Transitions

"Leroux Port, s'il vous plait."

A young gentleman by the name of Sabin Duvert stood outside the carriage on the busy cobblestone streets of Paris, France. He had a deep, resonating voice, smooth, pale skin, and a handsome face; a strong chin, deep, penetrating eyes, and an aristocratic nose (though he was no aristocrat). He supposed leaving Paris would be for the best, as he was tiring of the city lately. The past two years in Paris had been long, and it's fabled excitement and grandeur had become dulled with time. London, he thought, would surely allow him to start fresh, and all he wanted to do now was find something new.

England, the country across the English Channel. A new opportunity from him to try to find what exactly the meaning of his existence was.

But first, he would have to get to his boat on time.

"Oui, Monsieur Duvert," the driver said as Sabin climbed into the carriage. He stared rudely, as most people did, at Sabin's piercing grey-blue eyes and long, unusually white hair before returning to his business and preparing the horses for the journey. Sabin inspected the inside, observing that the mahogany wood paneling was dull, and the maroon leather seats were stiff and hard, but the carriage was, at least, clean. He let out a relieved sigh as the Parisian buildings passed by and closed his eyes, praying for the journey to be swift before falling into a deep sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The past week had been exhausting. The boat ride had been rough and miserable, and the new carriage was a little less than clean. However, Sabin had promised to pay the driver well enough to agree to cut back on sleep in order to travel more quickly and get to London faster. The weather had been somewhat agreeable; there was no rain, but it had been terribly cold and windy. All he wanted to do now was rest in the new home he had inherited, Blackwood Manor.

Charles Duvert had been the former owner Blackwood Manor, but also Kurt Duvert's half-brother and only sibling. He had moved from central France to England because of problems with his mother, who was Sabin's grandfather's mistress. He then dedicated his life to working, and created one of the largest trading companies in Europe, Vieux Trading Inc. After many decades, Charles had sold the company and became a bitter, wizened old man who cared for nothing but his property and his money and had no wife or children because of his poor experiences with family. He had died from a failure of the heart a few months ago, and having no sons or daughters, all of his fortune and estate had gone to Sabin.

Sabin had been surprised when he received a letter reporting his uncle had died and left his fortune to, mostly because he had no knowledge that he had an uncle. It had also informed Sabin that unless he did not want the inheritance to be distributed among the local businesses, he was to travel to London and personally deal with the matters of the money and estate. However, Sabin decided that sending a lawyer to London with a letter explaining his absence and stating "distributing the money to local businesses was fine as long as he received an agreeable portion" would suffice. He thought nothing else of the wealth he had amassed until he realized that he lost his interest in Paris. He then decided to move into his late uncle's home in London and find new opportunity in a new country.

London looked similar to Paris, but it did not have the same wild charm and liveliness that Paris had. The people here were not as free-spirited or carefree as the Parisians, but more sophisticated and calm. Sabin could not imagine how he would enjoy this city.

After verifying the address in the letter he had received, he inspected the mansion they were heading towards from his seat in the carriage. There was a large brick wall that surrounding the property, reaching a few feet high. Two large gates with a silver lion in the center of each were in the middle of the gate, right in front of the street. A cobblestone path lead to the manor, surrounded by through a large, green lawn in the front of the estate and a few trees, winding around the back of the property and leading to what Sabin assumed to be the garden. As they neared, Sabin could see that the manor itself was build out of dark red brick and stone with a roof made of black stone tiles. There was a lawn circle with an outline of shrubbery with large marble fountain in the center, which depicted three angels on a rock and blowing on trumpets while several streams of water spouted out of the top in a space between the three. The rest of the cobblestone path spread out and went around the circle to the threshold of the manor. There was a large threshold made of stone at the front door. The front door was made of a dark mahogany wood with a heavy silver knocker and two Ionic columns placed on either side. French windows of varying size and design with stone frames were built in neat rows on the home, both sides mirroring each other.

Sabin quickly exited the coach, and the driver quickly began to unload the luggage. "Thank you, sir," Sabin said as he handed the man a large roll of money.

"Thank you sir," the driver grunted in return. He went back to the coach and whipped the horses once, commanding them to begin walking again. They whinnied loudly and trotted down the cobblestone road, their hooves clapping on the grey stones heavily. Sabin apprehensively watched the coach leave, and sighed resignedly, knowing that his quickest means of escape were gone.

He walked over to the large door, and banged on the heavy knocker several times, then waited for someone to answer the door. A few moments later, someone answered the door. "How may I help you, sir?" an aged woman greeted politely. The woman seemed to be in her late fifty's, with wrinkles around her eyes and greying hair. She was short and stout, and wore a somber black dress with a white apron and cap.

Sabin cleared his throat. "I am Mr. Sabin Duvert. I received a letter informing me of my late Uncle Charles's passing a few weeks ago, and have come to London on account of the estate left to me. I have decided to live here, as the letter requested," he said, his slight French accent bleeding into English.

"Ah, Mr. Duvert," said the woman, giving him a short curtsy. "I am Julianna Cunningham, Head Maid at Blackwood Manor." She looked at the pile of suitcases sitting on the ground behind him. "I'll have William, my husband, get those for you. Please, come in," Mrs. Cunningham said, pulling on a thin metal chain connected into the wall and ringing a bell in the distance. She opened the door wider to allow Sabin to enter, leading him inside. A tall, lanky gentleman dressed in a black suit and white gloves briskly walked towards Sabin and Mrs. Cunningham

As soon as he entered, he was met with gothic elegance and tremendous decadence and extravagance. All the floors and walls were made of fine polished mahogany wood, with the walls sometimes decorated with aesthetically painted or patterned wallpaper. In the foyer, he was met with an enormous crystal chandelier and a large grand staircase made of ebony wood, living up to the name of the residence. French furniture and antiques filled every room, with classical paintings of flowers, scenery, people, family, and royalty on the walls. Plaster ceilings with frescos and high domes decorated the spaces above. There were many bedrooms, all containing rich furnishings, with a marble bathroom for every two bedrooms. The manor also contained a large dining hall with a table long enough to serve thirty people, a parlor with a grand piano, a music room with an additional piano and many other instruments from all over the world, an extensive library with large, gothic windows and several thousand books, a courtyard with an immense lawn, tranquil lake, fragrant flowers, and old trees, horse stables full of thoroughbred horses, and a ballroom that connected to the foyer that had three chandeliers, wall to wall mirrors, a marble floor, and furniture made of gilded wood and white silk. The ballroom's doors reached from the high ceiling to the floor, and were made of a dark mahogany but covered with several large mirrors on the side in the ballroom.

