Estelle the Vampire

The castle corridors are bleak and lifeless. Silken webs adorn the nooks of stone structured walls. Dust compiled on bookshelves and ancient artifacts. The only room that looked alive still was the Vampiress’ own chamber. With thick curtains drawn to conceal the hideous sun, thrown open when moonlight graced the land.

A large canopy bed with blood velvet sheets and oak polished legs stood. Not a coffin, like so many ignorant story folks wrought. No, that was mistaken for her ancestors. Who believed they were safe from daylight if concealed with the thickness of nailed wood. Estelle was not a fan of splinters, and enjoyed comfortability.

A large rug of a similar scarlet shade colored her floor. A large hearth sat prominent across from her bed. Never touched since she first slaughtered the royals residing this castle a little over 3000 years ago. She didn’t care to keep their memory alive. She couldn’t even remember their names. Except for dear Isabella, the Princess whom she coaxed into marriage.

The pale, flawless flesh. The lightness of fair hair in contrast to her dark jade eyes. Oh, Isabella. A daydreamer she was. Whimsical and sweet, prancing through the halls like the embodiment of innocence. It was truly a tragedy. Returning to their abode, finding her as an ornament dangling from the foyers chandelier.

Not that Estelle was much aggrieved over it. She had gone through many beauties. She enjoyed them throughly, punished when needed. Slowly drained the life from them each night, pleasured herself with the human body. It was a cycle, a constant routine.

She watched many women’s glowing faces slowly dull and sink in. Curvy flesh- no matter the shape, slowly absorbing into bones. She knew it was time to rid them when there was only droplets to feast, when the nectar was dry.

But, she did keep emblems of their contributions. When a marriage was proposed (and accepted, because Estelle didn’t know any other option) a beautiful jewel was garnished onto them. A little trophy. A decoration of ownership along pretty little necks. She thought it more…ceremonial than the two puncture scars on the neck (or wrist.)

Nonetheless, sparkling Red beryl and Benitoite and the oh so lovely Painite (Estelle’s personal favorite) and jewels of all rare accomidies have been collected in a gorgeous display case above the dead hearth. Sometimes, she would stare at it in awe. Granted, there was only 300 (she recycled them, stake her). But she knew there was more.

Estelle was currently standing before her display. Piercing blue eyes roving over them, wondering which one would fit her new bride.

Estelle kept herself hidden from the tranquil town below the mountain. Disguised herself as a bat when she wanted to scope the scene, prowling for a new bride. None had piqued her interest, and she was beginning to grow frustrated. No one to set her fangs to ache, her loins to burn. It had been nearly five years since she had laid her last beauty to rest. And rest as in toss her body into the moat for her pet crocs to feast.

But today, she had heard something fairly interesting. Coming home with news, rather flesh. A monster hunter was alleged to be traveling to town. No less to attempt to vanquish her. Which would’ve been an annoyance if it wasn’t for the fact that this hunter in mind was a woman.

A rare treat indeed.

So Estelle waited. Staring down from her bedroom window at the moat and the long narrow path that winded down between the hills. Waiting for her.

Her new, unsuspecting bride.