The Kitchen – A Fallen Mansion.

Though it is quite large, the chefs normally take over half the kitchen for dinner, the only meal they are required to make for the mansion.

Bridgette always made sure that when she chose her time to use the kitchen to create her pastries, she did so just after the first rays of light. Dressing in apparel that were more suited to the kitchens, such as a sweeping long skirt with full apron. A light hair net caught her hair up in a petite bun, and she wore a small white hat on the top of her head, to tuck in any wisps of loose hair. Bridgette’s light footsteps often went unheard as she made her way quickly from her room on one of the upper floors, down to the kitchens. A shy girl by all accounts, she kept very much to herself. She cradled her favorite cook book in her arms tight to her bosom as she entered the kitchen; always making sure that she had beat the other chefs. As they took up so much space to cook when doing the dinner meals, Bridgette came down when people were scarce.

Placing down her treasured tome on one of the gleaming kitchen cupboards, she set about getting all the right ingredients to make some pastries and rolls for those that wished breakfast. Bridgette already knew the kitchen like the back of her hand, and soon had all her utensils, trays, mixing bowls and ingredients lined up before her.

She always made sure her hands were washed before beginning, and also setting the ovens at the right temperature.

The reason Bridgette settled so easily into this role, was it a job that she didn’t have to take orders from another, or even have to be social. Bridgette often hummed a quaint tune as she set about her work, kneading dough and then twisting up the scrolls. The kitchen would have a delicious scent, once she popped her creations into the ovens to cook. While they did cook, she cleaned away her work station, and then would read up on some other recipes that she might try over the coming days.

Her cook book was a tatty one and well loved. Signed by the original author, it had been a wonderful find in the Mansion’s library. Bridgette knew that she would eventually have to return the book, but for now she was still using it to help her create her delicious fare.

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But like all good things, they often come to an abrupt end. Whilst the baker waited patiently for her buns and pastries to cook, and had her treasured cook book open on one of the work benches, a man of slender build and with gaunt features ruined what was to be a pleasant morning. With no care at all, he swanned into the kitchen and set about causing a ruckus, that was so loud that it startled the french maid. Glancing up from a recipe on how to prepare Chausson aux Pommes, the young girl stared at the back of the Carpathian butler, who was rummaging through the refrigerator, like a raccoon digging through a garbage can. When he retrieved a plastic flagon that had a familiar crimson tint, the maid realized that he must surely be one of the Vampires that she had heard all about. Amazing how the walls had ears. Thinking that he must be done, now he had his prized blood pack, she bent her head down to continue to read, only to then hear him digging about through a variety of different cupboards. Bridgette’s hair on the back of her neck practically stood on end. Did he not realize that the room amplified ever single sound that one made? Tutting under her breath and whispering a few choice words, she tried once again to go back to her recipe, only this time the butler did what could be described as not only rude, but shocking to boot.

In a half assed attempt to dispose of the blood pack, he tossed it in the direction of the baker. Whilst it did not strike Bridgette, it did land on the open pages of her treasure cook book. Her porcelain features soon turned to a striking shade of pink, as she slammed both hands down on the kitchen bench at either side of the blood splattered book. By now the Carpathian butler was facing her, and to make matters worse, he was staring at her with eyes that looked to be undressing her. Bridgette’s jaw fell open as her mind raced with all manner of obscenities that when said in french may well turn the blood sucker on.

The oven timer dinged for the pastries were ready, and the girl was so flustered that she spun on her heel and frantically tried to get the trays out of the oven without burning herself. Setting out the trays on the cooling bench, she turned off the oven and spun around to pick up her ruined book. Bridgette scowled as she shook her fist at the Butler, and slamming the book together, which only made it drip on the counter, she stormed out of the kitchen before she said something she regretted.

<3>

Women.

