He Called Himself Death
Summary:
Two years ago, the Great Revelation occured and Vampires opened Human's eyes to their existence. Ever since then, hate crimes have nearly tripled. Accusations sprung out of the ground at every death or mysterious murder. Fear strung the Humans so tightly, that they feared leaving their homes at night.
Four years ago, Violet Danvers, an eighteen-year-old, fresh out of high school and about to start her first year at The Visual Arts Academy of Dallas, needed just one last model. All she needed was a stranger. All she needed was one last portrait to fill in her showcase for an art auction. All she wanted was to draw the handsome face.
Four years ago, Violet Danvers did not expect her Sight to clash with the eternally youthful vampire, Godric. She did not expect to meet the very person that seemed to personify Death.
She sure as hell wasn't expecting to fall for him either.
Chapter Two- Immortalized Face of Death
The sparkling green eyes of Violet Danvers stares up at the building before her, a nervous and anxious smile spreading across her face, tastefully applied make-up enhancing her features delicately. Curls of thick black hair pools over her shoulders, framing her round face and contrasting against her light ivory skin. The snug fabric of her sleeveless black dress hugs every curve of her petite body firmly, the bottom hem of the skirt falling just below the curve of her backside. The deep, purple leggings encase her lean legs, the bottoms of them having been tucked into the leather ankle boots, the stiletto heels giving her an additional four inches. A black Bolero jacket covers her would-have-been bare arms and she remembers opting for her purple fingerless gloves, leaving her almost always present black ones at home.
Yes, Violet Danvers acknowledged the fact that she hadn't dressed as elegantly as everyone else, but she didn't stop smiling at the people passing her to head inside. Hearing a car door shut, she glances over at Aiden, smirking as her gaze travels over his attire for the evening. True to his image, Aiden decided on dressing like anything but the ordinary.
A simple tight black t-shirt hugs his lean torso underneath the red pin-striped black blazer, a red neck tie hanging loosely around his neck. Tight, red skinny jeans with a single white belt through the belt loops finish the attire, multiple stars cut out of the white leather. The final piece to his total ensemble was the red pin-striped black fedora hat that rests on top of his head, his mess of auburn hair sticking out from underneath.
"You ready?" he asks as he steps up beside her, his own hazel eyes, outlined with black eyeliner, staring up at the building.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, before the two friends make their way up the staircase.
Women in elegant and vibrant dresses chatter softly with each other, their arms hooked around the arms of their men, who were all dressed in equally formal attire. Violet sighs softly, feeling completely out of place. This isn't her type of scene, never has been. Following Aiden around, Violet takes the time to study every showcase they pass, praising the artist who only seems to bask in her words.
Coming to another showcase, Violet inwardly cringes at the sight of Modern Pop Art. It isn't her favorite style of art. To her, it seemed like people can just throw paint onto a blank canvas and present it as art. Giggling softly, her eyes catch sight of the familiar signature. An elegant, loopy cursive AP, and she didn't bother hiding her laughter.
"Something amusing, Danvers?" a familiar voice sneers behind the two friends.
Both turn, their eyes looking into the sharp brown eyes of Anthony Paul. Violet didn't bother masking her eye roll after glancing over his formal 'black tie' attire. Anthony Paul, a Junior Year student at her school. Violet knew him to be everything an artist shouldn't be. Arrogant. Self-righteous. Hateful. Violet could name all of the adjectives, but she knew it would take way too long and she really hated wasting time on people like him.
Snapping out of her negative thoughts, Violet smirks at him, "Besides your artwork? Nothing."
Ignoring the glare, Violet once again feels Aiden pull her away from the potential argument. Everyone at the Academy knows how the simple Danvers-Paul arguments soon break into fights, Violet being the one on the most occasion to get Anthony to crack. Violet giggles as Aiden murmurs something about 'pig-headed bigots'.
"Violet! Aiden! You both made it," a familiar voice calls out, causing the two to look up again.
Flecks of grey peppers the deep brown hair of Mrs. Ebony James. Violet glances over the woman's elegant, champagne-colored, chiffon dress, the material caressing her curves softly. Mrs. James, one of Violet's favorite teachers, smiles warmly at them. The older woman glances over Aiden's choice of clothing and lets out a soft laugh.
"Aiden, you always play the Rebel, don't you," she teases.
