’s desires and fantasies made her blush excessively. With a vigorous shake of her head, she cupped her cheeks, feeling how hot they were. “That is not what I meant. I play no part!” Seeing his amusement splattered upon his face, she could feel the corners of her lips tug. “Oh, hush!” She laughed, covering her whole face with her hands. “I will never hear the end of it, will I? You’ll be reminding me of this conversation in a century. I already know.

“Yes? He does have very nice eyes. ” She answered, her brow raised. “You’ve met him.”  She stated with a knowing nod. Of course, Kolya would know him. Her dear friend enjoyed pretty things and while Philippe did ugly things, he was a gorgeous man. Even she could admit that. She couldn’t help to let out a little snort at his description of his interaction with Philippe. “That sounds like him. He isn’t afraid to tell you your faults.“ A pang of jealousy hit her as she listened to Kolya’s experience with her sire.“I know Philippe. Better than most. He can be kind when he wants to be. But he doesn’t know how to stay kind for long.”  Philippe could be kind and charming, she had seen those qualities during her time with him. But she also knew he could be cruel. “Which is why I don’t think you should see him again.” She warned him, although her experience has shown her that Kolya will do what Kolya desired to do.

At his questions, she sighed, shaking her head. “No, it's alright. I won’t be able to keep the truth hidden anyhow. Eventually, you will find out and I am sure you’ll think differently about me.” As she began, Marjorie lowered her eyes, finding she was braver when her attention was on making neat stitches. “We were in Mariselle, just before Germany invaded France. A friend of Philippe was going to have a party in Paris and Philippe wanted us to go. They were going to slaughter humans again and I couldn’t stomach it any longer. He got so angry with me when I refused to go. We both said horrible things to each other before he left. I asked him to stay but in the end, he went without me.” She had never explained out loud what happened that night. The night where she severed their bloodline and changed both of their lives. “He must have been so worried when he came back for me.  I left that same night, you see. I didn’t even leave a note. I just packed my things and left.” Knowing how shocking it was to admit she was an orphaned Regium, she wanted him to understand she had been desperate. “I had no choice, Kolya. He wanted me to be something that I couldn’t be.” No, that was a lie. She knew how to be cruel. The mangled body of her husband was proof she could enjoy the taste of blood. “So, you see, he has every right to be angry. I will understand if you want me to leave.” She added as she began to pick up her things.

@marjorieives 

Henryk walked into The Mix-Up with a craving that had nothing to do with blood. He’d always indulged himself where food was concerned, even before it meant tearing into throats. That night he perused the window display, looking for something delicious to catch his attention. It was only when she emerged from the back that he interrupted his search. 

He had heard about her when Philippe was on the phone a few weeks past. The orphan Regium, how scandalous. He didn’t care about that, but anything that inconvenienced Philippe brought him joy, and she seemed to be his greatest shame. At least still alive anyway. He knew his sire had killed a few fledglings in the past.

“Hey,” he approached her without giving it much thought. “You got any suggestions of the day? Everything looks so good.” Henryk disarmed people with a friendly smile. There was no need to introduce himself, to let her know how they were intimately connected by blood. That connection would be severed soon enough, but he was still curious, and he wanted the version that didn’t know who he is first. 

After the King’s visit to her bakery, the rumors began to spread like wildfire through the vampire community. The stares and hush whispers quickly followed, leaving Marjorie feeling like a bug under a microscope. But she held her head high, ignoring the knowing looks between vampires. It will pass, she told her self. Soon something else will happen and her name will soon be forgotten.

Decorating a cake for a fae’s 200th birthday, Marjorie made delicate pink roses on top, her brow wrinkled in concentration. Wanting the cake to be perfect, she took her time forming the roses around the cake, not minding those around her. Suddenly her human employee ran pass her, heading to the back of the kitchen. Blinking in surprise, she leaned back on her stool, watching run out and wondering what had occurred. Suddenly, a voice made it clear why the poor girl had run out. “Hello,” she returned his smile, despite her posture stiffening as she noticed he was a vampire. After her conversation with Philippe, she couldn’t help to wonder if when Titus will send his men for her head.  “I take it that you haven’t been here before.” Marjorie set the icing aside and twirled around on her stood. “That depends. If you have a sweet tooth, I suggest the raspberry with dark chocolate tarts.” She gave a nod to the row of tarts to his left. But if you prefer savory, you couldn’t go wrong with a meat pie. They’re small, so you better take a couple.”

