Angelica Broussard

Born in the small farming village of  Allouville-Bellefosse  she ran away from home at fifteen looking to escape her father’s belt and drunker temper. With no skills or education, she soon found out how cold the city was to those without money. Desperation led her to discover she had a natural talent for the world’s oldest profession.

It didn’t take her long to learn which Johns were safe and which were not. Some, she discovered, got off on cruelty while the sick perversions of others was more than she could stomach.  Like most working girls she quickly gained a set of regulars, these saw her well kept. In respect of them she rarely took new clients, unless it was something special, like the party that night.

The night of the stranger. Hired to be the entertainment she was soon monopolized by him. He was foreign and exotic, reeking of money and she was flattered by his attention. When he asked her to go upstairs she didn’t hesitate. Perhaps she should have.

Looking in his eyes  she found herself unable to deny him anything he wished.  By the time she realized what he wished was her life, it was too late to stop him. Unable to do anything as he sank his teeth into her throat, she could only tremble as she felt him drinking from her. Slowly the lights in the room began to dim and as the darkness closed in she realized she was freezing cold.

She awoke in the city morgue. A toe tag that read “Jane Doe” hung off her right foot. She read where they had fished her from the Seine considering her just another body dump. Confusion and fear filled her, but they soon were overcome by a strange and fierce hunger gnawing at her insides demanding to be sated.

The scent drew her from the steel gurney, out to where the night watchman an old man was napping. She could see the pulse in his throat, feel the beat of his heart, without thought she was upon him, her small fangs tearing into his throat, sinking deep as she drank deeply.

When she realized what she had done she felt no remorse. He had been dying anyhow, his liver soiled by too many years of heavy drink. In truth she had offered him a far more merciful death.  Disposing of his body shes stole some scrubs and fled into the night.

The coppery taste of the old man’s blood still sweet upon her tongue.

Days would pass in slumber, hidden away from the burning rays of the sun. Nights were hers to prowl the endless city streets, taking her pleasure where it suited her and finding an endless supply of  what she now hungered for. With each feeding came a new awareness, a new power to explore.  Years rolled by and she watched as others withered and died, but not she, no she remained young and beautiful.

But immortality comes with a price.

In time the nights grew longer and colder.  No matter how many lovers she took, none could warm the ice that was building inside her.

None could give her what she craved the most.

Companionship -someone to walk the endless eons with her.

Apart from the one who made her she had not come across another like herself in all the years since.  She had given up hope of ever finding another like herself.

Strolling through the Rue Saint-Denis she was struck with the sudden awareness of another.  Tracking him she saw him up ahead, feeding.  Lifting his head she realized he was aware of her as well. Hissing he dropped the man he fed from and sped down a side street. Giving chase she followed him into what she thought was a dead end ally. Passing through a strange patch of bright light she left the world she knew forever.

Gone was the ally, the city and the night. Instead she found herself in a small bustling village in the middle of a day where the sun did not burn her skin and and werewolves, dragons and demons strolled past without question. Humans she was soon to learn were the oddities here.

In a world where everything was different, one thing remained true.

Lust was still profitable.