Aiden grins, tapping the brim of his hat with his index finger, "I can tell you I am a Rebel with a pretty damn good cause. I can't show up to an event like this and chance someone actually wearing something I am."
Violet and Mrs. James both let out laughs at the young man's words. Aiden flashes them both his charming grin before walking off, saying something about looking for Orion's showcase. Shaking her head at her companion, Violet turns her gaze back to Mrs. James. Listening as Mrs. James speaks high praises about her showcase, Violet smirks as she comments about it only being Mrs. James' favorite because all of her artwork is Freelanced- Mrs. James being the teacher for Freelance Art.
Parting ways with her teacher, Violet makes her way toward the area where her showcase resides. Stopping behind a couple, Violet tilts her head as she inspects the pair. The woman, dressed in an elegant, white dress, stands straight, her petite stature overshadowed by her companion. The man, Violet couldn't stop the grin from forming on her lips, looked as though he stepped right out of a rodeo.
"This is absolutely ridiculous," the man comments, Violet realizing he was referring to her First Impressions sketch.
"I think it's lovely," the woman praises, her voice carrying a thick Hispanic accent.
The man snorts in response, "It's pathetic, is what it is."
"Exactly what is so ridiculous and pathetic about it?" Violet asks before she can stop herself.
She inwardly smacks herself as the pair turn their gazes on her, the man's blue eyes glaring dangerously, "It lacks any truth behind it."
The woman beside him shakes her head, smiling softly, "You must be the artist," Violet nods in response, her gaze never leaving the man's, "I must apologize for his words. I find your artwork to be...interesting."
Violet finally breaks her gaze with the man and flashes the woman a wide grin, "Thanks, and there's no need to apologize. I've learned long ago that everyone is entitled to their own opinion," She doesn't miss the arrogant smirk that appears on the man's lips, "So, in turn, I've come to only acknowledge the comments that matter."
The man's female companion stifles her laughter with her fingertips as the man's glare intensifies, "What did you just say?"
"You don't honestly think that an artist hasn't heard people make both positive or negative comments about their work, do you? If I acknowledge every single comment, I wouldn't be the artist I am now. So, I only take in mind the opinions that matter, and I'd hate to break it to you, but I don't know you, therefore your opinion really doesn't matter."
"Like you know him," the man seethes as he points to the sketch of the ivory-skinned, stoic-faced man from Cookie's.
"No, that's why it's called a First Impressions sketch. Surely the words above the portrait pointed that out already," Violet replies, not even flinching as the man takes a step toward her.
"You may just want to watch those words of yours, little girl," he threatens.
Violet tilts her head to the side, "I'm afraid the only way for someone to watch their words is for them to be written down on paper, and as you can see," Violet motions to her outfit, "I am currently lacking a pen and paper."
"That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days," the man sneers, "You may just want to be careful who you speak to like that."
"Let me guess," Violet taps her chin mockingly in thought, "I wouldn't want to cross the wrong person," Violet smirks, feeling her old high school persona as an instigator flash to the front of her mindset, "Is it so hard for people to say something different? A little originality isn't going to kill anyone."
"You'd be surprised," the man shoots back.
Violet's smirk doesn't falter as her shoulders tense up, her eyes changing from playful to calculating. The woman seems torn in response of what to do in the situation. Seeing the man take another step forward, Violet's fingerless-gloved hands clench into fists.
"I hope no one is causing you any trouble, Miss Danvers," a familiar accented voice cuts through the tension, all three of them turning to see the young man from Cookie's approaching them, his passive gaze setting on the man in the cowboy hat, "I'd hate for anyone to be hurt."
Violet watches as the other man lets out a hiss before turning on heel and leaving the area. The woman, once again praising Violet's work, follows after the man. Once they disappear from her sights, Violet turns toward the young man. She finds it almost comical to see him, his head tilted to the side as he studies the portrait of himself.
"This is your first impression of me?" he asks gently, to which she nods gently, "I look...nice. This can't honestly be me."
"Handsome. Stoic. Beautiful deep eyes. Defined cheek bones. Strong jawline. That's exactly what I see. I have to tell you, trying to match your skin tone was a pain in the ass. Besides, you are nice."
"Not always," he replies softly.
