amelies first love

a story on how amelie from morganville vampires first met oliver

"Do you remember your first love?" Amelie pondered over that question. The name 'Samuel Glass' drifted sleepily across her mind. But, no, she could recollect one, long before. Back to when she was young and human. But, for her, it wasn't love but a " how do the kids say it " crush? But, she wondered, did the flames of love still burn for him.
Of course they did.

---

Before - year 1194
Amelie waited patiently as her nurse, Allore, pulled her silver hair into a tight bun. She winced slightly, and peered into the mirror. Allore really did know how to make her look good. Her long, flowing hair (which was usually down) was scraped back into a tight knot on the top of her skull. Her sky eyes were framed with a complimenting silver powder. She looked like a princess. In retrospect, she was; her father was the Lord of Bretagne, and she was his daughter. But she didn't like it.
"I do not see why I need to get married. I am twenty years, I have time," Amelie said indignantly. Her father, Lord Bishop, was frustrated that she had not made an effort to socialize with any of the suitors he had picked. Eventually, they had given up. Amelie was good at acting cold. She had had practice.
"You must get married, milady. Thy father will be displeasured, and you are already acquiring lines and wrinkles," said Allore. There was a trace of smugness in her voice. Allore was younger than her by a few years. Amelie scowled.
"And I hear from the cooks, that you have a new suitor trying for your hand. We all know that the Lord of Conwy has been after you, but now a Lord Oliver of Hamburg is interested. He is...older than you, but a fine man I hear."
Amelie had heard of the Lord of Conwy. He had an interesting name: Myrnin. Myrnin was a nice man; she had met him, and ignored him. Myrnin was just too vain for her. Plus he had these notions of immortality and wishing to stay alive for the sciences. Allore had told her before they met that he had a whole floor of his castle turned into a laboratory.
But she had never heard of a Lord of Hamburg. But, being French, she was not one to care much about Germany.
"Do you wish to attend the ball now?" Allore asked Amelie, just finishing with her hair. Amelie surveyed herself. She had a low-cut, silver gown on; not too simple but not too dramatic either. It suited her tastes.
"Yes, I do," she said.
Allore brought her down two flights of stairs, along carpeted halls, until finally they reached the outside of the ball room. Amelie could hear the idle babble of the guests. She rolled her eyes slightly. Most of them were here for entertainment, they didn't have to pick a husband. Because this was it. Her final choice, as her father had clearly stated. If she didn't choose a husband tonight, that was it. No more Amelie. She gulped quietly. Thankfully, Allore didn't hear.
The great, gilded doors opened in front of them and Amelie strode in. The first thing that hit her was the heat. It was stiflingly hot in there. And there was so many people. They filled every nook and cranny of the room. Wow, this many people wanting my hand in marriage, I should feel honoured, she thought dryly.
"Good evening, milady. Would you care to dance?" said a voice.
Amelie turned. The voice belonged to a man. He was...old, at least in his early-thirties. The man had long, curly brown hair which was tied back behind him. He had steely grey eyes. His face, although marred with lines, was handsome. He had a German lilt to his voice, even though he spoke French. Amelie could feel a flush creeping up her porcelain neck.
Amelie started to curtsey, but he stopped her. "A gentleman bows for a lady like you, milady." He bowed low, almost mockingly but somehow not. This time the blush spread across her cheeks. She curtsied low and the man (she guessed that it was Lord Oliver) led her to a corner of the ball room.
"I'd rather not be seen, milady," he grinned toothily, especially when she blushed again. Oliver took one of her hands in his and placed another around her waist. Amelie wondered how he was not being burnt by the furious heat radiating from her cheeks. But, was he blushing too? She could see a slight redness in his cheeks. So, she thought triumphantly, he is embarrassed too.
"I am Lord Oliver of Hamburg. And you are Madame Amelie, daughter of Lord Bishop of Bretagne. I am pleased to be here," he said smiling at her. She found that she couldn't look away from his eyes.
"You speak French well. It is a hard language, especially if German is your vernacular," replied Amelie. His fingers tightened around her waist, causing her to inhale slightly.
"It is hot in here. Do you wish to move outside?" asked Amelie. It really was getting hot; her make-up was starting to run. And she was finding it hard to breathe. Oliver looked concerned.
"If milady wishes," he said. They pushed pass the crowd and stepped out on to the balcony. Amelie inhaled deeply, thankful for the cool breeze now caressing her face. She looked at Oliver, who grinned wolfishly at her. Amelie's hair was falling out of its bun.
"My father wishes me to choose a suitor tonight," sighed Amelie.
"What is so bad about that, milady?"
"I do not wish to. And it's Amelie. Not 'milady'. Amelie." She realized that while she had been talking, she and Oliver had moved closer to each other. He was right up beside her now, and their hands were only centimetres apart. She gulped.
"Amelie." Oliver spoke the name like it was honey on his tongue. His hand closed over hers. Amelie shivered slightly. Oliver. He was close, she could see every detail on his face; the minute sparkle in those steely eyes, the straight, angular nose, the slightly crooked smile. She smiled back at him, as there faces moved closer to each other. Her lips waited for his touch.
Her first kiss was sweet and simple, yet energetic and electrifying. It chilled her to the bone and made her heart melt. I have never let a man in like this before. The thought both scared and thrilled Amelie. She wanted...more? He didn't seem to, he just wanted the kiss. She wanted, she craved more.
Oliver pulled away. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Something came over me..." Oliver looked embarrassed, had he never made a virgin want like that? Probably not, she thought. He didn't seem like the brothel type of man.
"It's alright. You are forgiven," she breathed. Should she dare look him in the eye?


"Madame Amelie? Sorry, Lord Bishop summons you."
Allore's voice couldn't have been less-wanted. Amelie closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. "I shall return shortly," she said to Oliver, before getting up to follow Allore. She remained silent for the whole journey. She and Allore stopped outside her father's study. "Good luck," Allore whispered.
Amelie rapped on the door. She was angry, if truth be told. Why shouldn't she be? Her father ruined what might've been the best moment of her life!
"Amelie, come in." Her father had a raspy, croaky voice, which sounded like nails being scratched on a chalkboard. Amelie didn't know how she felt about her father. Did she love him? Hate him? He was there, hunched over his mahogany desk. The Lord of Bretagne in all his glory. His new mistress, a w***e from a brothel no doubt, was draped over him. Ysandre. The name was like poison to utter or even think.
"Yes, father, what is it you desire?" Amelie asked acidly, drawing out the word 'father'. Bishop just grinned widely. These days it seemed he had too many teeth.
"Amelie, you have not chosen a suitor. I said by tonight's end. It is past middle-night, and there is no suitor that I know of. You have failed my duty. You must be punished," his grin grew wider and wider. Amelie could feel her heart beating against her chest.
Oliver.
"Ysandre, would you like to do the honours?"
Amelie closed her eyes. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't scream even though the pain was blinding, as Ysandre held her down, whispering words she couldn't comprehend into her ear, and Bishop, her own father, bit her wrist. Hard. He wrenched open her mouth and forced her to swallow the blood that was now pouring itself down her throat.
She wouldn't scream.
Oliver.

 

 

But no they were enemys now she would never love him never again he nearly got her killed.No, she loved samuel.

“No, I do not.” Amelie replied hoping nobody noticed her. 

Author's Note

this could spoil some of the books...
i do not own the chatecters rachle cain does.
could you please leave a revew if you do i will make sure i revew yours.

Reviews

[ken burke]

your a great writer