There were weekends where Finn was allowed to go home. The official excuse was that she was known to have a troublesome constitution and the countryside did good things to her, but she knew that Hogwarts had remedies for such things, and she was as healthy as could be, even as starved for blood as she was. She figured this was the real reason. Her father, or probably Norman on her father’s bidding, had probably argued that if she did not come home where she could properly feed, she could be a danger to her fellow classmates.
How he could convince them that she was too dangerous to stay weekends at Hogwarts but peaceful enough to continue her schooling there was beyond her. If she got to the root of it, though, she would find the reason was the same it had always been when her father managed to do what seemed like the impossible. The answer to life’s problems had always been money.
Going home was lonely, but at least she was not wrapped up in the anxiety of being discovered. She could feed when she wanted too, and she did not feel like a brute doing it either, hiding in broom closets as she downed vials of blood. Her father was an excellent cook and always managed to serve the blood she needed in a creative way, injecting it into a meat pie or making it into a sparkling drink. Though she was surrounded by crime and darkness at home, she felt all the more civilized.
She was a princess at home. She donned ladylike, modest dresses, slept comfortably, and was awoken to gourmet breakfasts. Her father’s cooking was not to be rivalled, and his company was pleasant too. They played chess that Saturday morning, then decided to go for a walk across the estate. At last minute, Orpheus had discovered he had an urgent matter to attend to and, profuse apologies spilling from his lips all the way up the winding staircase, he ascended into his study with Norman.
Finn called to Napoleon, her cat, and carried him under her arm out of Margam Castle, around the great building, and towards the wooded area that lay in the area behind their Welsh home. A beautiful birch swing had been erected on one of the trees that lay about ten yards from the entrance of the wood, and it was here that she deposited her trusted companion. The cat mewed but watched her as she collected flowers from around the base of the wood, before retreating to the swing. She shared the seat with her cat, gently twisting the ropes this way and that was as her fingers worked, creating a flower wreath.
’Fiona, I have built a legacy for vampires. This home proves the power I hold, the superiority of my blood. And that blood runs through you. I am old, Fiona, and I will not be around forever. Do you know what an heiress is? It is very much like a princess. She has a claim to a great position because of her blood, and you, Fig, are my heiress. One day, you’ll be a queen.’
The wreath was done and Fiona stared at it a long time, before straightening her back, lifting her chin, and setting the wreath atop her head. A crown of lilacs and wildflowers. Hardly befitting of a vampire queen, but she was certain that this crown was much more comfortable than one of fangs and blood. Less of a burden as well. She slumped, the ability and grace of a queen proving themselves to being only fleeting in her young body, and a sigh escaped her as well. She toed the dirt with her shined shoes and stroked her cat, turning the swing in gentle circles. Circles, circles, just like the ones she had been going in all her life.
by Fiona Grimm Tue Jun 17, 2014 1:11 am