As she looked at him, she could sense a growing familiarity with him. As if she had met him before. Which was rather ridiculous as she was sure she would remember him. After all, not many vampires had friendly smiles. And yet, part of him felt connected to a distant memory. Realizing she was unabashedly staring at him. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head as she smiled apologetically “I didn’t mean to stare. I just feel like we’ve met before. I don’t suppose you’re part of the Ashbourne’s knitting club?”

@marjorieives 

“It’s open!” Allison called out from her spot on the couch. Warm tea in hand, she was bundled up best she could be against the winter’s chill, her fuzzy, red pyjama clad legs tucked up under her. She kept the house warmer than the average household, partly to keep some of her plants from drying up and partly to stop her from wilting like a flower after the first frost. Her old wool sweater kept the cold at bay as her front door opened and Allison directed a soft smile towards the vampire. “How awful is it out there? If you say anything other than it’s summer, I might just stay here in this spot for the next decade.”

Winter was harsh this year, matching the spirit of Ashbourne in tenfold. Despite her thick coat and wool shawl over her head, the icy wind nearly knocked the breath right out of her. The cold had set in her bones, making her chin tremble. These kinds of winters reminded her of home and the crackling fire her mother would make Marjorie stand next to each morning as she braided her hair. Thankfully, Allison’s home was just as cozy and welcoming. The moment she opened the door, a gush of warmth cloaked around her, instantly making her feel like she was home. “Then I will join you because there is no way I will go out in those conditions.” Her laughed muffled from under her scarfs. Pulling down on her scarf, she gave a soft sigh as she returned Allison’s smile. “Oh! What is that smell?” Her sharp nose inhaled the earthy aroma of freshly boiled tea. Where Marjorie was skilled in baking, Allison understood the art of making tea. “That smells incredible. Hold on. Let me guess.” She sucked in her teeth, thinking for a moment. “Black tea, a bit of lavender and- Oh! Is that vanilla I smell?”

Titus was not expecting to be impressed and he was not disappointed. The girl who welcomed him. The so called Marjorie Ives, looked piteous. She seemed almost parasitic. She didn’t offer neither the confidence nor the grace that was required from a Regium vampire. Small, skinny, fragile. She had light auburn hair and blue eyes, large in her skull. Philippe’s progeny lacked ferocity but when the light would hit her just right he noticed that she could possess a strange ethereal quality. She moved timidly. When she opened her mouth to speak, Titus half expected to hear a the sound of a dying mouse. However, he admitted to himself that her voice was sweet, Caramelized. Titus didn’t move, but remained in the same spot. Eyes focused on her and the way she moved as she spoke. There were a few pauses but they were quickly replaced by her incessant ramblings and Titus was growing impatient. 

Instead of answering her right away, he turned towards the other vampire on his left. “Make sure we’re not interrupted” The vampire nodded and went on his way. Finally, he twisted his attention to her. Regium Orphan. Shameful. “I like your place, it’s charming.” Eyes traced the area where all of the pastries sat. “I’ve never been much of a sweet tooth myself.” Titus could tell she was nervous and it made him wonder if Philippe had spoken to her about her little predicament. “Please, allow me to apologize for your maker’s boorishness for never introducing us. It’s really an error on his part.”

“Thank you.” While she saw the best in people, Marjorie was no fool. She had come to learn that words, among the Regium, were used as weapons. Often the meaning would change with just a look or a shift in the tone. While his words were kind, the calculated gleam in his eyes told her otherwise. He hadn’t meant it at all. Annoyed that he would lie to her, she clenched her teeth to keep herself from responding with a sarcastic response. Instead, she bowed her head, pretending to be honored by his words. “Thank you, you’re very kind for saying so.”

Her annoyance sparked courage inside of her as she stepped closer to him and offered him a seat. “Please, have a seat.” A brow raised in surprise at Titus’ apology. A king apologizing to her wasn’t something she ever expected to experience. In fact, she didn’t know quite how to answer. Accepting it would mean agreeing he was at wrong, which didn’t seem a wise thing to do. Yet rejecting his apologies was just as insulting.  “Please don’t blame him for my very own incompetence.” She said with remorse. “You see, he didn’t know I was in Ashbourne until a few days ago.” She explained carefully, sensing that one wrong word could get Philippe into trouble. “Besides, I doubt you would find me very interesting. I am not as clever or as amusing as those you surround yourself with.”

