White Blood | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter One

1821 — Hastings, Sussex, England

   Hastings was a borough in the county of East Sussex in the south coast of England. It was fifty-three miles from London with a population of over six-thousand. The town was filled with many buildings, colourful and glum. Every red reminded one of a brilliant cherry scarlet. Every blue was a bright royal hue, neither light or dark, just perfect. The buildings were an amazing jumble of different styles: rickety wooden shops, wood and brick houses, and a huge stone church. One of the buildings of the huge stone church was known as Mother Guillemette's Private Orphanage. With over two hundred children, it was the only orphanage in Hastings.

    One of those children was a golden haired, blue eyed girl. What separates her from the rest of the children in the orphanage was the blue of her eyes. Most blue eyes were captivating, where one swore they could dive into them. When one peered into her frozen irises, one felt an electrical chill run down their spine, like ice; as if a blizzard was eternally raging on with a black void in the centre that were her pupils. It captivated each person that glanced into her eyes.

   At only a few days old, that girl was left at the top step of the orphanage with a note and a bag of gold. The note read: This is my daughter, Eleanor Fraser. I wish her to live a clean life. I shall pay for her upkeep with gold, which I'll leave every month that she lives. Please, tell her I'm dead.

   Eleanor was suddenly woken from her dreams when one of the nuns hit the side of her bed with a rather large disciplinary stick. "You!" she quietly hissed, pointing the end at her. "Up! Come on, girl, up!"

   Hesitantly, Eleanor stood and followed the nun out of the room she shared with countless other orphaned girls. Outside the bedroom stood a gentleman with a scar covering the right side of his face. He gave her a polite smile, nodded at the nun, and signalled Eleanor to follow him.

   She followed the man up the dwindling steps of the building, admiring the few colourful paintings and dull statues the orphanage had on the walls: fallen angels, God, the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, and chubby little naked men that flew around women. They weren't that beautiful, but they were the only speck of colour—other than the currant coloured uniform—Eleanor saw at the orphanage.

   They stopped at one of the corridors that led to the courtyard, where pigeons loved to make their nests and the only warmth were the few lit candles hanging on the walls. Eleanor hugged herself as the man stopped and turned, taking a few steps to her.

   "Eleanor Fraser," the man breathed, staring at her. "Look at you; fair as a lily... I knew your mother."

   "My mother is dead," she responded, looking away from his eyes. She preferred to look to his forehead instead of the blank right eye and the dull grey left eye. He appeared burnt, scarred.

   "Is that what they told you?" the man sneered. "They fed you lies." He brushed a cold gloved hand down her cheek. "Your mother-your mother stole something from me." He pressed his other hand among his cheek, as if he were trying to cover the burn. "Now I'll steal something from her." He grabbed her neck and pushed her to the wall, pressing himself against her. She shut her eyes closed as the stench of alcohol hit her face as the man's hand began to push up her nightdress. "My disease has no cure. When I'm finished with you, you'll be a child no longer." The man pressed himself even closer, and turned her head to him. "Look at me!"

   Eleanor couldn't do anything else but keep quiet and stare at the barren moon from behind the man's head. It was the only that gave her comfort, the only thing that stopped the horrid thoughts that were running through her mind. She was so broken that she could hear her name echoing in the distance.