The Murders Of Lucy Cramwell So many had rushed out of the strange house of shattered windows and slamming door, that Lucy Cramwell had escaped the personal identification of most. Ravaged with hunger and burnt with holy water, the vampiress had fled at a blinding pace, not stopping until having reached a number of streets away. She rushed past whichever faces looked her way, full of fearful disorientation.
Even a former maid valued her appearance. Might not be able to afford the beauty treatments of the middle-class, but for young women, especially, disfigurement was a real curse. Gentlemen at least had the option of treating such things as the product of rough upbringing or even passing it off as the scars from battle in Her Majesty's service, but a woman's prospects were almost resolutely defined in how presentable she could make herself, far more than those of her male counterparts.
Lucy feared this. What had the wretched priest done to her? Sealing self away in rented accommodation, this burden weighed now heavily on her mind. Were the French lady to be believed, eternal youth, itself, seemed to be an option, but what use was such a thing if one was forced to look so hideous?
The chances of feeding, of finally being able to take the edge off that churning hunger, within, now seemed drastically reduced. She would be forced to wait until-
A knock on the door? Who was that?
"Excuse me, Miss? I couldn't help but see you rush up here and... Is there something I can do?"
No, no, replied Lucy, now seething in social awkwardness, as well as the need to shy away from what appetite now most cried out for. It was no good, though and the man practically demanded to be let in. Out of fear of raising too much undue alarm, she relented, finding a cloak to hide injured face from view.
And, like most with a sense of duty to the fairer sex, he assumed the worst, wanting to know who was behind this. Asking who would be so cruel as to do such a thing. Wishing to-
And then she was on him, unable to hold back. One hand clamping over mouth, while fangs sank deep into neck, releasing from him that which could not be denied. Ravenous thirsts crying out for more, more, more... Satisfaction seeming just a beat of heart away, even as struggles ebbed away to unconsciousness. Thighs wrapped with unforgiving strength around victim, unwilling to let go.
There was nothing clean about it. This was hunger unleashed and something devilish at work. By the time she stopped, only then did she notice someone watching speechlessly at her open door.
Lucy took them, too.
By the time it had ended, it was her turn to look down at the aftermath without words. She had never killed before. Not to the best of her knowledge. Now there were two dead bodies and only with the fog of rage no longer descending, did she feel... Capable of realising it. It was to her own mouth her hands now clamped; feet backing slowly, unsurely away in acknowledgement of what had been done.
Was this where her new life was to lead her? Was this the path she was forced to follow?
Walk through the valley of death...
But perhaps the greatest shock of all, was that she felt... Nothing. Nought but a strange sense of relief. Exhilaration, even. A similar reaction to when she had first discovered the only means to stave the hungering temptations away, only now it had ended with the taking of two lives.
Unsure if to be self-hateful or mercifully grateful, the bloodied brunette glanced up at her mirror, wondering what it now would be like to see the face of a killer. It was cause for alarm, indeed, but not in the way she had expected... Head tilting as brow raised and an oddly warm sense of something pleasant unfurling itself from within.
"Oh," came that most meek of vocal reactions. Fingers touching in disbelief to what was now perfect, unburnt skin.
Were the injuries more than superficial, it would have taken a good deal longer, but this... As with the rest of Lucy's experimental trial and error, she now had one more piece of the vampiric puzzle to make sense of. It gave things a meaning, a purpose. She might not actively wish calamity to befall anyone, but...
Devilish work or not, with a refreshed look down at the freshly dried cadavers, the young woman could not escape the sense of how obviously this seemed to transcend her from... What? Human beings? Mankind? The thought of terming it as such brought an involuntary need to scoff, riding, as she was, on this strange, new wave of euphoria.
But Lucy Cramwell was different. No matter how much she had attempted to rationalise what had amounted to a mere change in diet, she was... Vampire. Something other than human.
Eternal life at a cost of blood... A natural talent to recover from otherwise hopeless injuries... Was that really so bad?
Not quite able to face up to such philosophical consequences yet, Lucy folded arms, sitting in the nearest available chair. Still she felt little or no connection to the bodies in her room. Their connection seeming no greater to her than dead rabbits waiting for the stew. Sadness? For why? Try as she might, it could not be conjured... And what sense would there be, really, in finding oneself having to weep over what circumstances demanded be preyed upon?
She would think upon it more, later. For now, a more immediate concern was in how to rid herself of a kind of dead who could not walk.