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Description
The eyes of Eden

October 17, 1863

Ireland

                The wedding reception was in full swing. It was chasing the beautiful sea-side ceremony of Eden and Blaire, the town's newly-weds and sweethearts. The weather was outstanding and unexpectedly warm for an October day, yet the fall crispness and the ocean breeze were mingling and dancing, just like all the other wedding guests. The vows had been exchanged, the cake cut, and the alcohol served. The reception had long past the hour of decency, and was stretching into the early hours of the morning.

                The mist was rolling in, but that didn't stop a game of blind man's bluff being played. Eden and Blaire had both been blindfolded, and spun around a couple of times. The guests situated themselves in a semi-circle, trapping the newly weds between them and the cliffs. Blaire was at one of the semi-circle, and Eden the other. After they both regained their drunken balance, they were nudged into the circle for the amusement of the guests. They were supposed to find each other, yet Eden found the cliffs.

                One misstep, and Eden tumbled over the side, and into the treacherous water below. Her scream had pierced the night air, and the light-hearted mood. Off came Blaire's blindfold, and over to the edge came everyone to see what horrors lie below. Had she hit the rocks and died on impact? Had, by some miracle she managed to hit the narrow strip of sand, and be lying there in a mass of petticoats, slightly confused but able to laugh about it? Had the tide swept her away? The latter was found to be true. Eden was nowhere to be found.

                Actually, that was a lie. Eden washed up on a beach, a couple miles from the small town. On that beach was nothing but her and another solitary soul. A pale figure, as white as Eden's soggy dress, and gleaming red eyes with a hint of insanity. The pale figure's lips curled back in a childish smirk, revealing pearly white fangs. He waltzed over to see what lay before him, and with one hand, he easily plucked the girl from the waves, and lifted her up into his arms. What a catch, he mused to himself. He looked over the young lady sprawled in his arms, and he could feel a pulse. However slight it may be, it was still there.

                He closed his eyes, and inhaled her scent. Jasmine meets magnolia meets cinnamon. His eyes flickered back open, and he delicately moved Eden's red hair away from her outstretched neck. He went for it. It was a matter of survival. He drank, yet had the decency to stop, and to turn her into someone like him.

June 25, 1944

Paris, France

                Eden sat perched on her desk, quite unladylike, while she flipped through the paper work on her desk. It was a quiet night at La Alouette Noire, a premier bar and burlesque club. It was on the lower levels of an old, abandoned hotel. Eden had repurposed it to suit her needs. It was a casual place, one that the soldiers frequented when off duty. It was slow, as most of the troops were off in Normandy.

                Eden finally found what she was looking for: a train ticket from Paris to Dublin. She looked over the ticket, and then glanced up at the clock. She slid off her desk with a sigh before walking out of the club. She waved off the bouncer, giving him a look to deal with closing up. A sleek black town car pulled up, and Eden got in, smoothing her skirt once she sat down. She was whisked away towards the train station, wondering to herself as to why she was doing this. Again.

                Every few years, Eden would travel back from the place she hailed from. That little town had always been home. She would come to check up on the town, and see what had changed. She would also study the death records, and stalk the graveyard, checking grave after grave, rechecking, and triple checking. There wasn't anything. Surely, he would've been dead by now. Like she should be. Every attempt was futile, always ending with her visiting her empty grave. Eden was hoping this time would be different.

June 30, 1944

Ireland

                Blaire sat at a pub, staring blankly out of a dirty, fogged up window. He was staring out at the empty street, which was bathed with moonlight and the dim lights of the street lamps. His chin rested in his palm, as he absent mindedly stacked the empty shot glasses into a pyramid. He missed her. He simply missed her, even after all these immortal years. He remembered his fit of depression, and when his friends tried to get him to date again. He was steady with someone, but it simply wasn't the same. Making love was just intercourse. One night, she was romancing him in a cheap motel room that smelled of liquor and cigarettes. He felt something sharp at his neck then darkness enveloped him.

                 When Blaire came to, she had been no where to be found. He was sprawled on a blood stained motel bed, and he felt a little dizzy. He had this feeling in his stomach, this thirst for something he couldn't put his finger on. It was only when he saw himself in the mirror, fangs and all, that he knew what he was. He fell into a lifestyle with an irregular pattern of long, empty nights, to short ones where he did what had been done to him. Motels, motels, and motels. He wouldn't bleed them dry, though, or turn them into immortal companions. He would simply take enough to make them black out, but he was careful. He would heal the neck wounds, and leave before they woke up. He was constantly changing cities, but he was back in his hometown tonight.

                Eden sighed in annoyance as she slammed a heavy, old book shut. Nothing. She shook her head and scorned herself for being so stupid. 81 years had passed her by, yet within 81 years of records, there was nothing about him. She lugged the book up, and shoved it back on the shelf before turning on her heel, and leaving. She vowed to herself this would be the last time. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her very full swing skirt, and left the history center. She continued walking, past her hotel. She kept her head down, ignoring the glances or stares she was getting. The moon was shining like a spot light on her, but she continued down towards an older part of town. One that she knew.

                She lifted her head up and glanced around. Blaire took down his shot glass tower and went back to staring out the window. Eden walked past an old pub, and peered in. Those deep green eyes struck a chord with Blaire, as he stared emptily back at her, but she kept moving on, convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. Blaire thought the loneliness was getting to him, and he swallowed his loneliness, the memories, and the picture in his mind of those eyes. Those eyes of Eden.