He turned on his heel and looked at the pastries cooling down and reached over, selecting one and sniffing it, holding the glass in his other hand, before taking a nibble, ignoring the blistering heat, and nodded to himself. Well the spitfire little lady was good at baking at least, and not bad to look at.
The Carpathian reached for a second pastry when the most immeasurable pain possible tore through his head, sparking right behind his eyes and charging backwards. The shock, the pressure, of the sudden attack cause the glass to slip from his hands, shattering as it hit the tiled floor, thick blood crawling from the remains. He let out a pain filled cry, nearly sinking to his knees from the searing fire that was currently raging through his head, though his right hand reached out and pressed into the counter, keeping him upwards. Every single nerve in his body felt as if it was being held over a flame all at once. His fingers pressed into the granite, tightening a little bit more with each passing second, eventually breaking through and ripping up a good chunk of the counter, sending him to his ass.
The attack itself lasted all of five seconds but he was left breathless and a cool sweat had taken hold over his entire body, chills rolling down his spine as his eyes pressed tightly closed. The first thing to move after silence had fallen was his right hand which toyed with a bit of rock between his two fingers.
Then he opened his eyes, and promptly let free a hiss.
What had been a world of black, white, and gray, was suddenly filled with color. He’d not seen this in a century, though he had no recollection of color since his memory had been wiped clean, and he squinted. It was painful to even look at the room he was in, let alone the light pouring in from outside.
Outside?
He pushed himself to his feet as fast as he could, using the recently broken counter top to push away from, nearly slipping in the pool of thick blood, but catching himself at the last moment, stumbling like a child just learning how to walk. The Carpathian reached the window sill and his lips parted in awe.

The sky was blue.
Trees were green.
Roses were red.
But the sky…It was blue. It wasn’t just blue. It was beautiful. Clear. It was more than he could comprehend. Was the world meant to be this blindingly ravishing?

“What the Hell did she do to me?” Zero uttered under his breath wondering if this was a spell. She must be a witch. For a year and half he’d believed that the world was free of color. Was he wrong? Was this simply a hallucination?
Eyes tore away from the stunning view and towards the door that the woman had disappeared through.
“Wait!” The word came out in a deep growl as his head was now thundering from the storm that had just passed. He was running after her, using his nose to find her, and his speed to catch up with her. He’d take down the witch that caused him so much pain. Or so was the plan.
The hunt was on.

Devastation. That was how Bridgette felt. Her treasured cookery book was ruined and all because of the horrid man that had spoilt what was the only highlight of her day. Holding the blooded book tight to her bodice, the blood droplets were now staining more than just the pages of her cook book, but also her brilliant white apron. Her skirts rustled against the pile of the hall carpet, as she hurried past oil paintings of the owners of this strange house. Eyes appeared to follow her movements as she hurried for the sanctuary of her room. The very idea that she could take the library cook book back now was in ruins. What if they never let her borrow another? Bridgette muttered under her breath as she was about to take the stairs, but then one of the blooded pages tore free from the inner spine and floated to the floor – a large red blotch mark covering what was some pretty lemon tarts.

“Je n’en reviens pas.” (“I can’t believe it.”) Bridgette cried, as she came to a stop and crouched down to pick up the loose and bloody page from the cook book. It was then she heard a male voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“Wait!” Was it the same man that had brought her such grief this morning? Bridgette looked up and sure enough, he was racing towards her at a speed that was not human. So very fast, that she was like a startled rabbit.

“Oh là là .” (“Oh dear, oh no.”)

The look on the man’s face was one of fury. Bridgette had no understanding at all. She merely shook her fist at him, yet he was running at her like she murdered someone close. Rising to her feet quickly, she fumbled with the cook book in such a way that it fell from her hands and pages flew in all directions. The book had met it’s end.

Bridgette didn’t know what was worse; seeing the book fall apart or the man running at her as though to seize her. The baker cried out as her hands became animated at the ruined book on the floor.

