The Vampire Vivienne

Prologue

The shimmering figure in the mirror is little more than a girl. Sitting before the reflection, she brushes her lustrous blond hair and studies her pouting image. Finally, satisfied with the results, she rises from the vanity stool and, with a flirtatious shrug, drops the white satin robe from her shoulders. The girl's skin is almost as white as the clothes she sheds; perfect and unblemished, it glows in the flicker of many candles.

She runs long, delicate fingers over her breasts and thighs, giving a high-pitched, tingling laugh at the shivery sensations the touch brings. The mirror reveals her as young and succulent, a girl only beginning to wake to the mysteries of life, lips yet unkissed and a body still only dreaming of the passion that awaits her.

Deeper in the reflection lies a huddled mass of bedclothes, underneath which rests the young lover chosen for this special evening; chosen for his strength, the curl of his dark hair, and the blue of his eyes. It was the eyes that had decided her on this man; the way they watched her over a glass of wine, the way they burned into hers. It is time, she knows, long past time, and he will be the one.

The girl smiles at herself in the mirror one last time, knowing she should not, knowing there are reasons to shun her reflection. Mirrors, she has learned, should never be trusted. Still, she looks on herself and smiles.

But you must know, mon ami, the mirror lies, for the girl's reflection changes and a demon grins back at her. The lips curl and snarl, the teeth sharpen to fangs, the eyes glow with lust and hunger.

The mirror lies and the mirror will always lie; I know, for I am she in the mirror. My name is Vivienne Courbet and I am no girl.

Like countless others before him, my youthful lover is deceived by an innocence lost over three hundred years ago, yet still perfectly preserved in my face and body. And although he will not have the virginal conquest he expected, rest assured he will be more than compensated for the blood he gives to sustain my evil, unnatural, and wonderful life.

Part One
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One

Paris: the House of the Swan, 1719

I was not always the demon in the mirror. Once I was human. Born in the usual manner, I grew, I played, I matured. Attending church with Maman, I prayed, crossing myself in the name of the Trinity, believing in that sweet salvation promised us by the priests. When Maman died, I stopped praying, stopped believing. And when I was old enough to be bartered and married, I rebelled, setting my feet on an irrevocable path, one that I would not now undo even if I could.

Such a familiar story was my life to that point that I need not tell it further than mentioning the rebellious girl, the unrelenting father, the late-night escape, and the long walk to the opportunities of the big city; in short, nothing that hadn't been done thousands of times before and since. In time I found my way to one of the few places a young lady of my ilk could exist without the interference of father or husband.

The House of the Swan beckoned to me, the name seeming a good omen. Had I not been called Mademoiselle Cygnette by my nurse from a young age? Here, then, I thought, was a place for me to stay. To be honest, I had almost reached the end of my endurance; any place willing to take me in would have done.

The proprietress met me at the door, saw to it that I was bathed, clothed, and fed, explaining to me that such kindness must be repaid with work. I agreed to work in her house for a place to sleep and meals, but after two weeks of backbreaking labor, I discovered there was another job here, one for which a girl was clothed in fine garments and had her meals served to her, a job in which such a girl was courted by rich and elegant gentlemen. Not entirely innocent as to the nature of Madame's business and aware enough to recognize the cunningness of her recruitment, I nevertheless knocked on her bedroom door one evening, looking for a way out of the kitchen.

"Entrez vous," she called and I dropped her a curtsy in the doorway. She smiled when she saw me and clapped her hands together as if in amusement or joy. "Why, if it isn't our newest little swan. Come in, my dear, and tell me how you are enjoying the work to which I put you."

"If you please, Madame, the work is fine. And I am very grateful for your allowing me to stay in your house, but some of the other girls have been talking and I wondered if I might..."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I wondered how long it would take such a precious princess to tire of manual labor. But do you know what you ask? Tell me, Vivienne." She rose from her chair and walked toward me, grasping my chin in her hand and turning my face up to her. "Are you a virgin?"

Now I was not, but she had no way to know that, nor was it in her best interests to prove that I was not. So I dropped my eyes and managed a blush and she clapped her hands together again. "Marvelous," she said, with a wry chuckle, "never say more than you need to, my dear, and always let that blush answer for you." She nodded her head and rang the bell at the door. "You'll do just fine, my little swan."

"Madame?" Chloe appeared at the door in answer to the bell.

"Take Vivienne to the empty room, Chloe, and set her up with some nice clothes." She looked at me intently, then nodded again. "Yes, I think that some of Marie's dresses will do, but none of the darker colors. White would be best." Cocking her head to one side, she thought. "Yes, white. And pink. Something youthful, with lots of frills and ribbons."

So before I became a creature of the night, I became a lady of the night. I should be ashamed to admit that the life suited me, but so it did, perfectly. The other women pampered me, dressing me as if I were a doll, brushing my hair and exclaiming over its natural curls. Madame was well pleased with me; she contrived to sell my virginity several times, until rumor of my existence became fact. Odd, how the fact really made little difference to the men; it was not virginity they craved, but rather the feel and look of innocence, the sweet blush of first love, something that I was able to provide them time after time. In this, they proved easy to please and so long as they were pleased, my position remained secure.

And life was good. Madame discovered that I had a passable singing voice and added me to the roster of the girls who could entertain the guests in public as well as in private. With girlish pride I looked forward to performing in the tableaus and dramas, loving the applause and the adulation. It was during this period that I learned how to read and write and speak a smattering of other languages. I was well fed and elegantly clothed, warm and secure.

As the days and weeks turned into months and seasons, though, I grew restless.