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23 September 2008 @ 09:39 pm
Ancient Wounds pt 35  
Hey Vammers :) well as usual I've been bloodly useless at posting on a regular basis but the second year of college will do that to you *mutteres something about art claiming her soul*, plus I have my eighteenth birthday to plan (go saturday!XD). I have however brought an offering of a new chapter, so I hope you enjoy. Shout out to my lovely readers midget666 and gonewithethecin for their support and putting up with my crappy ability to procrastinate :p love n muffinz xx

Author: yours truly, ExMaverick aka Jess

Title: Ancient Wounds

Rating: PG-13
Summary: Prequel to my vampire fic Deepest Shadow. Ville recounts the events of his mortal life growing up in the poverty of 20th century Finland, wrought with grief, sex, romance, passion and abuse leading into his birth to darkness.
His lengthy tales are imparted to the sleepy mind of his young lover, but only in the seclusion of his own darkest thoughts does he begin to relive the greatest obsessions and deepest hurts rooted in his bygone and decadent time.
Warnings: n/a
Pairing: Vam, Ville/Jonne, Ville/OC (in parts)

Previous Parts 1,2,3,4,5i,5ii,6,7,8,9i,9ii,10i,10ii,10iii


The Demon, in my chamber high,
This morning came to visit me,
And, thinking he would find some fault,
He whispered: "I would know of thee

Among the many lovely things
That make the magic of her face,
Among the beauties, black and rose,
That make her body's charm and grace,

Which is most fair?" Thou didst reply
To the Abhorred, O soul of mine:
"No single beauty is the best
When she is all one flower divine.

When all things charm me I ignore
Which one alone brings most delight;
She shines before me like the dawn,
And she consoles me like the night.

The harmony is far too great,
That governs all her body fair,
For impotence to analyse
And say which note is sweetest there.

O mystic metamorphosis!
My senses into one sense flow--
Her voice makes perfume when she speaks,
Her breath is music faint and low!"

The Temptation, Charles Baudelaire


Three weeks had we lodged in Helsinki when Suvi and myself had finally assimilated ourselves to city life. My aversion to sunlight had gone completely unnoticed quite astonishingly, or more rather my nocturnal lifestyle had been early attributed to my artistic sensibility and that the notion that I chose to stay locked away during the day was a matter of personal choice, as I had mentioned my writing was best done during these hours and would be most grateful if left undisturbed. As for my ward, the ever brilliant Suvi had proven that a change of scenery could do wonders for one’s personality; a far cry from the ravishing brothel girl she had been not yet a month passed she proved to be the most excellent little scholar, her daily home tuition undertaken by a local university master of great merit vesting her in all manner of culture and classical literature. Indeed, so great had her intellect flourish that both myself and Jesse found ourselves at the end of her terribly sharp wit in conversation at least twice daily.

It was at this stage in my hunting for the ever-allusive terrace house for myself and Suvi that all preceding were dropped, momentarily, for the joyous event of Jesse and Lydia’s wedding. Jesse, in all his wonderful intuition had agreed with his bride for an evening wedding, and though he would say it was for the ambiance I in my heart of hearts knew it was his adoration and respect for my work that made it so. The planning had been fervid and hasty as Lydia grew further and further heavy with the impending birth, now but two months ahead and awaited with great anticipation. I myself had been called upon to select the venue, spending my night betwixt the sluggish embrace of the dead and the many hallowed churches the city offered up to me in the shadowed summer streets. It was a small chapel in the end that caught my preternatural eyes, a tiny gem in the great crown of Helsinki, glittering with candlelight, deeply coloured stained glass windows and great catholic icons carved into the cold stone walls. Lydia fell in love with it the moments she saw it, and threw her arms about my neck in appraisal to mock-pace the steps up the aisle imagining great classical music chanting marvellously through the hall.

Indeed, all of us had a hand in the occasion. Jesse himself has spent an entire week on the guest list (consisting of but thirty individuals, of which great numbers were relations of Jesse’s stepfather) and Suvi, not to be outdone, upon the musical arrangement and colours of the dresses, on which she placed a great importance especially considering she was to be a bridesmaid alongside Lydia’s younger sisters. I myself was to be the best man, and took immense pride in the role.

When the blessed evening occurred but a fortnight later the first leaves of Autumn were beginning to golden and fall, and I awoke from my slumber, dressed and headed for the church sure of foot and brimming with excitement. The night’s air had begun to crisp, the scent of the summer blossoms now faded by the chill and on the breeze instead there hung a calming freshness. The sight of carriages lining up against the burning candlelight brought forth memories I fought to suppress. The building itself was beautified beyond expectation, great banners of gold and red hanging from the arched roof, candles burning silently against the hush of conversing relatives with the unmistakable musk of frankincense. I spoke with my late mother’s widower for the first time, and was comforted by the fact that he was so much the warm, loving human being she had always deserved. He spoke highly of my brother, assuring me that both he and I could count on his guidance and assistance should ever we need or choose it. It filled me with great happiness that my brother had had a father figure as strong our own had many years ago been.

The event itself was beautiful, the spice in the air warming one’s heart and the music, such weeping, soaring violin and cellos! They could have rivalled the call of the Seraphim themselves. The chapel suddenly silenced, I stood at my brothers side close to the alter and shared in the rush of adrenalin that came when finally she appeared with her flight of bridesmaids, my brother’s russet-haired bride with ringlets cascading over the ivory of her dress, fingertips clutching the bouquet of lilies white as her own radiant skin, the silk of her gown flowing over her beauteously swollen belly. The love I saw in his eyes was enough to prove to me that happiness and love, while rare, was indeed much possible, and that perhaps one day I too would know such joy.