Philippe looked at her then, finding in her, just for a moment, the glimpse of an old friend. “I have been everywhere, but I always go back home. To Marseille.” Or he used to. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting out of Ashbourne any time soon, and the thought soured the new years celebration for him. “You seemed fond of it too,” he added, throwing her an accusing look. It wasn’t that hard for her to walk out on something she was fond of, was it?

The reaction was a little stronger than he expected, but he supposed it fit her. Marjorie was a sensitive creature, he learned, lacking the ability to stomach the horrors of the world. “Don’t be such a child,” he said, lacking patience in return. “I am warning you so you can avoid him long enough to give me the time I need to figure something out. He cannot have your life whenever he pleases, and I haven’t turned you to give it up so easily. You will fight back, Marjorie. You left me for this life and now you are going to defend it.”

When Marjorie thought of home, she would picture her mother by the stove, her auburn hair shining like a penny from the bright flames. That was home. And yet, she sometimes found herself missing Marseille. It hadn’t been all tears and horror. Among the sad memories, there were ones where she looked back with affection. She knew exactly how much Philippe missed his home. “I know. I remember.” She nodded, before adding, “I hope one day you’ll be home again, Philippe. Don’t lose faith.” Flinching at the sharpness of his accusation, her jaw clenched, swallowing the guilt away before it made her apologize again. “It was my home when I needed one.” She managed to say. Deciding to ignore the bite to his words, Marjorie turned her attention back to the stars, hoping he wouldn’t continue to berate the choice she had made years ago.

“You’re going to help me?” Her words came out clumsily, a breathless force. She wanted to throw her arms around him but not before shaking him silly for being so incredibly difficult. Instead, she blinked at him for a moment, her anger slowly dissipated into concern. To help her would mean risking his life. “That would mean risking your life, Philippe.” With low laugh from the back of her throat, Marjorie shook her head, wishing away his belief in her. “You give me too much credit, my dear Philippe. You know of blood and death. I am not as strong as you.” Her smile sad and forced. “You said so yourself. What made you change your mind?”

August shrugged, “I can’t help it,” came the easy response, “these brownies are amazing.” He took the napkin that was offered, not surprised that he’d made something of a mess before he wiped at his mouth. He’d always had a sweet tooth, and finding a good bakery after coming to Ashbourne had been a saving grace. The chocolate was a suitable replacement for whatever he was missing from the other side of whatever was keeping them here. ”I’ve had one every week for probably the last three years.”

August had not been expecting company but it was oddly welcome, seemed to be the season for it, and contrary to what he might say or how he might have felt leading up to New Year’s Eve - he didn’t want to spend it alone. Or spend it with another corpse. He’d come this far to be close to the fun of it all, and it was nice that he could enjoy the spectacle with someone else. “Not too many people I hope,” August said easily, “that’d cut the whole appeal.” He added, somewhere inside he was grateful that she wasn’t expecting him to share. “But, thank-you,” she didn’t need to let him stay, but she was going to anyways - people could be kind, for no reason, and August didn’t really get why. “I know finding a stranger on your roof wasn’t how you were expecting your night to go, but thanks for not shoving me off.”

“Well, then, my very pleasure at meeting my biggest brownie enthusiast.“ Marjorie laughed, offering her hand to him. “I’m Marjorie Ives, I own the bakery and the creator of that brownie right there.” A tone of pride crept into her voice as she introduced herself. She couldn’t help it. There was something so pleasing to know that people enjoyed her food. It was a harmless joy and one she tried to not too much vanity in. After all, arrogance was revolting.

“I don’t have many friends so that will not be a problem.” She replied with a shrug, although she hadn’t meant it to make him feel sorry for. “Oh, I don’t know. The night is still young.” With her arms crossed, she eyed him with a smile. “ You might give me a reason to shove you off. So you better stay on your best behavior or else I cannot be blamed for my actions.”

