I feel I should do a massive apology! This is my first fanfiction that I'm posting online and it does what I would normally never do! I've been procrastinating on essays recently and started watching True Blood; although the character Franklin is short lived I loved his character. I've wanted to write an original story based on the plotline in this fanfic however with three others on the go at the moment and trying to finish a degree I didn't want to forget the plotline! I loved Franklin's personality, the insecurity and general psychoness and thought he'd be perfect for this. So I'm so sorry that it's a Franklin x OC! I'n hoping to introduce a few of the other vampire characters into it at a later date.

I should also apologise for tweeking his history a bit!

Disclaimer: I own none of the True Blood characters.

Chapter One
Paris 1899

A young woman sat on the wall encircling the Sacré-Cœur, the sun was slowly sinking into the Parisian horizon turning the sky a brilliant cherry blossom pink. The air was thick with the heat from the summer day and the scent of roses filled her nostrils with every breath. Amethyst eyes glanced over towards the Tour Eiffel, a giant iron structure which had been completed earlier in the year and towered over Paris. Over one hundred years, she found herself thinking of the Revolution. The one that should have changed everything. But had it? France was now a republic, but it was clearly the rich who still ruled. There was of course a greater feeling of liberation, but the presence of poverty was still all too clear. The young woman looked down at her tattered skirt and sighed; in her left hand she clutched her wooden rosary, her thumb stroking the curved wooden balls, coarse with splinters.

"Please Lord…I know it is a sin, but I need to work." She blinked back tears and pushed herself backwards to climb from the wall. She slowly made her way down the steep steps leading back down to the streets of Paris. The sky gradually grew darker as the sun disappeared, she heard the trees rustling in the light breeze, but the sound of footsteps completed eluded her. As she reached the bottom of the hill she joined the bustling crowds, people didn't give her a second glance as she walked quietly along heading towards her destination. Despite the warmness of the night her feet grew cold through their flimsy and worn leather shoes. She couldn't afford stockings but thankfully her tattered skirt kept her legs hidden.

She paused opposite the brilliant red building, her destination. Already men in their suits were streaming through the doors, hurrying towards their sordid evening pleasures. Nervously she ran a shaky hand through her midnight hair and looked at the spinning blades.

"The Moulin Rouge," she looked behind her startled at the strange voice.

"Bonne soirée, sir." She greeted the man nervously, her eyes flicking up and down. He was dressed in a deep black suit; his waistcoat glistened like water under the moonlight. She tried to make out his features but he stood back with his face hidden in the shadows. All she could make out was the paleness of his hands.

"You will not get in looking like that, not without an escort at least."

"I…I wasn't –"

"Do not lie." Her cheeks flamed with heat and she looked down at her feet feeling like a scolded child. "You have been coming here for the past several days; I have watched them turn you away on the days you pluck up the courage to walk up to the door. I feel your humiliation," he stepped out from beneath the shadows and leant forward in a small bow. "Please allow me to help you in." He held out his hand, the smile he gave her was predatory but his dark eyes were soft. For a few moments all she could do was stare at the outstretched hand, it was so pale. She thought of the Sacré-Cœur, shining white and brilliant in the sunlight. His skin was like that, a brilliant white, almost glowing in the dark. Tentatively she reached out and rested her hand in his. It was cold like ice.

"You are freezing," she went to withdraw her hand but his own quickly encased it, imprisoning it with his strong grip.

"You are just warm," he gently took a step towards her, his eyes slowly lingering over the soft features of her face. "What is your name?"

"Reina," she whispered suddenly feeling as if her mouth was full of cotton. "I – I should not be here…"

"I agree, with a name like that you should be a nun." Reina's cheeks flamed with once more, horrified at his blasphemy. "Why do you want to go in there?"

"We need money…this is the only way…"

"There are other brothels."

"I…that is not why I am here." Although horrified that a stranger would think something of her she could not blame him. That was what happened in the Moulin Rouge. "I…I want to dance. Nothing else."

"They will want you to do more than just dance," the man spat venomously, Reina flinched at his anger but she could see it wasn't directed at her. "I will help you in Reina, but think carefully. Is this truly the life you want?" Reina thought back to what awaited her at home, her mother sick and coughing up blood. Their landlord threatening to evict them. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

"I have no choice," she whispered thickly. "Please, if you could help me just get in I would be in your debt…"

"Very well," he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the thick of the crowd. "My name is Franklin."