She was going to see him again. For some reason, she found her mind wandering to him when she was rehearsing, when she was performing, and before she went to sleep. Madame Larousse had officially hardened her heart against such things after she was turned, when the one who gave her new life had left her with very little ado. It was a hard world, this, and relationships between men and women were farcical. After all, everyone was in it for what they could gain, and for how much they could manipulate and humiliate the other. L'amour was little more than an exercise in domination. And the dominant party inevitably won.
But Alphonse was different. He had been the only man able to tame the actress, and was firm with her, though (she thought) loving as well. As the Duc d'Enfrit, a man of many interests and societal connections, Alphonse had done her a great honor in bestowing his patronage upon her earlier in the year. It had come as a shock to the elite, as the Duc had been celibate for many years, refusing even to marry. Such a liaison sent shock waves throughout Paris. But he was passionate. He had to have her.
"When I first laid eyes on you," he told her one night as they dined at his spacious quarters in Paris, "I had to have you. There is something that you do to men. I have seen it. You make them mad for you, make them live only for you. I've seen the depraved look in their eyes when they look at you, when they watch you perform. You bring the demon out of them. You bring it out of me."
After months of courtship and patronage, they would finally consummate their union. She thirsted for him nearly as much as she thirsted for that sanguine nutrient which kept her in good health. It was one of those rare times when she spent hours at her toilette, giving her body the illusion of utter perfection. She scented and dressed herself like a virginal bride preparing herself as an offering to her new husband. Violet silk trimmed in velvet and embroidered with pearls. A handsome necklace of amethyst with diamond detailing. The subtlest hint of rouge on the cheek. With such adornments she armed herself to meet the Duc in his country home.
Alphonse greeted her with a spectacular feast, designed just for the two of them. He watched her as she ate--which she did, to keep up pretenses, though to her the food was like nothing so much as ashes. His hair was wild, left to grow a bit longer than was fashionable, and a rich, chocolate brown. His eyes, a stern shade of grey, were penetrating. He cut a charming figure in his evening suit which was so neatly arrayed on his thin form.
"Let's go to bed, Marguerite," he said before she had finished eating. He himself had eaten nothing. Nervous, perhaps, Marguerite thought. And so they climbed the stairs to an eloquent and spacious bedroom, fit for generations of the great Enfrit line. He sat in a chair by the great glass doors which led to the balcony. He watched her disrobe, his face void of expression. He rose and led her to the bed, bringing with him several lengths of silken rope. She was excited, had been party to such games before and so knew what was coming. She thought.
He tied her wrists to each post of the bed, tightly. He secured her legs together at the ankles. He paused then, looking down at his work. His expression was something of contempt mixed with pride in his work. A smile lit up that stony countenance, and she thought it seductive, though had she known otherwise, she would have realized it was sadistic.
"Marguerite, my dear," he said casually, returning to his seat by the window. "I have a little present for you. You see, my darling, I have seen what you do at night. I have followed you on various occasions and I know. Oh, I know. I have felt those sharp incisors when we've kissed before. You tell me it is a family trait, a defect, but it is not so. You are a repulsive creature, diseased with demons. And you will end."
Marguerite blinked at this, completely bemused. How could it be that the Duc knew her secret? She had made sure to frequent places she thought he would never go, so that she might receive her nourishment. But this, this admission of her guilt, of her disease, it broke something inside of her.
"You have guessed correctly," she said, feigning nonchalance. "I am a demoness as you say, possessed for many years. But what is that to you? Though demoness I have loved you, yes, even I."
"Love?" he scoffed, rising to open a drawer in a small bureau. "How can such a beast as you love? Your kind were created only to tempt men, and so we must destroy you to save our souls." He was idly fingering a strand of rosary beads, which he then placed over her head. She screamed in pain, the crucifix burning her flesh. It froze her for a moment, and she found herself incapable of movement, so fixed was she by pain and fear--yes, fear. And he stood above her, smiling complacently.
"I have researched it, you know," he said, pacing the room. "There are several ways to kill a vampire--yes, that is what you are called. One may simply burn you and scatter your ashes to the wind. Or one may sever your head from your body. I am thinking I will do the latter. But first, I must fetch the priest. Goodbye, Marguerite."
And with that, he left her. In pain and tied up uncomfortably, she was left on the Duc's bed for four days. Being no contortionist or magician, it was difficult for her to escape her bonds. Every waking moment she struggled against them, the rosary stinging her flesh. It was a miracle, she knew, when she finally managed to loosen her hand from its bond, then did the same to the others. She carefully placed the rosary on the bed, looking at the crucified Christ. She thought, perhaps, that she had known a little of what He had felt. But there was no time for contemplation. She took some of the Duc's clothes and slipped from the house.
She left France, then, taking with her her possessions and her dreams. No longer was her home country the safe and familiar hunting grounds of her early years. Now it was cursed. She vowed that if she should step foot on French soil again, she would take her revenge on the Duc d'Enfrit.