I've had this idea for a while now, but this is the first time I've really had chance to write it (and as I'm in the middle of exams, that's not a good thing!)
A BIG thank you to Flying Penguinz, the beta of this story :P
Claire is Amelie's daughter. Born in 986AD, they enjoyed life together, a mother and daughter. However, what happens when Claire dies a horrific death but then is reincarnated, continually throughout the centuries? Will they be able to break the curse Bishop put on her all those years ago, in 2011 Morganville?
Amelie's POV: 986AD – Berkshire, England.
"Please, let it stop!" I cry as yet another wave of pain – a contraction? – hits me. If I wasn't going to receive such a brilliant gift – I know my child has to be brilliant – I would have given up a long time ago and succumbed to an inevitable death. I have seen too many of my friends die in childbirth – even the princesses and the ladies of the court! If God is willing to take them, why wouldn't he take a disgraced princess? A princess who tried to overthrow her father, the king, in a mistimed mutiny that led to all of her fellow mutineers either being killed or having to swear fealty to him, completely failing. A princess who then, years later, managed to become with child when she wasn't married, meaning that the future Queen of France (whenever my dratted father would die… why hasn't he died yet?) had to go into hiding for fear that people would see me with my child. The way I came to be with this child, I try to block out of my mind because it is too painful to remember… If I remained in France whilst carrying this child, I would be insulted, mocked and ridiculed. After all, I am not married and this is deemed to be unholy and not right. Yet how I came to be in this state is the unholy thing, the manner in which it happened.
I was courting a fellow royal – some Lord of Brittagne – when he came to dine at the castle, at my Father's request. We dined alone and he plied me with much drink – too much, more than I could handle. I lost control of myself and feel I became a little inappropriate… however, that doesn't account for what he did… when I awoke the next morning, I was alone and put everything down to a bad dream. Yet when I became sick violently and the royal physician informed me of my pregnancy, I knew then what had happened. What he had done. Where he is now, I do not know but he will have nothing to do with this child's life. He will never see it!
"Miss, you're almost there," Bess, the woman who is assisting me says with a smile. I had to retreat to England to hide throughout my pregnancy – this is the only place where there was absolutely no chance of anyone I knew finding out about me: many wars between my country and this have resulted in only illicit crossings. If it wasn't for the fact I speak flawless English, I fear that I would have been caught and identified as Amelie Bishop, Princess of France. Yet I managed to get here and have been staying in the same manor house for the past seven months, a small place – but comfortable – which is close to the small town of Stratford. My father arranged this for me, and within only three days of my confessing about the pregnancy I was on my way: something inside of me was a little suspicious, yet I realised that how could I think such a thing? I caused this and just because for the first time in my life he has been pleasant, he needn't be after something or getting revenge.
Fifteen minutes later and I feel my child being bore from me – I feel the separation and the ache in my chest that the connection I have shared with my unborn child has been severed. Yet the love that grew during the nine months for this child of mine, that I have been dying to meet, stays put. In fact, I believe it gets stronger.
"Miss, it's a girl," Bess says, taking my child from the other woman in the room who was keeping an eye on the birth and wrapping her in a swaddling cloth, to remove the blood and other things on her. Yet I don't see any of this: all I see is my beautiful baby girl. She has my English rose skin, creamy with a hint of pink about her, and a delicate nose. Her eyes are huge and blue – I wonder what colour they will go, or whether they will remain blue. I remember reading that all babies' eyes are blue when they are born, but obviously some stay blue whilst the majority change colour. Her head is covered in a thick layer of springy brown hair, chocolate in colour, and I gently tease one of the little ringlets back around to join the others as she resides in my arms. She immediately stops crying, which pleases me, and I place my smallest finger in the middle of her tiny hand for her to grab on to.
"Hello, my baby," I whisper gently to her, smiling down into her face. My long white blonde hair is scraped back and my face, I don't believe, is a pretty picture, yet staring into those huge eyes makes everything feel so much better. I feel brilliant – elated! "You want to know your name? Yes? You do? Well, my baby, you are called Claire – it is a beautiful name, something that is only befitting to a beautiful baby like you!" I giggle with her as she splutters in glee – I already love motherhood!