The obscene luxuriousness was almost irritating to Sabin.

"This way, sir," Mrs. Cunningham said, showing him to the master bedroom. She did not enter, only showed him where it was a closed the door after Sabin. The master bedroom was much darker than the other rooms, with its thick silk curtains shutting out sunlight, heavy ebony furniture, and black silk oppressing the atmosphere. There was two mirrors, one on either side of the double doors, and a large, black marble fireplace. However, the most dominating thing in the room was the substantial portrait of a man who Sabin assumed was his uncle. The man had beady eyes, several chins, a pug nose, and a fat mouth fixed into a smirk. He was wearing rich clothes of black and red over his large body, and had short legs and large sausages for fingers.

Sabin grimaced. This was his uncle? He imagined someone much more distinguished and noble to have been the master of Blackwood Manor as Mrs. Cunningham gave him a tour of the mansion. He almost regretted coming to London, but he knew there was nothing to do now. Sabin quickly changed into his bedclothes, weary from the journey that had brought him to this place. Although it was the mid-afternoon, he fell asleep almost immediately.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Sabin awakened the next morning, refreshed. As soon as he had woken up, one of the maids had already drawn a warm bath for him and set out his clothes. Afterwards, a filling breakfast had been laid out in the dining room, and the suffering from the journey to London was forgotten. Sabin decided to tour around the city by himself to familiarize himself with London, and after grabbing his old traveling cloak, leather gloves, and top hat, he set off.

Sabin traveled down the bustling street and glanced around, coy young women and surly old men staring at him as he passed, but he ignored them. His striking (but attractive) looks would always be the center of attention, as they were in France. In attempts to hide himself, Sabin wore his brown cap and put up the collar of this cloak, but his ivory locks were still plainly visible. He considered cutting it but decided not to; he would much rather have had people gape at him than cut his hair just so people would not be able to see it.

Suddenly, a gunshot went off behind him.

Women were screaming, children were crying, and people were hurrying in front of Sabin, pushing and shoving others to get past, going in all kinds of directions. He rushed in the direction of the gunshot to see what had happened and saw several bandits. They carried several large sacks, ran out of what seemed to be a bank, and loaded into an automobile. He ran into the street, determined to stop them somehow, and they drove towards him. However, Sabin realized that a young woman was several feet in front of him, on the ground. She seemed to have fallen and hurt herself, for there was a large gash on her temple. Sabin ran over to her, picked her up, and ran into the open doorway of an empty apothecary, setting the woman against the wall. He then ran back out and saw the car speed past him in the now empty street. His eyes flashed red, and he sharply waved his arm, making a gust of wind tear after it. It cut straight through the metal and sliced the car into two clean pieces. He quickly went over to the men, who were remarkably stunned and unharmed, and stared into their eyes, his own flashing a piercing red. They all screamed in fear, then went out cold. Taking the men's own shadows, Sabin bound them against a wooden fence. He went back into the apothecary to check on the woman, who was now slumped on the floor behind the counter, barely awake.

Sabin's first thought was that she was very pretty. She had curly red-brown hair, eyes the colour of vibrant emeralds, soft, creamy skin, and lips the shade of pale pink roses in spring. As he admired her, he realized that the gash was now bleeding profusely, and started to look around for a clean cloth and a bottle of alcohol.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The woman had become fully awake as soon as Sabin put the wine soaked cloth to her skin. He was dabbed the cloth to her cut, and she winced in pain whenever it touched her skin. The woman put her hand on top of his to stop him. "That hurts," she murmured, and put a hand on her head, keeping Sabin from cleaning the wound. He quickly grew irritated; he was only trying to help her, and she was behaving rather ungratefully to him.

He sighed to calm himself. "It's the best way to properly clean the large cut on your temple," Sabin said and pressed the cloth a bit harder than he probably needed to, for the woman let out a quiet cry of pain. "Sorry," he said, and began to pat the cut more tenderly. He concentrated on cleaning the deep cut, but he could feel her gaze sweeping over his face, taking in his appearance like a breath of air. She smiled, but then looked at him in confusion. He felt himself flush lightly in embarrassment. He knew it must have been strange for her wake up to find a complete stranger to be gently tending to her.

"Your hair, it's white, but you cannot be much older than I am. Why is that?" she asked him curiously, holding a lock of his hair in her hands. It had come loose from its ponytail and shone a silvery blonde in the light. Sabin hesitated. What kind of lie would be convincing?

"It's…a trait I inherited, in a way," he said, forming a half-truth from fact. It was actually true in a sense, since he had acquired his white hair from the Anju. Frowning slightly, he took a brandy bottle and poured its contents into a glass cup, then handed it to the woman. "Drink this, it will numb the pain." As she drank, he washed the cloth in a nearby sink, but it stayed a purple-red colour.

"Is that all my blood?" the woman asked, surprise in her voice. Sabin chuckled to himself before answering.

"No, no, it’s mostly wine. It's effective in cleaning wounds," he answered, wringing out the cloth. He heard the woman let out a breath of relief.

"Oh," she said. He could feel her eyes on his back, watching his every move. He carefully poured a bit more water onto the cloth, then walked towards her and began dabbing her temple again. She let out a small noise of surprise, as if realizing something. "Forgive me, I forgot my manners," the woman said. She propped herself up on her arms, and then sat up with great difficulty, partly leaning against the counter. "My name is Samantha Lillian Blaire, and it is very nice to meet you." She gave him a benign smile.

"I am Sabin Duvert, Miss Blaire, and the pleasure is all mine," he replied giving her a small smile in return. He took another cloth and dried the side of her face, and then wrapped a long strip of cloth around her head, covering the cut. "There, all done."

"Thank you," she said appreciatively. She closed her eyes

Sabin helped her stand up, and she walked over to a small chair in the corner of the room and sat down. Sabin righted an overturned stool near her and seated himself. "So, what happened to you?" he asked.