I smiled as they exchanged vows, sharing glances with Suvi who held the snowy-white train of the bride’s dress with equal amounts of reverence in her eyes. She was the model of serenity, dark skin against the crisp white of her dress, eyes bright in the hissing candlelight. She had grown up fast in the city, strangely so much faster than in the squalid brothel of Oulu, at seventeen so much of a full grown woman and yet still so much a child in a lady’s lace bodice. Indeed, she had given both Jesse and I great grief , when she began to wear the great heightened heels of new fashion that made her calves clench and flex her torturously perfect insteps, drawing from even me the most shamefully erotic thoughts.

As the happily wedded couple kissed, the night was thrown into celebration. Carriages descending upon our residents, the party continued, where the young Master Valo and his blushing bride entertained the masses with an expansive banquet and jovial music. I of course, much to my embarrassment was called to toast the couple, making my way through the speech with nothing less than a few stutters and a vulgar joking outburst from one of Lydia’s uncles, at which I was laughed at in good taste by all. I had been faux-nursing the same glass of wine for the past three hours when I was approached by my (quite obviously at this point) drunken brother and company.

“My brother’s a writer” he smiled, putting his arm around my shoulder and hugging me close “a good deal better than most we have been publishing of late too, may I add”

One man smirked, clearly a great deal more sober and greying with age “Oh really? Tell me Mr. Valo have you ever considered releasing these works to the eager public?”

“Yes publishing!” guffawed another, a dark-haired fellow in his mid years yet another member of what I now realised to be members of Jesse‘s inherited publishing house “tell me, Ville is it? What manner of pros do you deal in-”
“-He’s a poet” my grinning brother cut in happily. I laughed somewhat awkwardly and continued to hold his slouched form over my shoulder determined to actually involve myself in this conversation.
“Yes, I’m a poet of sorts, though it’s all very romanticised” I said quite modestly.
The old man’s grey-sable face lit up and shook his hand such that brandy nearly sopped his sleeve “Marvellous! After all what is poetry if not for the heart?”

“The body I should say” laughed the dark haired fellow winking suggestively. I laughed politely and he went on “do forgive me Ville. My name is Jarno and I work alongside your brother dealing with printing orders. The old man with the nostalgic tendency is Armas, accountancy matters”

I remarked on how nice it was to finally be introduced and once again the conversation rapidly descended back into my work and fascinations surrounding such matters.

“May I ask Ville, what are your poems about?” Armas inquired, the aforementioned brandy now slicking his speech.

I mused, unsure for a moment.

“People,” I said finally “of men, women and depravity. Of love, passion and disappointment. I’m working on a collection actually, about the underbelly of Helsinki, It’s titled ‘Flowers of Evil In Bloom

Jarno raised his glass and nodded enthusiastically, before taking my brother from my shoulder to greet Lydia and some dancing female cousins “I should like to see it with your permission Ville, if you are talented as Jesse would have us believe, I expect great things of you”

I smirked to myself. This city was offering up all mention of delights, and this time perhaps even a career. I very much liked the sound of it all, myself an author, respectable with money of my own and prospects. After all, I may have said my farewells to the light but I was not divorced from the world, why should I not show my work if others deemed them worthy of consideration? Wonderful.
As the festivities continued all remained high spirited, and I was introduced to more and more relatives and well-wishers. I loved the sense of family, for that is what the occasion was for. I felt accepted, never a moment from a conversation with Jesse’s extended relations about how I felt about my new surroundings, or dancing with one of Lydia’s pretty cousins ( the youngest of whom at six years old spent much of the evening teaching me the steps and giggling when I put my foot wrong or when her sisters flirted with me shamelessly). Amongst all the laughter and the dancing I did not however see any sign of Suvi, and it was soon midnight. Knowing this I resolved to go retrieve her from any room I was sure she had retired to, for there were a great many strapping young boys of her age that had been asking after her and I was determined to see her dance with at least one.

Not finding her in her room I departed to our adjoining study, where I found her reading by the fire. I asked her why she read when downstairs a party was in full throws.

“I haven’t the taste for the young boys there, Ville” she replied thumbing through the collective works of Baudelaire rather studiously.

“Oh? Your tastes are for the fairer sex, I suppose?” I smirked cheekily snatching the book from where she sat, throwing it aside and laughing as her cheeks turned a plum colour with embarrassment.

“No!” She protested indignantly before shoving me playfully as I sat besides her upon the
brocade of the antiqued loveseat “what I meant is that I do not fancy their ilk nor their clumsy feet stepping upon my slippers. They have not the slightest skill in dancing”

“Of course. My meaning of course is that I am your guardian and as such it is my responsibility to introduce you to these people. I am to keep you until you marry-if it is your choice to do so-and until such point to make sure you share your intellect with the world. One can’t hide away with Baudelaire at all hours can one?” I smiled. She agreed.

I narrowed my eyes playfully and kissed her forehead “And on the subject of marriage you better make sure any suitor you may ever decide to bring to me is of good virtue, be they man or woman, or they may find themselves contending with my temper”

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Come,” I smiled offering my hand “shall we teach the young rogues downstairs to dance, Suvi?”