“Regardez ce que vous avez fait.” (“Look what you have done.”0

<3>

Bridgette didn’t know whether to cry or shout as the hallways was now littered with the pages of the ruined cook book. She could not help but speak in her native tongue. She rarely spoke to anyone in the mansion, so this was really the first time. Bridgette knew English…barely. Enough it seemed to be able to take in what the crazy eyed man was saying, or trying to say. His whole body language changed from the rampaging Vampire, to that of a man that was clearly confused by the effect the young french maiden had on him.

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

This was said slowly, as he raised a hand to demonstrate he was not about to lunge at her. Taking breathes quickly, the french maiden finally spoke English, since she could see he was not about to attack her.

“The book…a…it iz from….ze library.” She spoke in broken English, as her eyes gazed down at the many hundred of scattered pages. A book so well loved, that it finally came to rest on the hall way floor. Dead. Slowly she sank to her knees and in a vain effort tried to pick up each page, but only to hear the Vampire now say that he didn’t know what she had done to him. ~Done to him? What was he on about?~ the girl thought, every so often staring up at him as though he was mad. He then asked if she was a witch and if she could understand him.

“I amz…human…er…I am ze baker. I do…nothink…to youz.” Again with animated hands, that were clutching the odd blood splattered page. She was getting more and more confused as the Vampire rattled on. Bridgette was trying to get the pages together, but it was clearly a mammoth task. Blood stained nearly every page. This was when the Vampire took a step back and offered his advice, that cold water gets blood out.

Bridgette raised a brow. So he was saying she should wet the pages even more than they were now? That made no sense to her. She shook her head, and continued on as he spoke of perhaps punching holes into the pages, and then making the book into a binder of sorts. What part of the fact it was a library book that he didn’t understand? Bridgette let out a soft sigh as she simply let the pages slip from her hand and float back to the floor.

Again the Vampire was going on about how she had done something to him, how she had hurt him. Begging her to tell him if what ever condition he had was temporary. Bridgette slowly pushed herself to standing and then folded her arms. She was not a mind reader and she certainly had not to her knowledge harmed or hexed the man.

She took two steps towards him, over the sheets of the book and then said simply.

“Perhapz….er….ze blood…you drank…vaz….er…how you zay….tainted?” It was the only logical explanation she could come up with. The french baker shrugged, and then turned on the ball of her foot and dropped the cover of the library book on the floor. He was the butler….he could clean it all up.

<3>

If she had left, or stormed, he’d be left in the hallway with an overbearing pressure. An emotion called regret. The butler would sigh and begin to pick up the pages of the book carefully and put them in order, with some ease, and tucked them under his arm after he gave up halfway through. After he watched the crater in the wall pop back outwards and the window sealing itself again, he’d mumble under his breath about this whole place being nothing but a trap, and then walk away to his quarters.

If she chose to stay a little while longer, and perhaps exchange some nicely placed words, he’d not plan on backing down any time soon.

The young french maiden had more or less kept to herself since she arrived at the Mansion with no clue to as to how she came to be there, or even why. Her previous life was nothing but a mystery, but she knew her name and the fact that she was just an ordinary french girl caught up in a house with some of the strangest and most peculiar people you could ever imagine. It was for this reason that she had kept to herself. Fear. She was nothing special, in her mind. A human with no talents save the ability to bake. Perhaps that was what she did in her past life. She simply didn’t know, but it came perfectly natural to her. It was a day when she found the library that she happened upon the cook book. It was as though the fancy french swirling lettering and the delightful cover beckoned her to read it. From that moment on, she treasured the cook book, because it was the only thing in the entire house that made her feel…something. It helped give her a chance to carry out a duty within the house, and to do it when most others were either asleep or haunting the grounds.

Now the book was in ruins, and to make matters worse that man that had caused this was going off his brain in a rant that had her stop dead in her tracks. Screaming that she lied. She lied about who she was. If she were a witch, like he claimed, oh…she WOULD put a hex on him for his ill manner and maybe even whip up a spell to seal his lips shut. But Bridgette could do nothing like that.