"Well," Samantha said. "I was on my way to buy some things in the market. There was a gunshot in the bank, and then everyone went hysterical. I tried to run across the street into an open building for refuge, but suddenly I saw a burly man rush towards me, and then he snatched my bag. I tried to fight him off, but he pushed me to the ground. That's all I remember." Sabin ground his teeth in silent fury. What kind of man would steal from a woman when a bank was being robbed? Samantha had balled her hands into fists in her lap.

He folded his arms. "Well, I'm assuming that was just a few moments before I found you unconscious in the street. You're very lucky; the men who robbed the bank nearly ran over you," he said, trying to make her feel better. He looked at her optimistically for effect.

"Really?" Samantha said, her eyes wide. She planted both hands on the "I must thank you again, Mr. Duvert, for saving my life. Is there something I can do to repay you?" she asked politely.

Sabin considered her offer. He knew he had to be careful. Associating with the wrong type of people could possibly result in revealing his secret—his true form—to all. However, he thought to himself, she had not shown any signs of dishonesty and seemed to be a respectable person. "Well, Miss Blaire, I would very much appreciate it if you would show me around London, if you would be so kind," he answered, getting on his feet and giving her a grand bow for humor.

"Certainly, Mr. Duvert. It would be a great honor," she replied. She stood and then sank into a deep curtsy, returning his mock formality. As she rose, she gave him a friendly, charming smile, and Sabin smiled back, feeling as though his insides were swelling with hope; perhaps he had found a companion amid a disaster.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The following morning, Sabin walked a small tailoring shop, the place where Samantha told him to meet her. "'Werlinch and Blaire, established in 1782,'" Sabin said, reading the gold letters on the black sign. The paint was peeling in many places, and there were nails in it, prominently framing the large crack going through the sign while simultaneously making the added "and Blaire" more apparent. He took a deep breath, and entered the store.

It was a cozy shop. The mannequins in the window were dressed in men's and women's apparel, but they were covered with a thin layer of dust. There was a large wooden counter in the small storefront, but the two doors next to the counter told him that the store expanded farther. He leaned against the wall near the door, waiting for Samantha to arrive. He took out his gold pocket watch to check the time; ten minutes later than what they had agreed. Just as he snapped the watch shut, a girl came bustling out of one of the doors, their face obscured by the large bundle of cloth they carried. "Welcome to Werlinch and Blaire, how may I help you today?" she said, her voice muffled. She turned her back to Sabin and placed the cloth in a cabinet behind the counter. "Please make your order quickly, I have a prior engagement today," she said. Sabin recognized the curly red-brown hair immediately.

"Samantha?" Sabin said, his voice unsure. After all, it was possible that it was another girl who worked in the shop. The girl turned around.

"Mr. Duvert?" It was Samantha.

Sabin let out a sigh of relief. "I almost thought that you had forgotten about our engagement today," Sabin said, repeating Samantha's choice of words. "And please, call me Sabin, I think we are past those formalities," he added. She blushed embarrassedly.

"It's just the way I was brought up. My family is very polite, very conservative, and very traditional," she answered, suddenly fierce, and stomped over to a coat hanger. She roughly pulled on her shawl, taking more time than it should have.

"I'm sorry," Sabin apologized. "I meant it to be a joke. I didn't know that you were that sensitive about your family." He looked at her awkwardly.

Samantha's eyes softened as she looked at him, seeing his discomfort. "It's alright. It's just that I don't exactly agree with them on most things. I hate how they affected me in some ways."

"I see…" Sabin said, his conscience ridden with guilt. He had made her talk about something that she clearly disliked discussing. "Well, we should be going, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, of course," she said, adjusting the white gloves she wore. "Mrs. Werlinch, I'm leaving now!" she called to the back of the store. Sabin and Samantha heard an acknowledging reply from behind one of the doors, and smiled at each other. Sabin offered his arm to Samantha and she took it gracefully, the pair setting off for an all-day tour of London.

oOoOoOoOoOo

After Samantha had taken him to the best shops, pointed out to him the most delicious restaurants, and showed him the most remarkable attractions (including the Clock Tower that had been finished only eighteen years ago nicknamed Big Ben), they went to Samantha's favorite restaurant, Rouge. It was a small restaurant, but the atmosphere was very charming and delightful with its pretty shades of muted red and chocolate brown, wood furniture, and countless white candles that illuminated the entire restaurant. The waiter seated them at a table by a large window, giving them a view of London River, and handed them their menus.

"So, how did you come to rescue me the other day?" Samantha said conversationally after a few minutes had passed. Her eyes looked over the menu once, and she put it down after quickly choosing a dish. She placed her hands in her lap and watched him attentively.

"I was planning on having a simple walk to familiarize myself with London." Sabin answered, closing his menu and placing on the table. "I had just arrived here from Paris a few days ago."

"Paris? Why ever did you leave Paris?" she said, now very interested. She looked at him eagerly. "I heard Paris was absolutely wonderful," Samantha said dreamily, her mouth curving into a languorous smile.

"To—" Sabin began to say, but the waiter interrupted by coming to ask their orders, which they quickly gave. "To see new people, new things, new places," he rambled. "Paris loses its charm after a while." He looked at his wine glass distractedly.

"Where are you staying, then?" She asked. She let her hands rest near the edge of the table, relaxed.

"My late uncle's home. It's the house at the east end of Carpenter Street, before it turns into Webber Boulevard," he answered, waving his hand offhandedly.

Samantha let out a small sound of recognition. "You mean Blackwood Manor? The former home of the late Charles Duvert?" she said, her voice laced with familiarity. "You're his nephew?" Her voice was disbelieving.

"Yes. I am his nephew, though I never knew him," he said awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, but it's just that I imagined some blond haired, blue-eyed, feminine Frenchman who didn't work and only cared for pretty girls and money," she said embarrassedly. "It's a magnificent home," she continued. "Mr. Duvert would throw an annual party at around this time of the year, inviting the wealthy and distinguished people in England. But the house seems a bit lavish, if you don't mind me saying."

He let out a real laugh. "Not at all, not at all. I completely agree. However, I don't think I'll be holding any extravagant soirees anytime soon. " Sabin said, smiling at her. The clock tower's bell tolled several times in the distance, and the waiter came once again, holding their plates.

