It's snowing heavily and windy. But it's warm here, a fire is going, and I am very relaxed. -- Anon Guest
The howling of the wind, and perhaps some wolves, reached me first. Woke me up. Startled me into at least opening my eyes.
White.
It was deadly dangerous to fall asleep in snow. I had to get up. Had to find or make a shelter. Had to get my--
"Ssh. Ssh-ssh-ssh. Stay right there. You're going to be fine." The slender fingers that pushed me down looked like they should have snapped at the effort. Then again, I had been in a sticky situation at my last recollection.
The irons on my ankles made it difficult to run. The rags that were my clothes hadn't done anything to trap heat. My only tool against the terrors of the world was a sharp stick.
I wasn't cold, any more. I was... warm. I could hear a fire beneath the howling night. The white I saw was a ceiling. And those twig-thin fingers were attached to a stunning beauty. Clothes like the people who ordered the people who held the whips. They must have held a message, but the only one I read was, threat.
I flinched. Waited for the inevitable.
"I won't hurt you. You're safe, now." He rose from his seat like a poem and busied himself with some things at the distant blur of the fireplace. "Now that you're awake, you should have some soup. I confess, I'm... unfamiliar with cookery, but there are plenty of manuals. I think I did acceptably well." As he came back into focus, it was quite a sight.
An elegant trolley made of fancy wood. Upon which was a fancy table setting. Linen cloth. Golden cutlery. A fine china bowl. A vase with a bloom in it. A fine crystal decanter and an elegant goblet carved out of quartz.
And my host, smiling shyly as he pushed the trolley to my side. "Sit up slowly, if you please. I went through a lot of bother saving your life, so do take care."
I could hear the remnants of my chains clink as I moved. He had to know what I was. An escaped slave. Half-blind and next to useless. Destined to die before the next winter.
"I won't hurt you," my host repeated. "My name is Lothaire. Have you found a name you like?"
What an odd phrase.
"I know, and I know you know," said Lothaire. "People who own people... do not often give their property names. You don't have to keep what they called you." He poured crystal-clear water into the quartz goblet. "My former master called me 'Rat'. After what he made me eat."
Him?
Lothaire never showed his teeth when he smiled. "I know. It seems unlikely, now. I've been a long time in escaping my oppression. Please. Eat. You need it."
I'd only ever had gruel before. Rotten and mouldy most of the time. This was so much better. The chunks actually tasted good, and were even better with the fresh bread slathered in butter. My mouth was half full of deliciousness when I finally asked, "Wha' happened to y'r old master?"
"Adventurers killed him, and a decent half of his... property," said Lothaire. "They passed me by because I looked already dead. I was lucky enough to recognise this as a second chance. I... reformed myself. And with that in mind, you should know all of the truth." A very careful step away. Well out of reach. Definitely out of focus. "My master was a vampire. I am one of his spawn. A bloodsucker. That said, I have not drunk the blood of anyone unwilling. I keep pigs for my sustenance."
He had not attacked me. He fed me. Saved me from the winter storm. And his pork soup was very nice.
"You'll help me... re-form... too?"
"Of course," said Lothaire. "It's fast becoming a hobby."
[Photo by ALEXANDRA TORRO on Unsplash]
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