Violet shrugs nonchalantly, looking toward her other pieces, "It's what we like to call Evolution," he tenses slightly at the words, "Now, I'm not saying from ape to man. From the very beginning of our lives, we evolve to adapt to our surroundings. We go from crawling to walking. We go from making grunts and noises to speaking. We go from needing help to doing things for ourselves. Everything is based on some form of evolution."
When her silent companion says nothing, she continues, "I don't even know your name, let alone your past, so I can't comment, but maybe you did things you had to do. I can't honestly say I've lived an honest, good life. Hell, I've done things I'm not proud of, but I didn't have much choice. Maybe you had reasons to do whatever it is that haunts you, but that doesn't make you anything but what you are now."
His gaze finally meets her green eyes and she finds her words caught in her throat. Now, if there is one thing Violet Danvers is used to, it would be stares. Throughout her entire life, she's been on the receiving end of a lot of stares. Some because of her choice in clothing. Some in her choice of company. Some gave her stares of pity. Some, well, some just didn't like her.
Shifting with discomfort, Violet breaks the stare. The open curiosity in his gaze made her feel naked. He was looking at her like she was a puzzle of some kind. A puzzle with one piece missing. A puzzle where he would locate the missing piece, replace it in its respective place, only to find a new piece missing.
Fighting down the blush, she moves her gaze over to one of the paintings, "All I'm saying is that even after the first impression is gone, I still see you no different than I did a month ago."
Feeling him shift, her eyes move toward him, only to see him take a step toward her. Instinctively, her body stiffens in response, but she makes no move to keep the distance between them.
"You do not fear me," he whispers, pausing in his approach.
Tilting her head to the side, she shakes her head, "Should I?"
"Yes," he replies curtly, eyes hardening, "I'm a poison, a disease. I will only infect your life and watch it wither to nothing."
"My life has already been infected with poisons and diseases," she says softly, watching his eyebrows narrow, "My life wasn't exactly a field of tulips and daisies, but every so often, I came across people who became the cures and antidotes toward the negative. They gave me a reason to continue on. Maybe, you just need to find your own antidote and cure."
Watching his eyes shift from their hardened glint to a flicker of thoughtfulness, Violet didn't bother hiding the softened smile that forms across her face. The thoughtful glint disappears, only to have a wide, surprised look replace it as he watches her hand reach up. Only a breath away from cupping his cheek, Violet smiles softly, fingers twitching to touch, but after a moment of silence, she reluctantly pulls her hand back down to her side.
"A face such as your own isn't meant to be made of stone," she comments softly, taking a step back from his close proximity, "Try looking for the cures and antidotes in your life. You can't live a life on poisons alone."
Turning on heel, she shakes her head as tries to come up with an idea of where Aiden had taken off to earlier in the night.
"Godric," the accented voice causes her to pause in her retreat, causing her to look over her shoulder, "You said you did not know my name. My name is Godric."
"It was a true pleasure to meet you again, Godric," she says before moving her way through the crowd of people, ignoring the burning gaze on her retreating form.
Meeting up with Aiden and his boyfriend, Orion, Violet takes her time moving through all of the showcases. Praising the artists' work, Violet didn't hide her smile as she looks over the sculptures, paintings, and photographs. After an hour, Violet excuses herself from her friends and makes her way toward the balcony. Reaching into the small, inside pocket of her Bolero, she pulls out a cigarette before lighting it.
"You know those things are bad for your health," Mrs. James's voice comments, pulling Violet stare from the night sky to the woman stepping onto the balcony.
"Everyone has their vices, Mrs. James. What can I do for you?" Violet asks, realizing the woman must have followed her for a reason.
"I wanted to tell you the good news. Your entire showcase was sold for three hundred thousand dollars," Mrs. James states with a wide smile, watching the young woman's eyes widen in shock, "The young man said he wanted the complete set from your showcase. He left a women to oversee the removal, just to make sure none of the pieces are damaged in anyway."
Violet disposes of the half-spent cigarette, re-entering the building and making her way toward her showcase area. Sure enough, men were removing the pieces and placing them in protective covers before taking them out of the building. Violet catches sight of the woman from earlier, watching the men with a careful gaze.
"So it's true?" Violet questions, stepping up beside the woman.
The Hispanic woman nods gently, "Yes. Godric insisted on buying your showcase before it was even put up for the auction. I'm Isabel, a friend of Godric's."