"Bon appetit," Sabin said light-heartedly as he waiter set the plates on the table. Samantha laughed heartily.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Sabin and Samantha's dinner conversation continued even as they walked to Blackwood Manor. They had shared personal details, discussed important events, talked about frivolities, and laughed and giggled at silly jokes and comments.

"But really, how could you eat that steak? It was too raw to eat. If it was any more raw, it would have still been alive!" Samantha exclaimed. Her arm was loosely looped around Sabin's as they walked together.

Sabin laughed. "Well, it's how the gourmet eaters like their steak. Raw," he said, in a mock pompous voice. They both laughed together. Of course, there was also the fact that he preferred raw meat to cooked meat, but he wouldn't tell Samantha.

They stopped walking when they were in front of the large gate of Blackwood Manor. "Thank you, Samantha," Sabin said. He pushed the silver gate open slightly.

"I was repaying you for what you did for me," Samantha said. "But you're welcome."

Sabin just looked at her gratefully. "No, not for that," he said.

"Then what for?" Samantha asked, puzzled. One of her hands grasped one of the bars on the gate loosely. Sabin just answered her with a peculiar and somewhat sad smile. He couldn't say for simply befriending him, for she would think him very bizarre. He wondered how a woman he had only known for a day had become so close to him so quickly it was as if he had known her all his life. Samantha's curiosity, honesty, and kindness had already made an imprint in his mind and a mark upon his heart. "You know, Sabin, if had only seen you, I would have still been able to tell that you were different. Not because of your fair skin, your long white hair, or your noble profile, but because of your grey-blue eyes," Samantha said. She looked at him deeply. "They're windows to your soul."

"Thank you," Sabin said once again, thinking pensively at the profoundness of her words. "Are you sure that you would not like me to escort you home? It's no trouble at all."

"That would just make walking all the way to Blackwood Manor a waste. Besides, I'll be fine," Samantha assured him. "It's not very far from here. Good night, Sabin!" she called over her shoulder as she started to walk away.

His smile faded. He would be alone, once again. "Good night, Samantha," he said softly, and he began to walk towards the manor.

Just as he reached the threshold of Blackwood Manor, he heard a high-pitched scream.

Sabin immediately sprinted down the path and into the street as fast as he could, the adrenaline (was he still human enough to have adrenaline?) already pumping through his veins. He could faintly hear the sounds of shuffling of feet and heavy breaths and muffled cries for help. He felt as if his heart had jumped into his throat, pounding, pounding, pounding so loudly. All Sabin's thoughts were scattered. He could feel the Anju, the monster, within him seeping out; his hands becoming human claws, his ears pointed, his eyes more like red slits, and his slightly pointed teeth into fangs. The buildings around him became a simple blur, all he could think of was finding Samantha.

Hurryfindhershemightbedeadhurryhurryhurry.

Before he knew it, he had run into an alley and found Samantha in a heap on the ground, unconscious, and injured from an obvious struggle. There was a large slash on her back, bleeding furiously. Red imprints and nail marks decorated her wrists where someone had seized her violently. He picked her up, quietly chanting her name over and over again in her ear, and cradled her in his arms.

Sabin's mind slowly filled with brewing rage and determination to find whoever had done this to her. Just as he was about to turn around to carry Samantha to safety, someone plunged a knife into his back. Sabin let out several thunderous roars as the knife burned his flesh and dissolved the shadow blood that filled his body, then wrenched it from his body angrily and threw it aside. Sabin laid Samantha on the ground roughly, for his fury had overpowered the majority of his care for her.

He turned to his attacker, who was a tall, bulky man with long, jet-black hair and a lengthy scar down his face. Sabin attacked at the man furiously with his claws, feeling only the desire to hurt him. He slashed the man clearly across his face, the sound of flesh being cut filling the air for a few seconds that felt like eternities. The man to fearfully retreated back to the street clutching his face as he howled in pain and shouted in terror. Sabin watched as the man fled, satisfied.

He turned back to Samantha, his anger subdued. Slowly, he walked towards her and lifted her from the ground, then swiftly traveled in the shadows.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The first thing Sabin saw when he awakened was the heavy black canopy of his bed in the dim shadows and patches of moonlight of night. He looked to his side and saw Samantha kneeling beside the bed, her head resting in her arms on the mattress, sleeping. He attempted to sit up quietly, but was promptly met with excruciating pain spanning his entire back. He hissed in agony and ground his teeth together to keep from yelling. Samantha's eyes fluttered open, and widened when she saw that he was awake. "You're awake," she said sleepily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

How bad is it?" he asked anxiously. If the damage was too severe, he would never be the same.

She hesitated before answering. "The wound itself isn't very large, but it's deep, or at least it was deep, and quite a bit of your skin was burned," she told him. "I treated it with a technique I learned, but it didn't fully heal. All I could do after was remove the dead skin and sew the wound shut so it would finish healing properly. That's why your back is in so much pain now." Sabin felt vulnerable and exposed. Of course, the might have also been the fact that he was not wearing a shirt.

Sabin felt breathed in relief, and realized that he felt much better than he expected, considering the knife was made of iron. Sabin looked at her more closely, and noticed that she looked very tired; dark bags were under her red eyes, and her skin looked pallid and sallow. She seemed weaker too; the effort in rubbing the sleep from her eyes looked as if it had taken much more than it normally should have.

"Are you alright?" he asked her worriedly, his brow furrowing with unease.

She smiled at him feebly. "I'm fine, just a little worn out from tending to your wounds. Your maid, Mrs. Cunningham, took care of my back."

"So you saw?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question. He was referring to his shadow attributes. "The burns and blood?" She was silent. "Did you?" he said, his voice so emphatic, it sounded almost accusing. They both said nothing for several minutes.

"Sabin, I understand," she whispered, finally speaking. "You're just different, Sabin. Like me." She pushed up the sleeve of her dress and showed her arm to him, which he carefully took into his hands. In the pale moonlight, he could make out strange markings and symbols resembling strange words around her wrist and trailing around her arm. "We're both different," she said fervently. He looked back at her face and saw her eyes brimming with tears. His pain had subsided now, and he found the strength to sit up.

"Samantha," he breathed. The only other sound that could be heard was the crackling of the fire. She looked at him, her lips trembling and her body shaking in effort to keep her sobs in. Tears streamed down her face in small, messy rivulets.