As she turned back to meet his gaze, he had changed his tune, and was waving her away. Shooing her as he wanted nothing to do with her now. Like dirt that you would find caked to your shoe. An annoyance. He had even punched the wall and sent a virtual shock wave through the wall, creating a large series of cracks in the windows.

From that moment, she truly believed he was dangerous. Dangerous to her, and to anyone he came into contact with. His rage was almost like he was blinded to the very truth of the situation. He said there was nowhere to hide in the mansion, and he had a point about that. Bridgette was ready to turn tail and run. Her heart pounding for all it was worth. How dare he threaten her? How dare he call her a liar. Both hands of the young maiden curled into fists, and this was when the shy french baker suddenly saw red. HOW DARE HE?

She marched right up to him as he held but the cover of the book and a few token pages. With a furious look, she was no longer going to be some little door mouse for others to disrespect. And with that, she twisted her waist ever slightly, and went to slap him across the face with her right hand, the intended strike to hit his left cheek.

<3>

However, her dainty hand rocketed towards his cheek left. There were many options for him, but he decided not to move as her hand connected with his face, causing the man’s head to shift ever so slightly to the side. The sting from the hit was not physical. No. It was mental. He’d pushed a woman to raising her hand against him. Perhaps he was going about this whole thing wrong. While the darkness in him wanted nothing more than to drag her off, there was a little voice, an angel perched on his shoulder, preaching about being kind and not hitting her back. Equality was a bitch, said the devil on his other shoulder.
The cover in his hands creaked in the seconds that followed, as his grip tightened and broke through the material. Then, only after the book’s cover was discarded to the mess on the floor, did he move.
Assuming she didn’t move, or didn’t have some crazy dangerous weapon hidden away to use against him, the man’s heightened speed would snap into effect as he went to grab her hand, that had just passed by his face, and wrapped his fingers around her entire palm, side tracked by how small her hand was. But that only made him more annoyed. SHE was the dangerous one here. SHE had cursed him. SHE made him feel off and not his usual darker self. The way he liked it.
The Carpathian would rip the woman towards him forcefully. All his might. Closer. Closer. In the end her hand would be held above their heads, slightly over his own shoulder to get the angle correct and he’d touch his cheek with his free hand. He didn’t expect her to go down without a fight or some well placed hits, but it’d not bother him as he lowered his head and leveled his eyes with her’s. Honey colored hues glistened with power, glowing gently, almost pulsing with life, as he thought of what to say, his ironclad grip unwavering.

“That wasn’t very smart.” He whispered through a clenched jaw. Yes Zero. The way to a woman’s heart was definitely to question her intelligence. “And here I was going to let you get a head start…A couple days.” A chuckle as his thoughts wandered. “Are you always this temperamental or am I just a special case?”
He’d take his time.
He’d enjoy every squirm. Every flare of anger. Every hit she tried to dish. But he’d not be letting her go. Not any time soon.

Caught in the vice like grip of Zero’s hand, Bridgette was like a fish on a hook – twisting and pulling; trying to free herself from his hold. Was she crazy to even think to slap his face? He had insulted her and for that it was a crime that deserved punishment. A lady had the right to hold her ground, even in the face of being attacked further. Gritting her teeth with her lips practically a thin line, Bridgette made a terrible growling sound. Zero was hurting her now with his increasing pressure on her skin. Held aloft like some prize and now made to suffer further indignity.

Bridgette watched as he caressed the mark where her hand made contact on his skin. She got her point across, that was for sure. But was he about to release her?

“That wasn’t very smart.”

No, it wasn’t but Bridgette was not about to let him see that she knew it. Defiance shone in her eyes. He teased her without mercy, that he was going to give her a head start, a chance to hide. This was a game to him, obviously. Nothing more.

“Are you always this temperamental or am I just a special case?”

Now he was questioning her sanity? Oh, that was the last straw. She couldn’t run…she couldn’t fight against his strength. The only thing she could do….was use what God had given her.

“Doez….your breathez…always zmellz….like de….’orsesz…azz?” She gave back with her broken English. Cruel taunts were all she could think of.

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