Fan Fiction ❯ Raven ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

-Raven

France, Paris

I stepped out of the door, into the light drizzle that had become so often at this time of year. I didn't like the rain. I never did, and I think I never will. The cobblestone streets were coal black and wet, reflecting the dim light of the houses that were still alight. I had accidentally bumped into the friendly gentleman downstairs, in which I uttered a quick apology. "Oui, oui, not a problem. I'm already happy enough to be able to stand," he said in French. I smiled. He was ninety this year, his name was Pierre, and the children down the street would call him, "Monsieur Pierre" as they would call me "M'sieur Elliott". I loved the little children, and I didn't even know that my hands would be stained with their blood. I cringe now as I type this all down, for my mortal friend to publish. She told me it might not pass for a good book. I know that. That is why I just want to try.

Revealing myself to the world may be a damnable act, if I wasn't already damned. I can never deny that fact. I killed. I feasted upon what I do to live. I live off others deaths. It is funny, I suppose. I knew the minions would have me, punish me. But was it bad? Writing all this down, pouring out my feelings for mortals to read even if they do not understand. My scotch has arrived, the bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label Scotch Whisky I had requested for. I pour a tiny bit into the crystal glass I have been given, enjoying the scent of the rich liquid. I could drink as much as I liked, I couldn't get drunk, and I had unlimited amounts of money. I don't know where it comes from, but I spend a little of it at every little visit to the bar. Anyway, back to what I was telling you about…

I walked into the telephone booth, picking up the receiver and dialing a number with the old fashioned dials. It rang for a few moments, and then someone picked it up. "Hello?" a lady spoke in French at the other end of the receiver. "Hello, may I speak to M'sieur de Lavier? I think he requested for moi." I heard a soft rustling in the background, and then someone tapping at the door of the booth. A man gestured for me to hurry up. "Hold on, please, Monsieur." she whispered, handing the receiver over to someone. "Hello! My dear Elliott." the voice had said in rapid French. "How are you tonight?" His voice was smooth, deep, like some extremely rich gentlemen. "Good, thank you." I replied. The man outside had not left. "Oui, I did request for you…Ah, yes… Please, Elliott, come to my place tomorrow, I have something to tell you." I smirked at the man outside. He growled at me. "Oui, oui, M'sieur. I will." with that I hung up, opening the door, and on my way out, I heard the man cursing, "'Bout time." I laughed out loud I think.

My parents had died when I was very young, and I lived with my Uncle who took care of me and loved my like my father would have. The next day, I walked over the street, crossed the bridge before I reached Lord Lavier's home. I rang the bell and a gracious lady welcomed me. She seemed to hiss at me for no apparent reason. But she willed me to sit down on one of the comfortable velvet couches, and sat down opposite me, her beautiful face flawed by slight irritation. "He'll be down in a minute," she spat, muttering to herself, as though I couldn't hear her, "Why does he get chosen? I am infinitely more beautiful than he." I was confused by this, utterly dumbfounded. "Ah! Elliott!" the same voice I heard on the telephone greeted me. I nodded and smiled. My dark hair fell onto my face and M'sieur Lavier smiled at me. M'sieur Lavier was a charming man, his dark red hair shone in the dim sunlight that entered the room, his eyes a shade of scarlet I had never seen before. His skin was extremely pale, which I convinced myself that he seldom went out.

I was born in France, but given an English name, it was strange for a Frenchman. M'sieur Lavier seemed to like me a lot, taking my arm and leading me up into his room. I heard the woman scoff in jealousy. He seemed anxious, this man. He had quickened his steps as I thought of this, and I had almost tripped over the steps.

"M'sieur," I whispered, as he pushed me into a room. He put his hand on my mouth. He lifted the hair covering my neck and smiled. "And so it is true." he whispered. I was extremely puzzled. "What is true, M'sieur?" I asked. He continued to smile. It scared me.

"You are the chosen one, mon amor," he whispered, letting go of my neck now and rushing through some old things in his dresser. I smiled stupidly, feeling somehow embarrassed. Why? I don't know. Perhaps I never will. He held out a piece of gold, and at its end seemed to be a small capsule of some sort. The capsule was made of glass, the ends holding it pure gold or brass. I couldn't tell the difference. Inside it…was something dark, like a black mist swirling inside the small glass compartment. "What is it, Monsieur?" I asked. He smiled, in fact, his smile never left him.

"Take this," he whispered, putting the small item in my palm. "It will hurt, but it will not be fatal. Put it around your neck." I silently obeyed, and I looked myself in the mirror as I did so. I then saw it, a red marking on the left side of my neck, in black actually, but was glowing red.