Description
The eyes of Eden

October 17, 1863

Ireland

                The wedding reception was in full swing. It was chasing the beautiful sea-side ceremony of Eden and Blaire, the town's newly-weds and sweethearts. The weather was outstanding and unexpectedly warm for an October day, yet the fall crispness and the ocean breeze were mingling and dancing, just like all the other wedding guests. The vows had been exchanged, the cake cut, and the alcohol served. The reception had long past the hour of decency, and was stretching into the early hours of the morning.

                The mist was rolling in, but that didn't stop a game of blind man's bluff being played. Eden and Blaire had both been blindfolded, and spun around a couple of times. The guests situated themselves in a semi-circle, trapping the newly weds between them and the cliffs. Blaire was at one of the semi-circle, and Eden the other. After they both regained their drunken balance, they were nudged into the circle for the amusement of the guests. They were supposed to find each other, yet Eden found the cliffs.

                One misstep, and Eden tumbled over the side, and into the treacherous water below. Her scream had pierced the night air, and the light-hearted mood. Off came Blaire's blindfold, and over to the edge came everyone to see what horrors lie below. Had she hit the rocks and died on impact? Had, by some miracle she managed to hit the narrow strip of sand, and be lying there in a mass of petticoats, slightly confused but able to laugh about it? Had the tide swept her away? The latter was found to be true. Eden was nowhere to be found.

                Actually, that was a lie. Eden washed up on a beach, a couple miles from the small town. On that beach was nothing but her and another solitary soul. A pale figure, as white as Eden's soggy dress, and gleaming red eyes with a hint of insanity. The pale figure's lips curled back in a childish smirk, revealing pearly white fangs. He waltzed over to see what lay before him, and with one hand, he easily plucked the girl from the waves, and lifted her up into his arms. What a catch, he mused to himself. He looked over the young lady sprawled in his arms, and he could feel a pulse. However slight it may be, it was still there.

                He closed his eyes, and inhaled her scent. Jasmine meets magnolia meets cinnamon. His eyes flickered back open, and he delicately moved Eden's red hair away from her outstretched neck. He went for it. It was a matter of survival. He drank, yet had the decency to stop, and to turn her into someone like him.

June 25, 1944

Paris, France

                Eden sat perched on her desk, quite unladylike, while she flipped through the paper work on her desk. It was a quiet night at La Alouette Noire, a premier bar and burlesque club. It was on the lower levels of an old, abandoned hotel. Eden had repurposed it to suit her needs. It was a casual place, one that the soldiers frequented when off duty. It was slow, as most of the troops were off in Normandy.

                Eden finally found what she was looking for: a train ticket from Paris to Dublin. She looked over the ticket, and then glanced up at the clock. She slid off her desk with a sigh before walking out of the club. She waved off the bouncer, giving him a look to deal with closing up. A sleek black town car pulled up, and Eden got in, smoothing her skirt once she sat down. She was whisked away towards the train station, wondering to herself as to why she was doing this. Again.

                Every few years, Eden would travel back from the place she hailed from. That little town had always been home. She would come to check up on the town, and see what had changed. She would also study the death records, and stalk the graveyard, checking grave after grave, rechecking, and triple checking. There wasn't anything. Surely, he would've been dead by now. Like she should be. Every attempt was futile, always ending with her visiting her empty grave. Eden was hoping this time would be different.

June 30, 1944

Ireland

                Blaire sat at a pub, staring blankly out of a dirty, fogged up window. He was staring out at the empty street, which was bathed with moonlight and the dim lights of the street lamps. His chin rested in his palm, as he absent mindedly stacked the empty shot glasses into a pyramid. He missed her. He simply missed her, even after all these immortal years. He remembered his fit of depression, and when his friends tried to get him to date again. He was steady with someone, but it simply wasn't the same. Making love was just intercourse. One night, she was romancing him in a cheap motel room that smelled of liquor and cigarettes. He felt something sharp at his neck then darkness enveloped him.

                 When Blaire came to, she had been no where to be found. He was sprawled on a blood stained motel bed, and he felt a little dizzy. He had this feeling in his stomach, this thirst for something he couldn't put his finger on. It was only when he saw himself in the mirror, fangs and all, that he knew what he was. He fell into a lifestyle with an irregular pattern of long, empty nights, to short ones where he did what had been done to him. Motels, motels, and motels. He wouldn't bleed them dry, though, or turn them into immortal companions. He would simply take enough to make them black out, but he was careful. He would heal the neck wounds, and leave before they woke up. He was constantly changing cities, but he was back in his hometown tonight.

                Eden sighed in annoyance as she slammed a heavy, old book shut. Nothing. She shook her head and scorned herself for being so stupid. 81 years had passed her by, yet within 81 years of records, there was nothing about him. She lugged the book up, and shoved it back on the shelf before turning on her heel, and leaving. She vowed to herself this would be the last time. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her very full swing skirt, and left the history center. She continued walking, past her hotel. She kept her head down, ignoring the glances or stares she was getting. The moon was shining like a spot light on her, but she continued down towards an older part of town. One that she knew.

                She lifted her head up and glanced around. Blaire took down his shot glass tower and went back to staring out the window. Eden walked past an old pub, and peered in. Those deep green eyes struck a chord with Blaire, as he stared emptily back at her, but she kept moving on, convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. Blaire thought the loneliness was getting to him, and he swallowed his loneliness, the memories, and the picture in his mind of those eyes. Those eyes of Eden.