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Story: The Eternal Muse

Isabel

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Vernazza, Italy. 25 September, 2006

25 September, 2006

Dear Isabel,

There’s no reason you couldn’t make horror romance a genre if you wished to. Everything we have now started somewhere, didn’t it? I don’t know how close to a visit $400 gets you, but I’ve started working on a few rooms of the castle to get them inhabitable for the living. Running an apartment complex or hotel sounds absolutely horrifying, no offense intended. So I will not be doing that. However, hosting a beautiful woman such as yourself is an entirely different story. It definitely gets a little lonely, living here alone.

I find myself liking this Melody. You should send me some of her art. I’m on her side; what inhibitions do you have toward having an Italian boyfriend? Because I find no reason not to claim a stunning American girlfriend. Also, you should be proud of me. I used the internet to find out what people from your country are called, because I did not know. I even used this ‘Google’ thing. It was certainly faster and easier than searching the library catalog like I usually do. Also, the map is most helpful. I’ve placed it with the other maps in the castle’s library.

Your profession sounds quite stressful. If you do not enjoy it, why did you begin working there? Is it a family-run business that you have inherited? My ancestors used to be cobblers, back until about the seventeenth century. I had no desire to be a cobbler, which never sat well with my family.

You are more perceptive than I could have hoped, I must say. Yes, I am a vampire. But do not worry; I will not drink your blood unless you wish for me to. Some humans have reported a slight high after they’ve been bitten, from what I have heard. Though most who have been bitten don’t even know it, if the vampire hunts correctly.

I don’t have any photographs of myself, but I’ve included a sketch for you. Perhaps I will find out if new forms of photography bypass the ‘vampires don’t appear in mirrors or photographs’ portion of our lore and if so, I will send you one next time.

You’ve already seen my paintings. I met you standing in front of them at the Louvre. Unless you mean my other paintings, in which case the answer is no, they are all either privately commissioned or safely in my dungeon with me. I don’t generally show them to anyone.

Yours,

Sebastian

CHAPTER7

Salt Lake City, Utah, United States. 1 October, 2006

“Okay, if he’s half as attractive as the guy in this sketch, I 100% support you chasing him to his supposed castle in Italy.” Melody scanned the pencil drawing again and nearly brushed it with her finger before Isabel smacked her hand. “Right, right. Don’t smudge it. I know, I know.” She set the piece of thick parchment-style paper on the coffee table and pulled her feet up onto the couch.

Isabel whisked the paper away and tucked it back into the envelope. She planned to frame it, eventually, but with every spare penny going into the ‘Fly to Italy to See the Hot Artist’ fund, framing would have to wait. “Don’t forget how funny he is, too. He really leaned into my vampire joke. Though I have to admit, I’m not entirely convinced he’stheSebastian featured in the Louvre. I mean, he’s barely older than us! As far as I know…”

“Well, obviously you’ll have to check out thisdungeonof his and see if he’s bluffing. Just don’t let him lock you up if he’s not going to at least spank you a little while you’re down there.”

“Melody!” Isabel threw a pillow at her friend’s head as Melody cackled and used another couch pillow as a shield. “I don’t even know if I’mintospanking, thank you very much! In any case, the sketch is good enough that even if he was just trying to impress me, he wouldn’t need to lie to accomplish his goal.” She let out a small sigh, which earned a smirk from Melody. In return, she lowered her eyebrows into a glare.

The pair remained locked in a staring contest for a solid minute before both women broke into peals of laughter. “Alright, you. Go write that boy of yours a reply before he starts to think you actually believed his joke about being a vampire and got scared off.”

“He wouldn’t!” Isabel insisted, but that didn’t stop her from rolling out of the couch and heading for the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and dropped into the comfortable chair in front of her desk. On its surface sat all of Sebastian’s letters, which brought a smile to her face.

The rough paper felt familiar in her fingers, though the feeling seemed deeper than just the time she spent reading and rereading the letters. It reminded her of the paper her professor had brought during a unit on Elizabethan literature, thick and creamy white. Her thumb caressed Sebastian’s name and she felt her heart jump. What was it about this man that drew her in so deeply?

She read all of his letters, feeling warm all over. When finished, she set them aside and pulled out her pen. The words came much easier these days; perhaps it was her growing familiarity with her Italian penpal, or maybe the way his eyes seemed soft as they stared at her from the sketch.

Either way, the words flowed from her pen until she reached the bottom of the page and pulled out another. Before starting again, Isabel shook out the cramp in her hand and rolled her head to loosen the stiffness which had taken up residence in her neck.

As her eyes passed lazily over her mirror, she stopped mid-roll and whipped back to the center of the glass. A shiver rolled down her spine and she began to feel sick to her stomach. It was gone now, but she was positive she had seen a double of herself. The figure was dressed all in black, standing behind her with its hands resting on the back of her chair.

Isabel whipped around to scan her room, but found nothing.

“I guess I’ll finish tomorrow,” she whispered, her arms wrapping around herself as she began to shiver. A bead of cold sweat dripped down the back of her neck and a drop of blood trickled from her nose down her ivory skin to her lip. “Aw, crap…”

She stumbled from the chair to her bed, stuffed a tissue from the side table up her nose, and crawled under the blankets. She was suddenly burning up with fever and freezing at the same time. “Mel?” she called out, her voice tired.

The cry hadn’t been very loud, but Melody arrived moments later, bursting through the door. “What’s up, Izzy? Need some help deciding what to say to your Italian hunk?” She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Isabel shivering in the blankets up to her nose, with a tissue in her nostril slowly turning red.

“Izzy! What happened?!” Melody yelled, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Is it the leukemia? Is it back?”