In the darkness, he embraced her tightly.

oOoOoOoOoOo

For an entire month, he had shut himself up in the manor.

Ever since the attack, Sabin avoided leaving the manor. The scar around his right shoulder blade was a permanent reminder of what had happened. He had dismissed Juliana Cunningham, William Cunningham, and the rest of the servants (this was not at all difficult, for they had tired of his peculiar needs and strange requests), and lived in Blackwood Manor alone, Samantha visited him everyday after she recovered from the wound on her back, rain or shine, unrelenting. She would bring him food, paper, and ink when he needed it, not once questioning his choice, only accepting it. She understood.

Sabin worked tirelessly at retaining control of the Anju once again. He wrote religiously in his journal, keeping extensive notes and records of his progress and observations obsessively. Only until Samantha sat down to convince him that he should--no--needed to go outside again did he think that the chance of the Anju slipping out again and hurting someone was slim to none. Of course, it was impossible for him to ever be completely certain, for the bond between it and him changed constantly.

Sabin decided to go out at night to test whether or not he could control the Anju, without being accompanied by Samantha. If she were hurt in his experiment, he would never forgive himself. He had strolled into a dingy pub and seated himself at a secluded table in the corner, ordering several mugs of beer. The test was to see if he could keep the Anju in under partial intoxication, and Sabin already began to feel nervous. However, after swallowing all his drinks, his anxiety vanished.

It seemed that the experiment was producing positive results, he thought, his eyes half lidded. He looked around the pub and saw that the only people left were the barkeep and two men seated side by side at the counter, who jabbered loudly to each other. One was short and scruffy looking, with a head of mouse brown hair, while the other was tall, bulky, and had a mop of long, jet black hair that Sabin faintly felt he had seen somewhere before. With nothing else to do, Sabin listened to their conversation.

"You're too damn reckless," the man with brown hair scoffed. The barkeep snickered.

"It isn't my fault," the man with black hair grumbled, irritated at the other man. He took a swig of his drink. "I almost had that girl from behind, but she kept kicking and struggling and shouting, then she let out a bloody loud scream right in my ear. So I took my knife and press it to her back to threaten the girl to make her do what I want her to, but she moves backwards toward me and turns so she gives herself a big bloody gash across her back!" the man with black hair said angrily, spittle flying from his mouth.

"So how'd you get the big scar on your face?" the barkeep asked interestedly. He pointed at the other man's face. The man with black hair glared at the bottom of his cup, not looking at their faces.

"There was a man—no, a monster. Long white hair, pasty skin, sharp claws and fangs. His eyes were narrow slits, and they were red like blood. I hid behind a pile of boxes after I heard it running down the street. It found the girl and picked her up, and I didn't want him to take her 'cause I had my plans with her, so I took my knife and stabbed it straight in the back. It went wild, and it slashed at me and got me in the face. I ran the hell out of there after it got me," The black haired man's eyes flickered to where Sabin sat and his face contorted into a scowl. "What are you looking at?" he spat.

The last thought that entered Sabin's mind was that he had seen the gash and the long scar running down the man's face before. He shoved chairs and tables aside as he strode over to the man, his vision filled with the colour red.

Killkillkill.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Sabin woke up, he found himself in an unfamiliar place. He did not recognize the translucent white bed canopy, or the immaculately white bed sheets, or the windows veiled with white cloth, or the wooden oriental furniture that decorated the room. He looked around the room, still slightly dazed, and saw a dim fire glowing in the hearth and opulent silk tapestries hanging on the walls. The air was lightly perfumed with the scent of a sweet flower, dulling his senses. He was divested of most of his clothes, and his skin had a thin layer of sweat. Sabin lifted the blankets off his body and was about to look for his clothes, but he heard footsteps down the hall and quickly pulled the blankets back up. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

The footsteps stopped at the door and the hinges creaked as they opened the door. He heard them let out a barely audible murmur and the sound of metal tapping against metal. They whispered to themselves, and Sabin could tell it was a woman by their voice. She shuffled over to the bed and set down something on the bedside table. The woman softly sang a lullaby in a language Sabin couldn't as she adjusted the blankets covering Sabin. She pulled over a piece of furniture and set it next to the bed, and then he heard a swish of water and felt something cool on his head. "You can open your eyes now," she said. Sabin's eyes snapped open.

She was like a china doll, he thought, like the ones he had seen in the stalls of bazaars and the open markets boasting treasures from far lands. He skin was smooth and white, and she had flowing, straight black hair that reached her waist like long silk threads. Her lips were like the petals of a blood red rose, and her doe eyes were a stunning shade of brown flecked with gold. When she closed her eyes to blink, he could see that her eyelashes were very long when they rested on her cheek, like butterfly wings resting on a white flower. She smiled. "I'm glad you are awake," she said. Her voice was very quiet and gentle.

"Where am I?" Sabin asked her, still slightly disoriented. The aroma in the room seemed to cloud his mind, he mused.

She peeled the cool cloth of his forehead and set it in a bowl filled with water to soak after she wrung out the cloth to remove the old water. She dried his forehead with the sleeve of the white silk robe she wore and put her hand to his forehead. "Good, your fever broke." She then stood, picked up a small metal jar, and took out a short, thin stick that was burning at the end. She dipped it in another small dish containing water. Sabin looked at her expectantly, knowing she attempting to evade the question. She pursed her lips slightly before answering. "A brothel, to be honest," she answered. She walked to the window next to her, and pushed the thin curtain aside. After looking out the window for a few seconds, she pushed it open and let the curtains fall back into place.

"Excuse me?" Sabin said, disbelieving. He propped himself up on his elbows.

"The curtains floated lightly in the breeze, dancing beside her, and she seemed to pay no attention to his surprise. "I mostly read fortunes here, for entertainment. But I suppose that you want to know how you came to be in a place like this," she responded. The woman sat back down on the chair set at the side of the bed. "It just so happened that I was taking a walk outside when I saw you collapse on the street. I persuaded a few of the men to carry you into my private quarters and I cleaned you up."

"You're very strange," Sabin said before he knew what was coming out of his mouth. He raised his hand to his mouth slightly, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "Thank you for helping me. It's just that not many people would pick up a man off the street and help him."