Marjorie Ives || Moodboard || 001

“Thank you,” Kolya murmured, staring at the in- progress dress for a long moment before pulling his eyes away from it to give Marjorie a pleased grin before shaking his head. “Oh, please. You know I’d be breaking that chair over there and chasing you from the building with the pointy broken pieces if I thought there was any possibility of you doing anything to this dress that I didn’t find to be to my standards.” Not that such a threat would have been necessary- he wouldn’t have asked her in the first place, and if he’d wanted her to go she was one that would oblige without trouble. The thought behind it was true, though. He didn’t risk disappointment.

“Alriiight, Mama Marjorie,” Kolya teased. He hadn’t been expecting such an emphatic response, but he guessed he should’ve known better. He’d just pay her back by ordering a couple hundred dollars worth of cookies later. “Damn. If you won’t accept a dime, what about a penny?” Quickly, he added, “Just a joke. Down, girl, no money, I get it! Please, don’t bite my head off!” He laughed. “Oh, I figured as much, don’t worry.” Then, quieter, in a sly tone of voice- “I’m more used to playing the role of the one that calls someone else sir, anyways.” 

She took his ranting in stride, and begrudgingly, he gave a nod. He did feel better. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have murdered them,” He protested. “Especially not if they were wearing my nice clothes. That would defeat the point entirely.” Not that he doubted his ability to get someone naked, but that was besides the point. He listened carefully to her description. “It sounds divine,” He sighed wistfully. “Now I’ve got to come by and sample it soon, you know that, right? Wait,” He spluttered. Who just threw out important information like that, as an anecdote? It was big news. “You’re serious? Your sire is here? When did that happen, and why am I only just now hearing about it?”

“Oh, no. Naughty children do not get their heads bitten off.” Marjorie said a low voice, a haunting edge filled her words. She peeked at him from under her lashes before adding, “Instead, they would be banished from my bakery. I fear that would mean no more sweetbreads for my dearest Kolya.” While harsh in her teasing, she couldn’t help to stop the smirk from forming on her lips. However, her humor didn’t last long. Not after gaining a glimpse of what occurred during Kolya’s rendezvous. Something she hadn’t any desire in knowing. “I see,” Her face turning redder by the second as it became clear what he meant. “Well, I suppose we all have a part to play.” She finally stammered.

Malachi pushed off the pillar he was leaning against with a nod. He fought his way out of the crowded patio and walked toward the fountain in the middle of the square. The wide pink granite bowl of the fountain was frozen over, long icicles hanging from the upper tier. Malachi found a shop with paintings from various local artists and began an animated conversation with the scruffy young man attending the shop. Left overs of the Christmas Market. Everything must go. Spend some time then and then later decided to grab some coffee and check out more of the shops around town. An M were displayed menacingly in one of the windows from Herbs & Spices and he hurried on by. “Creepy little fuckers,” he muttered to himself. 

He peeked into a jewelry shop but nothing thrilled him. Ticking drew his attention and he entered a kiosk full of clocks. He could feel a muscle in his cheek begin to twitch at the loud repetitive sound and made to leave but actually found one he liked. The miniature clock was round and painted red with some carvings in the centre. Malachi picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was surprisingly heavy and he longed to pry the back off and get a look at its inner workings. He took it up to the counter to purchase it, bumping into someone in the process. He knew her - vaguely. “Marjorie, is it? You make good Sanguine.”

@marjorieives

With barely a glance over her shoulder, Marjorie eased her way through the crowds, the determined click of her heels followed her. For a woman who was on the King’s kill list, she hadn’t spent too much time feeling sorry for herself.  In fact, she had chosen to ignore Philippe’s warning and went ahead with her usual routine, something she was sure would irritate her sire to no end. Perhaps she was stupid and reckless with her life, but Marjorie wasn’t going to let anyone scare her into hiding. Especially when she had responsibilities to attend to.  With a small bundle of favorite tea from Teas To Please, Marjorie quickly shut the door behind her just before a pixie threw a cup of tea where she had last stood. “Goodness, nasty little things,” she frowned at her reflection on the door.

