My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when I sensed another presence nearby. I wanted to call out to whomever or whatever was there, regardless of the consequences.
The musty air of the dank caverns shifted as I noticed from my peripheral vision, the silhouette of a large figure moving around my fallen form swiftly as though assessing the situation. A snake-like hiss was heard moments later and I began feeling the weight of the rocks being heaved off of my broken body. When the last stone was hefted away, I felt my body get lifted and carried. I was convinced it was a humanoid creature; though, curiosity rose in my mind as to what sort of creature it was. The same putrid scent from earlier was also emanating more strongly from the stranger as my limp body was cradled in its arms. My eyes were barely open as I watched the darkness of the caverns transition into a natural, dim light that some of the cave's minerals emitted.
The creature walked with hastened steps to its destination, which appeared to be somewhat civilized. Several wooden cabinets and tables lined the walls of the small cavern I was carried into. Upon some of the tables were various types of potions and bottles that were haphazardly scattered about. I felt my body being placed upon a cool surface with my arms and legs spread apart and firmly secured in shackles.
Moments later, once my eyes were fully opened, I found myself staring up at the stalactites above. Briefly, I stirred, attempting to move my body once more. The noise from the shackles inadvertently drew the creature's attention, as well.
The sounds of the creature's hissing grew louder as it finally approached the light and stood over me wearing a calculating expression. The ‘creature’ was actually an aged, human male of tall stature. Lengthy, black strands of ebony hair cascaded over his weathered, pale face that defined his skeletal features. He adorned himself in a long, black and green overcoat, which concealed the rest of his thin frame. His ebony, pupil-less eyes stared into my own, glowing faintly with some sort of dark magic that made me perturbed. After a few moments of closely observing me, his thin, pale lips twisted into a small, satisfying smile and he walked away. When I opened my mouth to speak, he had returned again, this time carrying a small syringe in his hand. He placed his finger to his lips, gesturing for me to stay silent, then took my arm and quickly plunged the needle into a vein in my wrist, emptying its liquid contents.
I cringed from the sharp pain and almost immediately afterwards, felt my body's strength return. My eyes were opened wide and my senses returned to me fully as I looked upon my savior in awe.
“Do not become too dependent on this,” he warned in a low, raspy tone, setting the needle on a nearby table. “Larger doses will kill you.”
My eyes trailed to the empty syringe on the table. “What was that you injected me with?” I inquired curiously.
He smirked. “It is called ‘cyanide’. Like most medicines, it's a cure in small doses and a poison in larger ones. I have, however, been working on enhancing this formula in order to speed up its effectiveness. You are the first to become subject to this experiment.”
My ignorance of pharmaceutics was apparent. I looked at him, both curious and confused at his explanation.
He took my expression rather amusingly and I heard him chuckle under his breath. I sensed something different about him that made him stand out beyond ordinary men.
As my gaze returned to the stalactites above, my troubled mind began pondering the situation.
“I wish we could have found you before,” I murmured. “Mother was dying and we desperately needed a healer.”
“I am no healer,” he promptly replied, his tone now icy. “My work is kept secret from the ignorant world …” He gave me a predatory gaze. “… and it will remain so.”
By the tone of his voice, I had a feeling I wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. I frowned at the thought. “Why did you save me, then? Who are you?”
He hissed in amusement of my obvious, flustered state. “Questions. So many questions. Normally, I would not have cared what happened to you; however, you did make a mess of my cave with your fallen heap of rocks. I am not a ruthless killer as you may think I seem.”
“I would have preferred to join the rest of my family in death,” I continued. “Nothing else matters to me, anymore.”
“Not even your own life?” he quirked a brow.
I stared at him momentarily. “You have no idea what has happened to me, nor do I think you would even care. I'm just a … ‘test subject’ in your eyes.”
“Why, yes,” he nodded. “Yes, you are just a test subject. And, no, I do not care about your pitiful life before you decided to trespass in my territory. In general, the past means nothing to me. But, the future … That means everything.”
I swallowed at his cold-sounding words. “The future?”
He waved his hand dismissively towards me. “Indeed. Death is a delicate and beautiful art that should be expressed in all forms. Death is not a … convenience.” He sneered. “Moreover, you came at the ideal time for me to test my cyanide mix. Now that I know it works, I can proceed to greater things.”
His raspy words were poetic and captivating. I was allured by his pleasant description of death and it somehow reminded me of Violet's calm attitude towards the subject.
He leaned on the edge of the table where I lay and continued his explanations while he gazed at me. “You are a young girl who is full of life — full of possibilities — full of the answers I seek.”
I licked my dry lips nervously and attempted to wriggle my body out of the shackles, but my pathetic efforts were futile.
“It is not often I come across civilization these days since the blight upon the land,” he continued, ignoring my pitiful attempts. “There are many things I can only do with the dead. Life, however, is unpredictable; it's challenging — and I am one who enjoys a good challenge.” He smiled at me, revealing a set of unnaturally-sharp fangs, thus confirming my suspicions about him being more than just a simple old man.
“Please,” I beseeched, “just let me go. What do you want with me?”
He casually held up my pale, thin wrist and felt my racing pulse. “I saved you from premature death. You owe your life to me. The debt shall be paid back in sums of your own blood.”
My mind was suddenly struck with the thought of my Father's crazed superstitions of the Blood Moon. I had always embraced the beauty of the Blood Moon, dismissing all negative connotations that paranoid minds usually associated it with. Now, however, even I began to feel doubtful. Perhaps, Father was right — about everything. I sighed deeply, feeling as though I had little choice in the matter at this point.
“My blood …” I repeated. “I have little blood to give. The drought continues to drain my mind and body of life.”
“It is ironic that the source of the drought is the very men that seek to destroy me,” he smirked.
My brow arched curiously at his comment. Before I could respond, he pushed himself from the table and left the room.
He returned minutes later carrying some folded clothes, which he set next to me. Retrieving a small key from one of the many hidden pockets in his overcoat, he proceeded to unlock the shackles around my hands and feet.
For a moment, I remained in place, still dumbfounded of him setting me free. Slowly, I shifted my body to sit upright, anticipating the excruciating pain that would follow, but none came. Physically, my body appeared fully-healed. I stared at my pale hands in surprise, and then shifted my gaze back to him.