The woman simply smiled kindly, and waved her hand elegantly as if she had brushed his comment away. "Think nothing of it," she said, and settled her gaze her hands in her lap. "Anything to help someone in need." Her voice contained a tinge of a melancholy tone. They both remained silent for a few moments.

Sabin cleared his throat before speaking. "May I be so bold as to ask your name?"

The woman seemed to snap out of a trance. "My real name would most likely be difficult for you to pronounce, but when I was brought here, I was given the name 'Okiku,'. They call me the 'Madame Chrysanthemum.'" She tilted her head into a slight bow.

"Oh-kick-oo," Sabin said. He frowned, rather frustrated. "Oh-kik-hoo."

"Oh—" she started to say her name again, but stopped. She sighed. "I was always more of a 'Madame Butterfly,' by the name of 'Cho,' than a 'Madame Chrysanthemum' by the name of 'Okiku,'" she said enigmatically. "Please, call me Cho.'" She smiled sadly.

"Cho," Sabin repeated automatically.

"Very good," she said, pleased. The sad feeling that Cho had previously exuded had quickly dissolved and she now had a warmer feel. She got up again and exited the room. "I'll fetch you something to eat. You must be hungry," she said before she left. Sabin nodded and thanked her graciously.

While she was gone, Sabin allowed himself the opportunity to look out the window to see if he could find out where he was exactly. He did not see any streets, or the London River, or the clock tower, but a garden with a small pond and many flowers and trees and a small oriental gazebo by the pond. A wall surrounded the garden, and just beyond it he could see a few cottages. He heard the door open again and he turned around to see Cho holding a small tray, which she set on a low table.

"I washed your clothes," she said, looking through a cabinet. She pulled out a dark blue robe. "Here, you can wear this while they're drying," she said, and walked towards him. She handed it to Sabin, and he slipped his arms through the sleeves. Cho took the robe wrapped it loosely around him, the left side over the right, and tied a sash around him middle expertly.

"Please, sit down," she said, gesturing towards a low wooden table on the ground with two cushions on each side. She kneeled down on one of the cushion, and Sabin sat Indian-style on the cushion. He looked at the tray, which held a pot of tea, two cups, two sticks, and large plate of raw fish and several other foods he could not recognize.

"Cho, how did come to be here?" Sabin asked curiously as he fumbled with the two sticks he assumed he was supposed to eat with. She chuckled at his endeavors to hold the sticks.

"Well," she said, taking the sticks from him and showing him to hold them. "In my country, it is very common to rent your daughters to men as wives for while they visit. I was very young, only a little girl, when I was permanently sold to the owner of this place. My family was in debt at the time, and it was a great honor to be able to help them," Cho said as she braced one stick between the her ring finger and thumb of her right hand and held the other stick above it with the rest of her fingers. She handed the sticks back to him. "Now you try." Sabin mimicked her moments and clicked the ivory sticks together with ease. "But I cannot help but wonder how my family is now," she continued. "Or how my friends and Hikaru are faring…" She looked wistfully out the window. Her poignant aura settled around them again, and neither said anything.

After finishing his meal, Sabin spoke again. "Cho," he said, clearing his throat. "I think that I should return now."

Cho turned her head to him. "Yes, you're right, but you must allow me to give a something to you," she said. She picked up the tray and left the room. When she came back, she was holding Sabin's clothes in her arms. Cho handed them carefully to him and turned her back to him, and he quickly dressed. When he finished, she faced him again and took out an old tarot deck design of faded burgundy covered with gold swirls and celestial symbols from the sleeve of her robe. Dried blood was spattered across the top card and on the edges of the others, but she paid no heed. I found this in your clothes, and I believe that I can use this to give you part of your present."

"My old deck," he whispered. He still carried it with him always, for it was one of the few things he had left of his past life, before it had put an end to what he knew. His unsullied childhood memento was now tarnished with a sign of the monster inside him.

The sat at the table again and Cho shuffled the deck deftly, the cards swiftly moving between her hands. She carefully set down three cards face down in a row. The card with the blood spattered back lay in the last position. She turned over the first card.

An ominous looking man with long dark hair and sinister red eyes glared at Sabin. "The Devil; it symbolizes despair here. You had misery, desolation, hopelessness, and panic," she said monotonously. "There was a time of fear, several years ago, when you had just changed. You were thrown into a situation where you did not know what to do or who to go to. People double-crossed you, and your own uncertainty deceived you at times, but you overcame it soon enough. It is because of this that you are the way you are at the present." She turned over the middle card.

A young man hung from a cross by his feet, his body entangled with ropes, the expression on his face vacant. "The Hanged Man; it symbolizes sacrifice. Soon, you will undergo a trial where you must surrender or risk something of importance. There is a stage of suspension, where everything will be laid before you for you too see. Transformation." She turned the final card.

A hooded skeleton holding a scythe stared back at him. "Death; it symbolizes major change. The old order of things will end and a new order will begin. However, it also symbolizes death, or the end." Cho lifted her gaze from the cards and looked at Sabin. "Do you understand, Sabin? What you will have to do?" She sucked in a breath. "This is a warning."

Sabin's breathing became heavier. He got up suddenly and headed for the door, and opened it. "Thank you, Cho," he said, standing in the doorway. He did not turn to look at her.

He could tell she still sat there, unperturbed. He did not hear he turn around or stand up from her position on the floor. "If you need to find me, simply call," she said quietly. "Remember the warning."

Sabin left without another word.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When he came back, he found Samantha waiting for him worriedly at Blackwood Manor and immediately told him the news of the murder of three men in a pub. Their bodies had been completely mutilated and the pub was covered in their innards. Upon hearing this, he immediately sent her home without explanation.

For the remainder of the week, Sabin did not see Samantha.

He did not answer the door when she visited, for did he go outside at all. When Samantha had been waiting for him, he had felt a strange, involuntary anger that flare within him. Whenever he she greeted him, it bubbled under the surface and then subsided, and Sabin had barely noticed it until now. The anger felt foreign and strange, like another person's feeling was being pushed on him. Realizing this, he did not permit himself to see her, but when she came by, he allowed himself to listen to her and talk to her through the door. The both sat with their backs on the door, and Samantha would inform him of local news and leave him a basket of supplies.

The first day, Samantha had told him a woman and her lover having their heads severed from their bodies and devoured. Pieces of their heads had been found, covered with inhuman bite marks.