Just as she passed the clock maker's booth, she stopped short, remembering her grandfather clock needed their expertise. Before she could make an appointment with the clock maker, a tall figure collided as they both were heading to the cashier. “That’s right.” She blinked in surprise, the combination of a near collision and Malachi Thorn remembering her name was enough for her to forget to greet him. At his compliment, a blissful pride washed over her. “Oh, thank you!” She grinned sheepishly as she cast her eyes to the ground. “It’s always so nice to hear people enjoy what I make. You’ll have to come by tomorrow, I’ll be making a fresh batch then.” Noticing the clock in his hand, she sighed, “Well, isn’t that pretty. You have found a very nice clock. Although, I fear the prices a bit excessive.” The last of her words were just above a whisper and out of earshot of the clock maker. “I suggest bringing an apple turnover. An apple turnover will surely knock the price down to at least a hundred dollars.” Then she held her hand up, she shook her head. “No, a pot roast. A pot roast will get the job done.”

Close to midnight and there he stood in the middle of town square, looking up at the sky like any other Ashbourne citizen. It was rather unnerving to note the stars weren’t where they were supposed to be, blinking in and out of place, like the town itself moving across the starry blanket, never standing in any one place. Philippe shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. The crisp night air was pleasant, but he still would’ve favored a warmer temperature, used to the seaside of southern France. Instead, the ground was covered in blankets of snow that rapidly melted into an icy cold mess. Ashbourne was a curious place, but none other had trapped him before and despite his curiosity, he’d have given anything to get out of there.

Her soft tone caught his attention and he turned around to find exactly whom he’d expected to. Marjorie was smiling at him, why was she smiling? The warmth on her face brought confusion to his eyes, but he didn’t voice his doubts. “I have never seen it.” Philippe had only been in town a few months, this was his first New Year in Ashbourne. He didn’t think there was much to celebrate about that. “I’m hoping it will be entertaining this year too.”

Silence filled the space between them. He knew there was a lot left unsaid, but every day he found fewer reasons to look back in time. What good would it do? She may have been his blood, but she was not his any longer. An orphan was a wild thing, untrained and disloyal. They answered to no one and they weren’t looked after by anyone. If she was killed, there would be no investigation for she was under the protection of no bloodline. No one spoke for her.

The thought reminded him of the King’s orders and he glanced at Marjorie again. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Marjorie.” Philippe kept his eyes on the sky as he spoke. “The King has ordered your head. It would be wise to stay out of sight for a while.”

There were times Philippe confused her greatly. He could be so cruel, breaking her heart over and over again as if it were merely made out of delicate porcelain.  And yet, there were times she would catch a glimpse of him. The boy she assumed he once been before his unholy rebirth. As he turned to look at her, Marjorie saw him again. Just for a moment.“It won’t be as grand as the ones we saw in Paris.” Her words came out carefully, tilting her head as she studied him. “I never thought you would leave France. You seemed so fond of it.”

Then silence. The familiar distance he would so often put between them. A kindle of a wish for how things used to be when he thought better of her brought a sad frown to her face. Back to the time she hadn’t betrayed him and had stayed true to him. But Marjorie wasn’t his anymore. She had made sure of that. It was what she had wanted, she reminded herself. As she gazed at the back of his head, she knew it had been the right choice. Yet she couldn’t escape the guilt she felt.

Before she could muster up the courage to ask him to sit with her, he broke the silence. Philippe didn’t have the talent of breaking bad news gently. Or if he did, he never has shown it to Marjorie. Her frown deepened in response to his news. “Oh, is that all?” She replied as if he told her Titus wanted her custard cake recipe. At his warning, she scoffed. Her eyes glaring into him, silently daring him to look at her. If he was going to tell her she would soon be dead, he should at least have the decency of meeting her eyes. “I’ve lived in this town for over 80 years, Philippe. There is no hiding in Ashbourne. If Titus wants my head, he will have it.” There was bite to her words. She was angry. No. Enraged at how calm Philippe was. “I wish you hadn’t told me. What use is it to know I’ll soon be dead? Better yet, why do you care? You will soon be rid of me.”

It seemed impossible to talk to anyone without them first addressing his age. Young Man, Kid, Child, Infant, Adolescent, Youth. It was as if the only interesting thing about him, or the only thing readily identifiable to someone on the outside, looking in, was his age. He didn’t so much mind it, he was young, but like his aunt had always told him, August had an old soul. Still, he had no room to complain, it was a small roof after all. He could tell that the woman was less than pleased, this was his favorite place, but that didn’t make the owner of the business obliged to let him sit on the roof.  

