Floral Accents: To my knowledge, there is no flower known as 'Larmes de Lune' though maybe there ought to be. Ancient varieties of roses have been recovered in recent years from graveyards and neglected gardens and are becoming quite popular due to their extravagant range of scents and general hardiness. I think this is very kewl, so I wanted to share it with you. Disclaimers: No actual roses were harmed during the making of this fiction. ---------------------------------------- Teardrops - Part One of One Erika Wilson 1997 "To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." - William Wordsworth; 'Intimations of Immortality' "Oh Nick," Natalie crooned, a sweet smile curving her lips as she gazed at the bouquet of roses in her arms. "They're beautiful." She buried her nose in the creamy blooms and closed her eyes in rapture. "Ooooh, the scent is heavenly and ... different; spicy." "It's an old variety known as 'Larmes de Lune'." Nick explained. "They found a bush growing in a Belgian churchyard a few years ago and took clippings to try and recultivate it." "Well it looks like they succeeded, they're absolutely marvelous." Natalie enthused. "But 'Larmes de Lune'? What does it mean?" "It means 'The Moon's Teardrops'." Nick translated automatically, but his mind had retreated hundreds of years to a garden where he stood enveloped by the scents of a thousand roses. ***** France - 1229 ***** "Nicholas?" His Master's voice called to him, but stronger still was the insistent pull on the invisible tether that joined them inextricably together. For all eternity, if LaCroix was to be believed. Clenching his jaw, Nicholas pushed further into the maze of shrubbery, though he felt the pull increasing with every step. He wondered if he could ever flee far enough for the leash to snap. He wondered if he would even survive such a thing. And if he did, would LaCroix hunt him down with as much relish as he did his human prey? Well, Nicholas had been hunted as an animal before. He had also been caged and chained like one as well and he had sworn never to allow such a thing to be done to him again. And here he was, linked to an inhuman monster by a chain forged in Hell's own fire. He had thought it would be different. He had thought that immortality would ensure him the freedom that had never been his in life. Instead, he had become a slave; to LaCroix, to the night and to his own insatiable lust for human blood. Now, instead of being treated as an animal, he had become one. He turned the final corner of the maze and found himself surrounded by such overwhelming beauty that his newly heightened senses reeled. Roses of every hue surrounded him, sparkling with a treasure-trove of dewdrops under the moon's bright glow. Every bush was laden with heavy blossoms that exploded into avalanches of scented petals at the least touch. He wandered among them, entranced, caressing the silk-soft blooms and inhaling the scents of a thousand exotic spices. His enslaved state was forgotten, the call of his never-ending hunger, silenced. "You look like a bee drunk on nectar." The soft voice hissed at his shoulder. "There is even a dusting of pollen on your nose." Nicholas stiffened, all joy fled. "Would that I had a bee's capacity to sting when startled." He turned his burning eyes on his Master. "Oh," LaCroix remarked with a cold smile. "I would not underrate the sharpness of your barbs, Nicholas, nor the potency of your poison. You can be quite formidable, when properly motivated." "Ahhhh," growled Nicholas. "You mock me." "Not at all," LaCroix assured him as he reached into a bush of white roses that seemed to glow softly with the moon's own light. He plucked a single, perfect bud, just beginning to unfurl and held it before his protege."Even this sweet, beautiful flower protects itself against unwary marauders with an impressive display of thorns. Ah," he exclaimed softly as he deliberately pressed a thumb against a wicked spike. "You see?" Nicholas watched the ruby droplet emerge from LaCroix's pale skin and found himself swallowing past his suddenly constricted throat. He knew what LaCroix's blood tasted like. It tasted like fire and it burned with a terrible pain, but it was the kind of pain that transformed into ungodly pleasure. He turned his eyes away with difficulty and LaCroix brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked the blood away with a little smile. "What is it, mon fils? You seem particularly disturbed this evening, beyond even your usual brooding discontent." LaCroix inquired solicitously with only the barest hint of sarcasm. Nicholas eyed him warily, wondering at this new ploy, but LaCroix merely waited patiently, idly twirling the rose between his fingers. "I ... I am homesick." LaCroix's eyebrows lifted into his high, pale forehead. "Homesick?" Nicholas shifted restlessly. "I have been away from home for many, many years. My mother, my sister, they must think that I am dead. I do not even know for sure if they are well." He looked into the past with a sad smile. "Fleur would be grown into a woman by now. I would like to see her again, while I still have the chance. Before...before... ." "Before they succumb to the force of time? A force that you no longer heed? Nicholas," LaCroix chided gently. "You must learn to sever your ties with the mortal world. Not only will this unhealthy attachment you feel increase the guilt every time you feed, but it is dangerous for you, for all of us. Mortals fear us." "And with good reason." Nicholas said bitterly. "Indeed, with good reason, but because of this fear, they seek to destroy us. They always have." "Surely ... surely not all," Nicholas forced out. "There might be some who could understand, who would not harm us out of fear or hatred if we came to them in honesty and friendship." "Oh no," hissed LaCroix mercilessly. "They are the most dangerous of all, for they delude themselves into believing that we can think and feel and love just like them. And you would be deluding yourself as well, pretending to be what they so desperately want you to be. But when the fantasy comes crashing down around their ears, as it inevitably must, they will turn on you, with fire and spear and an unquenchable hatred of all our kind." Nicholas had turned away and stood with head bowed and fists clenched. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "I cannot believe that." "You must," insisted LaCroix harshly. "Or you risk destruction. Not only your own, but also of the mortals you profess to love." He let a note of softness creep into his voice. "Nicholas, look around you. We are surrounded by beauty that touches even the coldest heart. All the more because it is ephemeral. This rose that I hold, if placed in water, will reach its zenith of perfection, and then it will fade and die. I might feel some sadness at its passing, even guilt that I hastened its end by plucking it from its bush, but it would have died no matter what action I did or did not take. By selecting it for myself, I cherished its beauty, reveled in the subtle qualities of its individual perfume and I will carry the memory of it always. "People are not flowers, LaCroix." Nicholas replied stiffly. "Yes they are, Nicholas. They are the roses in this garden, bedewed with mortal tears and we are the eternal stars, shining down upon them through the dark vastness of an endless night. We may touch them briefly in passing, but we can never hold on long, for they will slip through our fingers like the fragile petals of a delicate flower." LaCroix crushed the blossom he held and trickled the torn petals onto the ground at Nicholas' feet. Nicholas stared at the broken flower and thought of his golden-haired sister standing barefoot in the sunlight, her laughter ringing sweetly in his ears and brushed past LaCroix. "I am going." He said. "They are my family." "No Nicholas," LaCroix snarled. "*We* are your family." Nicholas stopped, straightened his shoulders and turned. "I have a sister, her name is Fleur. I have a mother who claims me as her son. These bonds precede any claim you may have on me." "And when they are dead, Nicholas, what then?" Purred LaCroix. Nicholas' jaw clenched. "Then I will be yours, forever." And he strode away quickly. "Yes, Nicholas, you *are* mine. Now and for all time to come." His yellow eyes burned into his fledgling's departing back for a moment, then he lifted his face to the sky and vanished into the night. In the rush of air caused by his passing, several roses exploded and rained onto the path like silken teardrops, covering the sad, broken rose that lay there, discarded and forgotten. END --------------------------------------------- Sympathetic murmurs and reassuring pats on the hand to: Erika