OngoingWorlds blog

News & articles about play-by-post games, for roleplayers & writers


Flashback story – Clarisse du Volde

This is a story submitted as part of the Flashback week competition. It’s written by Clarissa Marie and is from a game played on

It is always asked of me, do I remember my first taste of human blood? I cannot help but shudder, but I do remember it. It isn’t fondly simply because I nearly revealed my true nature to the world. I was clumsy in my first days, I hadn’t the faintest idea of what on earth to do. How could I? I had stormed off like a pigheaded fool and left Colin to burn in the flames of our burning cottage. My rage was a thing not to be trifled with and after three years of marriage, I’d had enough. Bad enough that he paraded about town with his drunken friends and his whores, bad enough that he should degrade me and even raise his hand to me. He was a horrid man and I rued the day I had agreed to marry him. He was my only source of answers and as far as I knew he was dead. I shuddered as his screams entered my mind once more and I raised my hands to rub at my temples. As long as I lived, I swore that his screams will forever live on in my mind and his horrified expression will remain emblazoned within my memory as well as the smell of his burning flesh. I can’t help but feel guilty, but if he’d not been so bitter and callous to me, I wouldn’t have done as I had. I would have endured any insult, but no, to make me into a monster and deny me any pleasure I may have ever known, he had it coming for sure. No, no regrets.

I emerged from the catacombs beneath Notre Dame when the sun was well set and the people of the night began to come creeping out. I wrapped my shawl around myself even though I didn’t really need to. The bitter cold was nothing to me now, which was a perk and a negative thing. It required some acting on my part to look like I was cold. Things that came naturally before, are very difficult to learn how to pretend to do. I couldn’t help but think that it was proper that I sleep surrounded by the dead. I was dead, really, I just didnt have the sense to lay down and stay dead. The musky air was likely upon me and I longed for a bath. Perhaps I could take a bath in the Seine, I mused to myself quietly, after I had found my supper.

Supper. Oh dear God, how I hated the idea of it. No, my supper didn’t consist of normal meals, but of succulent, rich blood and a life. It was a delightful cake–with a disgusting icing. I knew that someday, I’d be strong enough to say, “no” or hold off awhile. But I had no self control yet. Everyone appeared as a potential meal. So into the streets I wandered with a heavy heart, knowing that tonight would be the night I made a kill. I was so disgusted that I made off into an alley and threw up. “Dear God, please let me not fail…,” I prayed quietly, holding to the hope that God would hear me, one of his pitiful creations, and grant me the stregnth I needed. I had not asked for this life. I hadn’t asked to be damned. How could he condemn me and forget about me? I kept my hands pressed to the brick wall for a few moments to steady myself and regain my composure. I slowly began to move when I smelled him.

My emerald eyes darkened to a crimson hue and I felt my fangs elongate and prick my bottom lip. I shudderred as I knew the monster was coming out in me. I looked down the alley, spotting the man. He was deformed and little, part of some acting troupe more than likely. He seemed unaware of me and in an instant, I found him in my arms screaming as I made my first attempt to bite him.

“Nosfetatu!” he screamed in a heavy Russian accent, pulling a crucifix necklace out to try and ward me off.

“Doesnt work, you little prat,” I hissed and found myself laughing as he pressed the cold silver against my forehead and writhed in my arms to break free. I grasped him tighter growing frustrated and delirious with hunger. “It will be quicker if you stay still!” I hissed again, tightening my grasp and finally sank my fangs in, tearing through his tender flesh and directly down into the vein. His blood flowed into my mouth and I finally felt peace flow through me. Its bitter, yet sweet coppery taste filled my mouth and I wanted more. He was still crying, though not nearly as loudly and I squeezed him tighter, unawre of the fact that I was crushing him as I drained him further. His heartbeat was still strong despite all his blood loss and I, being full now and tired of his incessant screaming, grabbed his head, twisting it and sighing at the disgusting sound of his neck bones breaking. I let him go, looking at his body as it landed with a thud. I leaned back against the wall, my eyes

closed when I heard a voice inside my mind.


Confused but knowing I had to before I was caught as I knew I would be if I stuck around, I took off running. I was glad for the speed that I had now, appreciative that no one saw me. I felt bloody tears streaming down my face as I went back into the catacombs. Back into my safe haven. I was about to settle down, resting my head on my small sachel of clothing when I heard footsteps. I sat up with a start, looking around. I looked around for something to defend myself, but all I had was myself and the fangs in my mouth.

“Who’s there?” I demanded.

“Calm yourself. I’m not here to hurt you.” An Italian accented voice responded. I nearly swooned, I adored accents.

“Who are you?” I asked, standing up, preparing to run if I had to. I had to be ready.

“My name is Sanglant Di Moira,” he spoke, his Italian accent curling through his words and he came out into light. I nearly swooned once again, but kept a hold of myself. He was seductive without even doing anything. His movements all seemed planned, yet were graceful and carried out with ease. He was taller than I was; around 6 feet, I wagered. His skin was lightly tanned and I bit on my lip as I continued looking at him. He seemed…perfect. His lips were well formed, and he had a long thin nose with high cheekbones. His light brown hair was tied back with a small black ribbon. How unusual for a man to be out without a powdered wig! His eyes, however, were truly what drew me in. They were an amazing grey hue, almost the color of storm clouds. I blushed as I looked down, noting his impeccable taste in clothing and here I was in an old dress that was a castaway from the theatre, my shoes half falling apart and my long black hair in a messy bun. I wished to no end that I would gain

my inheritance soon. But I was six years away from it.

“What do you want from me? I asked softly as he stepped closer to me, pushing a stray tendil of my hair back to look into my green eyes. As he did, I felt that I wanted him to touch me more. I felt…safe with him. I wanted to hate him yet I was already infatuated.

“I’ve been watching you…and I want to help you…”

I pushed his hand away, stepping back and frowned. Help always had a price. What was his?

“I have no price,” he answered to my shock. How did he do that? “Trust me?” he whispered into my mind. “Please. I’ll help you…”

“I…” I paused but before I could stop myself, my want to believe there were still good people in the world overpowered me. And I wanted to know more of this Sanglant Di Moira. “I trust you,” came tumbling out of my mouth and he let a soft smile cross his lips, turning me into mush. I had a feeling I had just met the most important man I’d ever meet in my life and so, I faintly smiled back at him.

“Come, Clarisse,” he spoke softly. “Let’s get you out of here…” he motioned to the squalor that I was calling home. “That’s the first step….”