The second day, Samantha had told him an entire family in the countryside had all been literally scared to death, killed by heart attacks triggered by fear. Their faces wore looks of pure terror.

The third day, Samantha had told him of a woman being hung from a tree by her bowels. Several long, deep scratches were found on her body and her legs had been bitten off.

The fourth day, Samantha had told him of a man having a gaping hole one foot in diameter in his right through his abdomen.

The fifth day, Samantha told him of a woman being completely drained of her blood after she had strangled herself in her sleep.

The sixth day, Samantha told him of a man who had been cut cleanly in half, from head to toe.

Sabin knew that these gruesome deaths were linked to him. He had no recollection of any dreams at night, and he began finding himself lying on the floor somewhere in the manor late in the mornings, blood covering his body and clothes. The Anju had taken complete control of him at the dead of night and murdered all those people for sheer pleasure.

It must end, he thought. This city was not a good place for him to try to live, Sabin knew that now. Paris had no difficulty, and the Anju had never come out and killed anyone before London. There were no particular reasons that Sabin could find, and the only solution was to move.

Romania. He would start all over again in Romania, away from London, away from people, away from Samantha. He would move and live in the mountains, isolated and alone, in order to keep himself from killing. The Anju was gaining control over, instead of him over it, and chaos was inevitable. As he looked at the mirror, he was the only one that could see blood red eyes glinting sardonically back at him every now and then.

He hated it.

He hated it for making him lose his humanity, forcing it out of him so slowly that it was agonizing torture. But at the same time, he was curious. Even as a child, he had had an unnatural fascination with the dangerous and unknown. He was so horribly curious of it, to the point of obsession. What was it was trying to do? What was its purpose? His questions haunted his mind even as he packed his things, drifting precariously in the midst of his thoughts.

There was a loud knock at the door.

Sabin was not expecting anyone, for it was late at night, and Samantha was visiting her uncle, so she did not come by today. It was a pity, since Sabin wanted to at least say good-bye before he left, but it was also a good thing. He knew that Samantha would try to persuade him to stay in London.

He decided that it would not matter if he answered the door, since today he would be leaving for Romania; he had already called for a coach to bring him to the port. Money was didn't matter. He would simply let the Blackwood Manor waste away in all its gothic glory. He slowly opened the door, less than eager to resume packing. It was an awfully tedious task.

"Sabin, you can't go!"

It was Samantha. She threw her hands around his neck and pulled him into an intimate embrace, and he felt happy that she had been there. However, for a brief second, the strange anger surged through him, then faded. "How dare you try to leave!" she scolded, shaking a finger angrily at him. "I know it may be a bit scary now, with a killer on the loose and all," she said. Sabin paled visibly. "But usually, London really isn't a bad place to live!"

"It's not that," Sabin mumbled. Samantha didn't seem to hear him.

"I mean, you have a beautiful house here, and the weather is nice, and there are plenty nice people, and—and—" she said, listing reasons on why he should stay. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?" she finished. Samantha looked at him dolefully. "I don't see any reason why you have to leave, Sabin."

Sabin pulled her arms off his neck. "Samantha, there are just some things that you just can't know about, and the reason that I'm living is one of them." He gently pushed her away, and walked to the foot of the stairs. "You should leave now," he said forcefully, putting as much coldness as he could in his voice. He traced the carvings on the stair's wooden railing.

"Sabin, I don't want to leave. And I don't want you to leave," Samantha said, her voice shaking. He felt as though his heart had jumped into his throat.

He gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. "I said, leave." He walked up the stairs to return to his room and continue packing. Samantha's cries for him to come back echoed in his ears even after he shut his bedroom door. He leaned against it, and bit his lip to keep himself from opening the door and going back to Samantha. He broke through the skin on his lip and shadow blood oozed from the cut. Cursing, he angrily wiped the blood away with his sleeve, and stomped over to his suitcase to begin packing again.

Suddenly, it was as if his body had been consumed by fire.

Transforming had never hurt before; it was always painless. Now, it was like the pain he had experienced when the Anju had joined souls with him. His entire body burned and ached, and the parts the changed felt as if iron nails were being hammered into them. All six of his eyes opened and glowed red, his skin turned into shadow, his hair dark wisps, his feet and hands became sharp claws, and long, needle-like fangs grew out of his mouth. He howled in agony.

Quick footsteps scampered down the hall, and the door was thrust open. Samantha stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

No, she couldn't see him like this, in the wretched form of the creature that was part of his soul. Their gazes were locked.

"Sabin?" she said quietly, taking ragged breaths. Sabin roared again and pushed her aside, running. The picture of Death, a hooded skeleton holding a scythe, flashed in his eyes. He had to get away from her, or the Anju would gain control and kill her.

He could hear Samantha following behind him, and he blindly twisted and turned through the pitch-black halls and rooms of the manor, not caring where he was going. Everything was a dark blur, and the only thought was to get away from Samantha. Stopping suddenly, he found himself in the ballroom, mirrors surrounding him and reflecting the image of the Anju. Everywhere he turned he saw the Anju, the Anju, the Anju.

The door slammed, and he whirled around, seeing Samantha. She was extremely disheveled, and she held a single candle in her hands, lighting up the space around her. The mirrors reflected the light of the flame, and it felt like one hundred candles were blazing all around him. He cringed. "Sabin, stop," she said. She waved her hand, and the vines of several ivy plants nearby shot up and grew and thickened at an astounding pace, covering the doors and windows like the arms of a giant.

"Samantha, stay away," Sabin rasped. His voice had a strange, hollow quality to it. "I'm a monster."

Samantha slowly walked towards him, and put the candle to his face. The Anju hissed, the long harbored anger it held for her flaring. She was trying to control it. "Do you think that I would be afraid of this?" she whispered harshly, tears in her eyes. "I have nothing to fear."

The moment the last word had fallen from her lips, the Anju had cut off Sabin's power and leapt upon Samantha. She was trying to control it and she dared make Sabin more controlling towards it. She was the reason that Sabin was suppressing him, she was the one thwarting its plans to take over Sabin's body, and she was the one who was making Sabin control him. It made a grab for her arm to trap her but she jumped backwards, her arms slipping away and its claws slicing her arm. Three long cuts appeared and began bleeding. It slashed at Samantha, the force of its hit throwing her against the wall. The Anju growled menacingly, and stalked towards her, ready to give her a fatal blow, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"Sabin," she whispered, her voice weak and feeble. Tears trailed down her face as she visibly prepared herself for death. Her eyes closed shut, and her face fell into expression of tense expectation.

