Post by Morelle Couture-Desrosiers on Jun 4, 2016 23:35:49 GMT -5
Morelle sat on the banks at the Rhône in Avignon. The sun had just sat hardly an hour ago, and the late evening lights that were now reflected in the river gave the city a sort of liminal quality. She gazed at the water, watching it move and ripple. Occasionally a car passed behind her, the headlights temporarily washing out the reflection in the water. She had meant to spend the day visiting museums and famous buildings, but the sun had been far too bright, so instead she had been holed up in the hostel. She would have to content herself with the exteriors she would be able to see after hours.
She wasn't the only one out on that night. There had been a few joggers, a couple on a date. Oh love, it was some thing that had always eluded Morelle. Even despite her self-imposed isolation she had had some close brushes with love. Once she almost had a chance with a big pops tar, but he left on tour before they could really connect. Then there was the Scots girl with the flaming red hair. She didn't know what happened to her, she was probably still back in Étretat, and if Morelle hadn't had to leave, maybe there would be something between them. It had only been a week since Morelle had been separated from her father and already she felt so alone.
The other thing these passersby reminded the young girl of was the fact that she would need to feed before long. That was probably what she hated the most about her current position. When she was home she managed to avoid actual feeding through transfusions. Now, as she was trying to keep a low profile, she needed to drink from someone to assuage that awful thirst nearly twice a week.
She had time to wait though. For now she just wanted to enjoy the sights. She pulled a sketchbook from her bag, suddenly struck by inspiration and began to draw, plans for a riverside home.
She wasn't the only one out on that night. There had been a few joggers, a couple on a date. Oh love, it was some thing that had always eluded Morelle. Even despite her self-imposed isolation she had had some close brushes with love. Once she almost had a chance with a big pops tar, but he left on tour before they could really connect. Then there was the Scots girl with the flaming red hair. She didn't know what happened to her, she was probably still back in Étretat, and if Morelle hadn't had to leave, maybe there would be something between them. It had only been a week since Morelle had been separated from her father and already she felt so alone.
The other thing these passersby reminded the young girl of was the fact that she would need to feed before long. That was probably what she hated the most about her current position. When she was home she managed to avoid actual feeding through transfusions. Now, as she was trying to keep a low profile, she needed to drink from someone to assuage that awful thirst nearly twice a week.
She had time to wait though. For now she just wanted to enjoy the sights. She pulled a sketchbook from her bag, suddenly struck by inspiration and began to draw, plans for a riverside home.
