1-1:mission

_Paris_

A lean figure stood out in the gloom of the dirty streets. She walked all dressed in black, the hood of her long cloak hanging over her back. Illuminated only by the light of the torches, her long blond hair falling on her frail shoulders fascinated beggars and peasants in search of a penny to survive until spring.

Gentlemen bowed before her while paupers and harlots, recognizing the pure features of the alabaster-skinned woman, fled to find refuge in the depths of the capital.

The heels of her high leather boots stopped hitting the icy pavement, and she looked up as she stood before a simple wooden door. She knocked three times with the tips of her phalanges and waited.

A peephole revealed itself in the door, hidden by a simple wooden strip.

"The password?" croaked a voice from another age.

A slight smile played on her red lips, and she leaned forward to whisper:

"Ouvre cette putain de porte, orchidoclaste avant que je te fesse les joues. (Open the fucking door, orchidoclast (medieval french insult: ball breaker) before I spank your cheeks.)."

"Miss Emmanuelle, you know there's protocol," complained the voice from the other side of the door.

She laughed darkly and stood perfectly still.

A sigh was heard, and the door slowly opened with the metal hinges creaking.

Emmanuelle entered and stopped for a moment to shake her head at the guard. She put her fists on her hips and gave him a mocking smile, "Was it so hard to open?"

"I'm just obeying the master's orders," the deformed-featured doorman grumbled as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. His hunched back showed his deformity while the pox marked his skin.

Emmanuelle delicately approached her fingers and gently lifted the chin of the hideous creature who served as the building's janitor. "Why are you not yet one of us? By our blood, you could become much prettier."

The red rose at once to the cheeks of the porter, unaccustomed to such attentions of his masters' kin. "I do not wish for it, Miss Emmanuelle."

"But you're so hideous," the alabaster-skinned young woman cut in at once. Her red-rimmed blue eyes took on a darker hue, and she came to place her face a few inches from his. "You are not stupid, though. You know my people, and I can give you beauty and eternity.

"I know that I am ugly in your eyes. But I was born mortal and wish to remain so. I know that I am hideous and do not care. The Lord made me so, and so I shall remain.

Emmanuelle curtly withdrew her fingers from under the doorman's chin and clicked her tongue in disgust as she began to walk again. "You worship your god and unashamedly serve monsters that his church despises. May your soul be of value to your maker when you stand before him."

She began to walk through a maze of corridors, opening doors and taking several stairs that led her into the depths of the belly of Paris.

Finally, she reached a gallery that led her into the catacombs, lit by the lights of candles placed on unknown skulls. The mournful music of a harpsichord was played, mixed with the muffled cries of the servants who had come to give their blood.

"Emmanuelle," called a male voice, soft and sophisticated. "Approach, then, child of my clan."

She rolled her eyes, annoyed by the pompous atmosphere of the place and the bows the humans made to her as she approached.

A servant pulled out a chair dressed in gold leaf, and she unceremoniously sat down.

"Why have you called me, Augustin?" she asked, holding out her black cloak to the servant. She lifted her chin and winced, seeing the vampire of legend before her. "Why have your eyes turned so red, Augustin?"

The vampire stood before a throne placed on a pile of skulls. This uncrowned king was dressed simply in black pants, leaving the nearly translucent skin of his muscular torso for his guests to see. His long wavy blond hair, proof of his kinship with Emmanuelle, fell gracefully down his back and was held back only by a red scarf.

He carelessly wiped his bloody forearms with a silk towel. Then, with feline grace, he went down the few steps separating him from his guest and came to support his hands on the end of the chair's armrests where Emmanuelle had taken place.

He laughed softly at the placid and unimpressed look she had before him. Then he leaned into her ear.

"Don't talk to the rascals, young Emmanuelle."

She puffed out her cheeks and made a loud pff as she released the air between her lips.

"You brought me all the way here to tell me that? And, what rascal are you talking about?"

"The doorman, my sweet Emmanuelle," the vampire replied graciously.

"He's a rascal, and you let him guard your door?" she scoffed.

"He guards my door because he's a rascal. There's no better sniffer dog to detect vermin than vermin themselves, my sweetheart."

Emmanuelle pretended to gag. Then, with a sweeping movement of her hand, she chased away the young man who had come to present her with his neck. " I already dined, thank you, "she indicated to him, a soft smile on her lips.

Augustine's eyes kept going from his offspring to the main course. When he had enough, he tucked one of Emmanuelle's long blonde locks behind her ear.

"You've always been fascinated by the food."

She glared at him and, in turn, placed a crazy lock behind her clan leader's ear. "They are alive and capable of reason and judgment, Augustin. Besides, I'm waiting to see the day you fully realize that."

"And this is the sad reason why you only feed on pigs?" he muttered with a frown.

They both fell silent, silently continuing to challenge each other with their eyes.

She did not see any interest in answering him. Besides, they had already had this conversation last century. "Why did you send for me, Augustin?"