He laughed easily, it was a comfortable thing for him to slip into, a smile. “I’m no thief, ma’am.” Lying had always been particularly easy for him. Though it helped that this next part was the honest truth, “I hate crowds but, I dunno, I wanted to get close this year, I never get a good view of the fireworks.” He looked over the side of the roof tentatively, there were throngs of people in the square and even thinking about joining them was unsettling. “The show is gonna start soon, there’s room for one more, and” he shook the nearly empty box of brownies, “I’ve still got a couple left. But I mean, if you want me gone, just say the word and I’ll be gone.”

Oh sure, the stranger could be lying to her, but Marjorie figured if he truly wanted to cause harm to her, there was very little to stop him. Besides, he had a box of her double fudge brownies. “That would be something a thief would say but seeing you enjoy my brownies, I imagine you wouldn’t want to risk getting me upset.” No longer able to suppress her amusement over his chocolate smeared smile, she reached into her pocket for a clean handkerchief and handed it to him. “You seem to be fond of my baked goods. Have you been my customer for long?”

She moved beside him and glanced over the ledge to watch the crowd buzzing around each other. “Now that you’ve mentioned, I am a bit annoyed at myself for not realizing what a good spot this is. In fact, I could have a little gathering here next year come to think of it.” At his offer, she waved her hand, touched he was so thoughtful to want to share his treat with her. “You’re very kind but I already had dinner.” She smiled before adding, “Besides I don’t think it would be very fair for you to share your brownies with me when I have a trayful downstairs.”

Turning away from him to continue to watch the crowd below, she pressed her lips to think for a moment. What harm would it be if she allowed him to stay? “I suppose you could stay.” She finally said, “But on one condition. Pick up after yourself. And for goodness sake, do not get so close to the ledge. I don’t want you to fall over and break your neck.”

Marjorie Ives. He had learned about the young vampire for quite sometime now and recently discovered that she was, in fact, living in Ashbourne. Philippe’s progeny was an aberration, an insult to the very nature of their kind, and one that needed to be dealt with. In a perfect world, said punishment would come from her sire but this world was far from perfect and Philippe had grown weak in his old age. The more he sat on it, the more he was beginning to conclude that this was a situation he was going to have to handle personally. And so this was the only reason why he was coming to this - establishment.

“Take a drive, Cicero.” He spoke to his driver as he stepped out of his black Cadillac Escalade and fixed his suit. Cicero pulled out of the curve and drove off, leaving Titus and his bodyguard outside The Mix Up. Titus opened the door and cringed as the annoying bell announced his arrival. The lady behind the cash register looked at him as if she had seen a ghost and it only grew paler as he approached her. “G-Good evening Mr. Titus. I mean - your highness - Sir.” She greeted him. Lips twisting into a nervous smile. “Evening. Marjorie Ives, please.” He waited and watched her reach for the phone and call the back office. “M-Marjorie. King Titus is here to see you.”

Bent over her finances, she was pleased to see how well her bakery was doing. While The Mix-Up didn’t pull in big numbers as other establishments in town do, her small business was doing well enough. There was enough income coming in each week, where she could help people like the Doyles through hard times. In a town like Ashbourne, there were many going through difficult times. With a ring of the phone, she picked the receiver up to learn that King Titus.

“Your Highness,” Marjorie greeted Titus with a smile and a bow of the head as she closed the door of her office behind her. “Dearest,” She turned to her employee, “would you be so kind as to go to the market.” Her heart hammering against her ribcage, fearing for the safety of her worker. “I fear we ran out of eggs.” She raised her brows at the human, hoping she wouldn’t point out that there were at least three cartons of eggs in the fridge. But she didn’t, instead, she only gave a quick nod and left without a word.

“How pleased I am you’ve come to visit me, Your Highness. I believe this is your first time in my little corner of this town, isn’t it?” She knew she was chirping away, arming herself in pleasantries as there was no real reason for King Titus to visit someone like her. Where the majority of her kind mingled with each other, partaking in the traditions and society, Marjorie kept her distance. “Had I known, I would have saved you a bottle of my Sanguine. Unfortunately, I sold my last cup earlier today. Perhaps I could send you a bottle later.”

And just like that, she ran out of things to say to him, his cold eyes kept her frozen in her spot. “Merry Christmas, I hope- did you have a lovely Christmas?” She squeaked, not standing the silence between them.