"Miss, your father is here," Bess says, making me look up from little Claire in alarm. What is he doing here? I haven't spoken to him since I left France – it is too dangerous to send letters… but what is the King of France doing in England? If the people knew, he would be killed instantly – it isn't a wise thing to do! "Shall I send him in?" she asks and I nod, not entirely sure what is going on but agreeing anyway. As my mother would probably agree if she were here, getting my father angry or declining his presence is not the best of ideas. But why is he here? The only thing I can think of is that he would take my child, my little Claire… but no, he couldn't be that mean. After all, to separate a mother and her child is evil, something I don't even think my Father has managed to reach yet. He cannot be able to reach such lows, without being not human. Yet what can he want? Suspicion instantly rises in me, but then I remember the many lessons my mother taught me before she was slain, taken by God for whatever reason. Perhaps it was to make me become the person I am today, to help improve my individuality and independence. However, I cannot allow God to take me before my time, as then Claire would be alone. I cannot only have eight short years with Claire, like my mother had with me. She told me to always be open when a situation presents itself to you… you may think you know the character of the person, but perhaps they shall surprise you. There is always a chance, she said. I don't truly believe in it, but out of honour and respect for my dear mother, I decide to do this. I try and qualm the suspicion in me by staring into Claire's face, waiting for her grandfather to enter the room.
Within minutes, he is entering the small chamber where I have been for the past day and a half or so and looking relatively happy. The curtains are drawn yet he stays away from the small chink of light that has gotten under them – how peculiar. However, I do not wish to dwell on such abnormalities my father has – my daughter is so much more important than he is.
"My daughter," father greets me in a semi-friendly voice as he approaches. He is wearing his usual outfit of purple velvet (the belief that aristocracy should only wear purple is a tradition he rigidly sticks to, much to my contempt) but today is accompanied with an odd shaped drinking flask, containing something with a scent that I cannot quite make out. "And my granddaughter… how interesting this is. Have you named her yet, Amelie?" he asks me, making me confused. I never thought that he would ever be nice to me but here is a scenario (unless he has an ulterior motive somewhere) where my belief is being entirely challenged. Wait, it is my father. Of course he has an ulterior motive… but what? What motive could he have that regards me and my daughter, the most precious thing that is in my life? I do not know, but I am not going to sit back and watch as he takes my daughter. He will not take her! She is mine, and mine only… nobody else can have her.
"Claire," I say in a slightly strangled tone, looking back from my father to my beautiful baby girl.
"Delicate," he compliments – this is another strange thing. Normally, he only believes in criticism, yet here he has actually complimented a decision I have made. How queer! "You have good taste, Amelie, I will allow you that," he continues and I immediately jump from confused to suspicious. Why is he here? What purpose has he that means that he will actually compliment me, to simply get what he wants? He quite evidently needs me to be open and easily susceptible to whatever he is planning… yet what could it be? I cannot deal with this right now: he is supposed to be in France whilst I am supposed to be enjoying the first few hours of my daughter's life. Yet the sooner I call his bluff, the sooner he will move on and hopefully leave me alone. That is the thing I hope for… I can only pray that he will do this.
"Father, why are you here?" I ask him and he grimaces slightly. This isn't his usual reaction… perhaps he really is here just to be here for me…. No, that isn't likely. He will never have done this. No, that is impossible.
"Must we do this now?" he asks something I believe to be rhetorical. "I simply came to hold my granddaughter and see how my daughter is… is that too much to ask for, to be concerned?" he continues. With him, yes it is. He only ever does something that appears to be conceding and loving if he has another reason behind it. This is
"Very well," I concede and he motions to hold Claire. Well, it cannot hurt, no? Therefore, I slowly move forwards and place her in his arms – cooler than I remember them being as a child. Perhaps his elderly age has slowed his blood circulation… perhaps it means he is closer to death. If only!
As I make to move back to my pillows and rest for a while, as he holds Claire, a wave of pain overtakes my body. I feel blood pouring out of me and as I look over at my daughter, I see something strange occurring with my father. His eyes… they have turned red. He is tensing up, as if he has to do something very hard. What does this mean? His eyes are red… that isn't normal. Nobody's eyes turn red… except vampires. Oh my, is my father a vampire? Yet that is impossible, no? I always believed vampires were a work of fiction, something that existed only in stories or games. Yet here could be a direct opposite to all of my beliefs – a true vampire in the flesh, so to speak. My father. A vampire. And I have just handed him my daughter.
So what did you think? The chapter was MUCH longer, but it was too long, so it was split up!
The circumstances regarding how she got pregnant is in a one shot – 'the last year' but the ending is different… if you read it, don't forget to remember that the ending is different!
Please review! I'd love lots of them :P