It raised its hand to strike, but its claw froze in mid-air. No matter how much it wanted to move its arm, it couldn't. An unfamiliar sensation immediately washed over it; a feeling like a heavy stone weighed down its mind with the thought of killing this woman, and confusion filled its mind. Conflicting thoughts fought amongst each other. One part wanted to simply kill the girl and let it be done with, but the other part held the warning pain if it did. When had it become this way? Where had the feeling of unadulterated pleasure gone? Suddenly, it could the Anju's control was being ripped away from it and it was forced to withdraw.

Sabin.

Suddenly, his skin had faded back to solid flesh, his hair went back to long, silver strands, and his eyes flickered back to a piercing grey blue. She had gone through much, and he readied himself for her to abandon him, like all the others had. Sabin went down on his knees, and picked up Samantha, to at least be able to hold her once before she deserted him. Her eyes opened, alarmed, and upon seeing his face, she flung her arms around his neck and wept into his neck. "I thought you were gone," she sobbed. Strange, he thought. This had never happened before.

He could feel her tears dropping onto his skin, and he savored it, feeling human again. Samantha's body racked with her sobs, and Sabin stroked her hair soothingly to calm her. "I'm here," he said quietly, kissing her softly on the top of her head. Her hold on him tightened.

"Don't you ever leave me," she said, her voice thick with tears. He smiled gratefully, like the doors of a sanctuary had suddenly opened to him.

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," Sabin said, holding Samantha closer to him. He bent down and kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, and her tears. He boldly planted a kiss on her lips and pulled back to see her reaction. She blinked, causing more tears to fall from her eyes, and pressed a kiss on his mouth in return.

They stayed there for a long time after.

Fin.

A Word From The Author:

Finished at 8:13 on Sunday, July 31, 2005.

Well, here it is, all in its twenty-one page glory. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I'm not one the type or writer that usually writes a long story. I'm more of a drabble or one-shot person, because my attention span isn't very long. This story took up quite a bit of my time, so I hope you will take time to read it thoroughly. This is my entry to you, Sabin and Kamiki, and I thought that I would write this author's page for you because it just makes it so much more personal, don't you think?

Well, anyways, I supposed I'll discuss the story and some of the characters and my views and all that nonsense. What compelled me to write was the fact that this was the very first art contest that included writing. Since I couldn't (and still can't) draw if my life depended on it, I entered. Why not? If a picture is worth only a thousand words, wouldn't a story that is 10,088 words be worth a whole lot? (I'd make it 10,090, but I can't bear to touch the story now that it's finished.) What compelled me to write about Sabin and Samantha was simply the fact they lived in the Victorian era. I absolutely adore Victorian and gothic styles mixed with horror, ever since I read mangas like Count Cain by Kaori Yuki and Alichino by Kouyu Shurei. Gothic Lolita style clothes really attract me too.

I really loved the beginning, you know. The first sentence is always the most important part of the story. I mean, if you have a bad beginning, the person isn't going to want to read it, right? I had to ask my brother, since it was in French and all, and I don't speak French.

Strong points? Well, I think that it's the use of language and punctuation and stuff. I absolutely hate it when someone writes a story and they can't punctuate properly or use the word "it's" incorrectly. Of course, I did a few things that are technically incorrect in formal writing (i.e., The use of parentheses in the writing. You're not supposed to ever use them in formal writing.), but it's all for the sake of art and writing style. I went out on a limb and spelled things funny, like "colour" and "grey" and stuff like that to make it seem more European and sophisticated. I hope it worked. If it didn't, then it probably looked idiotic, but oh well.

Weak points. Well, I'm absolutely horrible with dialogues, fight scenes, and endings, in my opinion. The way the people talk never seems very realistic to me, and the endings always sound abrupt, sudden, and short to me. Considering I'm quite the "girly-girl" (I'm supposed to be the girliest girl in my immediate family), I have very little fighting experience, and that's why the scenes are short. (Of course, I did get up to yellow belt in karate…) That's why I stick to drabbles and one-shots, since they're already short to begin with. I also think my little bits of humor are rather lame.

I'm sorry if you were upset by me putting the character Okiku/Cho in the Victorian Legends verse. (I find it rather amusing that she sort of has an identity crisis with the whole two-names thing.) Allow me to elaborate on her. No, the name Cho was not stolen from the character of the Harry Potter books. I always wanted to make up a psychic type of character, and doing random research on the stories Madame Chrysanthemum (the story of Okiku, a woman who pretends to love a cruel man that rents her as his wife, but is really only acts devoted for her wages) and Madame Butterfly (the story of Cho, a woman who believes the man that rents her has entered a real marriage with her and falls hopelessly in love with him. I liked Cho better than Okiku, so I made that the name she preferred), I decided to create a character to add some oriental spice to the story. Her role is meant to forewarn Sabin of the test ahead and act as more of a cool, collected, motherly type of person. She takes care of Sabin with no qualms and understands that he is not normal. I think I modeled her after either Japanese geishas or China dolls, I can't really decide. I thought that was just something interesting to share.

Why did I name the story Transitions? Well, I simply thought that the story was a time of change and transitioning for Sabin. I'm terrible with naming things. (Okiku/Cho is also an example. I couldn't choose between the two names.) I'll feel sorry for my future children. They'll be nameless for several days before I decide on something, I expect. Haha.

I'm hoping that I portrayed your characters accurately enough so that they're not out of character in any major ways. If I failed, don't tell me, because I'll probably beat myself up over and feel very bad. Also, forgive any careless misspelled words or dumb typos (for example, ones that mix up "he" and "she"). I'd feel bad if I made someone beta it, and I'm too lazy to read the whole thing over.

Please judge fairly and well!

Yours truly,

Akarusa of GaiaOnline, a.k.a. Jennifer H.

PROPERTY NOTE: The characters Sabin and Samantha belong respectively to Sabin and Kamiki of GaiaOnline. The character Okiku/Cho and the plot belongs to Akarusa of GaiaOnline.