Violet's eyes lock on the extended hand, smiling weakly, "I'm not big on handshakes, and my name is Violet," Seeing the slightly startled look on Isabel's face, Violet tilts her head to the side, "Would it be possible to draw you?"
Watching as the older woman's eyes widen at the suggestion, Violet grins gently, "Not for a project or anything, but I have a habit of wanting to draw people who catch my eyes."
"I'd love to be a subject for you to draw. May I ask you something?" Isabel asks, motioning to one of the pieces still on display, "Where did you get the inspiration for such a drawing?"
A weak smiles tugs at the edges of Violet's lips, her green eyes focusing on the piece Isabel motions to. Bold black lines created by Indian Ink caused the vibrant red splattered across the page. The heavily detailed image of a woman, lying in a bath of red water, causes Violet to swallow the lump in her throat, her green eyes turning away from the sight of a blackened hole depicted in her temple and the splatter against the wall of the bath.
"It's kind of hard to forget the image of your dead mother," Violet retorts curtly, Isabel watching silently as the vibrant green eyes grow pale and become glassy, all emotion fading from the once beautiful eyes. "It's an image I'd rather have on paper than have it imprinted in my brain."
"Godric mentioned you said you were an orphan. I am sorry for your loss," Isabel replies, but Violet's eyes remains the hardened jade color.
"I have lived long enough with people giving me pity, so I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so," Violet comments, her voice shifting from musical and husky to mechanical and monotonous.
Isabel glances over the young woman before turning her sights on the morbid piece as it was being taken down, "I suppose I can understand."
"It doesn't help having a photographic memory, either," Violet's cynical tone causes Isabel to flick her gaze back to the younger woman, who smirks in response, "Tell Godric he better take care of my piece, or I'll rip him a new one," Isabel's face fixes on a state of amusement at her words, but Violet shrugs, "Stop by Cookie's Bar some time, and I'll draw up your portrait."
Isabel's thoughtful gaze follows the ebony-haired woman until her form disappears through the crowd of people.
Aiden inwardly sighs at the sight before him. Lying on the bed, Violet Danvers had taken to stripping down to her matching bra and boy cut panties, the girl's gaze never moves from the ceiling. Seeing the blank glaze coating her eyes in a tint of an emotionless void, Aiden would have believed her to be dead, if it wasn't for the subtle rise and fall of her chest of course. Ignoring her state of undress, Aiden carefully crawls onto the bed and up her body, meeting her blank gaze.
"Vi?" Aiden whispers, dropping a soft kiss to her bare collarbone. "Snap out of it, luv."
The blank eyes flick from the ceiling to stare back into his eyes, and he flashes her a soft, saddened smile in response, "Come on, Vi. Tell me what I can do to help you."
No words are said as Violet's blank gaze looks over his face searchingly before a sigh leaves her lips. Seeing the pale, bare hand reach from the mattress, Aiden caught sight of the shallow cuts and scratch marks lining her arms. Feeling the cool hand cup his cheek, Aiden gently turns his face, pressing his lips against the nimble fingers.
"Help me take them away," she whispers softly, eyes watching her friend's face carefully.
"Just tell me how," Aiden replies just as softly.
"Stay with me," she mumbles, "I need someone with more pleasant memories than my own."
Aiden says nothing as he strips himself of his cotton t-shirt and moves under the covers of the bed. Shivering at the feel of his best friend's bare skin, Aiden doesn't stop his arms from curling around her waist, pulling the flush of her backside against him. Dropping another kiss to her shoulder, Aiden smiles gently as her body slowly relaxes.
"Aiden," she murmurs softly in the darkness of the bedroom, "Thanks for the memories."
Aiden pulls her to him tightly for a brief moment in response, "Anything for you, Vi."
Author's Note: Now before you jump to conclusions, there is no sexual relationship between Violet and Aiden. Their relationship reflect a more protective-sibling relationship that is full of comfort. If you haven't guessed, Aiden is one of Violet's 'antidotes' and hopefully one of you readers can figure out what is special about her.
Thanks for all those who reviewed on the first chapter. I am pleased you guys are enjoying it and thank you for the kind words of constructive criticism, I wasn't aware of switching back and forth. Thanks again and please do leave more reviews. Reviews make me happy. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think and if there is anything you may want to see in the story. I have a idea of where the story is going so it won't be hard to add something in that you, the readers, will want to see.
Thanks again.
-RandomNormality