As Eleni's heels fly soundlessly through the forest, her mind moves even more quickly. There are not acres of forest in this part of the country, and following the map's path is going to take her into dangerous territory. To the West, the lush, humid landscape turns into nothing but dust and sunshine, sprawling pieces of land without the cover of trees to protect anyone or anything. For the first time, Eleni wonders if it's the simplest trap of all.

Would her youngest daughter really be so unforgiving as to knowingly direct her into a vast and arid desert, just in time for sunrise?

Her entire body feels as unnaturally cold inside as she does on the outside. A violent shudder runs through her as she thinks of the unrelenting agony of being trapped in a wide-open coffin that extends into eternity. 

All creatures fear Death. It's as if everyone who ever was is hard-wired to consider the most terrifying way in which their time in the Universe will end. The fear doesn't change, only the instruments of destruction that add terror to the darkest of nights.

For Eleni, it is the sun that brings the darkness.

Fear never stops Eleni. It moves her faster, and she's determined to complete the instructions in half the time. It is gruelling, but adrenaline makes sure she feels no pain. That will come later.

When Eleni finally stops, the cloak of darkness still protects her. There are no roses, no desert, and Odelie is not standing there with a smug look of pleasure. Eleni is hit hard by the urge to collapse into a big pile of leaves, and her vision blurs. Even Eleni is capable of feeling the effects of overexertion and her own unique form of dehydration.

She fights through the discomfort and general feeling of being disoriented to the world. Was this what Odelie wanted her to see? In the distance, she spies all the trappings of a medieval village, mostly closed for the night. Every once in a while, a loud bell or a horse's whinny will remind her the village doesn't sleep.

Eleni stands, aware her legs feel like cement is dragging them along the pavement. The repetitive clicking of her heels reminds her she's moving at a human's pace, and a slow human at that.

Still, curiosity pulls her mind along. Eleni has never seen a true medieval village, though she cringes a little as she remembers their fondness for churches. There's hardly a person in sight, though she can hear people in the distance, making preparations for another long day that begins with the sun.

Early to bed, early to rise...

The village's market looks to Eleni like the centre of activity, though the stalls are all empty. Some have wagons behind them, obviously a place to sleep as well as to store goods and livestock. They look too heavy for anything to pull them.

This place is even older than I am, Eleni thinks. If she's correct, it's a few centuries before her birth, a time when those like Eleni didn't exist---not vampires, but aristocrats. She would have died even younger, in childbirth or from the ravages of poverty and disease. Worse yet, she might have been burned alive in her human form, as many difficult women were. 

It was a cold, unforgiving time that showed little mercy. 

Eleni remembers that from her reading and is not keen to experience it firsthand. Then again, it's not as if people didn't say the same about her upbringing.

A man with a long beard chugs clear liquid from a jar. His whistle is jarring to Eleni. Were men so ill-mannered since the dawn of time?

Her eyes take in every detail of his appearance. He is too old for the swords and plate armour that are on racks behind him. The dirt beneath his fingernails matches the tattered black tunic he wears. He wipes the liquid sloppily from his beard, and Eleni can smell the crude alcohol across the distance. She notices how his heartbeat keeps time, like a metronome.

"Lady, ye find yerself in some trouble? Come here."  Eleni hesitates, for a variety of reasons. If it wasn't wise to talk to strangers in abandoned places at night as a human woman, it was even more unwise now. "Ye can trust I'm an honest man. I ain't about to stoop so low as to hurt a lady."

Eleni is inclined to believe him, though her piercing blue eyes focus on him intently. His are a dull, unremarkable brown. She thinks, almost forlornly, that they match his dull and unremarkable life. "What do you want, then? I'm not in trouble, though thank you for asking. I've just travelled a long way to get here. I'm rather thirsty." The thought slips out before she can stop the words,  which she immediately regrets.

"Here." He passes the jar to Eleni, and she does her best not to visibly cringe. Manners say she owes it to him to take a swig of whatever's in there, even though it smells unappealing and the vision of the man wiping it from his beard makes it very unpalatable. "Ye be but a small thing. Don't take too much."

Eleni can feel the man's eyes on her as she takes a long swig of what feels like liquid flame, before passing it back to him. "Thank you."

"If ye ain't got yerself in trouble, ye need to put clothing on before leaving the bedroom. Runnin' asunder in just a chemise with no sleeves---gives men ideas. It ain't matter if ye happen to be a high lady of quality with them jewels."  His eyes fall to her hands, perfectly manicured and covered in delicate jewelled rings, all gold. Eleni finds silver inferior and insulting. "Unless ye be the type of woman that's sellin' what's showin'. That's usually the reason for bein' all painted up."

A retort springs to her lips, and her hand instinctively wants to backhand the drunk merchant into his rack of swords. How dare someone like this degenerate mistake her for that kind of woman? Eleni didn't care what century it was, he should know she was a grander lady than he'd ever meet in his sad, pathetic life.

She struggles, but her words are calm and collected as her gaze bores holes into his skull. "Take care how you speak to strange ladies, Monsieur. Just because we are smaller and suffer from being not men, it doesn't mean we take kindly to impolite words."

The man pulls back, his face looking instantly chagrined. Eleni would rather hit him, but at the very least, she could make the poor man feel properly ashamed of himself. "I'm not meanin' to cause ye insult. It's just ye has need to dress proper and take care on these roads."

He can't keep his eyes from Eleni's hands, and he takes another long gulp of liquid. "I ain't never seen anything like those jewels before. One of them, and I'll get ye a proper gown and place to sleep, even a weapon if ye can use it. Whatever you're needin' fer you to get through yer journey, m'Lady."

Her eyes drop down to the rings he eyes covetously. Some are almost old enough to belong to this world, while others are trinkets of sentimental value. A few mean nothing at all, except Eleni found them pretty. She doesn't wear a wedding ring. Her collection of bridal jewels is too precious to bring into the world. It's as if her addiction is trying to compensate for the loss of something that matters.

"I'll trade you the green one for a gown, shoes, and a safe roof over my head. Perhaps one with an Innkeeper?" The idea of a drowsy innkeeper draws Eleni's attention in a way this man couldn't, not out of anything but desperation "Green doesn't suit me well. You can give it to your wife, perhaps, or your daughter?"

She can see the way the words register on the man's face. Eleni is beautiful and charming in many ways, but he's not thinking of her. Love is something far greater than beauty.

The small emerald sparkles in the night sky, almost as if the stars are eager to reclaim one of their own.

Almost as if on cue, the church bells toll in the distance. They ring out four times, reminding Eleni she doesn't have long. At the same time, it's undoubtedly reminding the man that he'll let an opportunity of a lifetime slip away if he doesn't act quickly. "That's all ye want fer barterin' something so precious? I can get you a gown and shoes right here, and walk ye to the inn. It's safe for travellers."

She can almost taste the sound of his heartbeat against her lips. She is anxious to get to the inn, to let him go his way. There's undoubtedly a woman who will be stunned by the beauty of the tiny emerald ring. It will never get to her if the man doesn't keep a safer distance from Eleni. Even she understands that would be a tragedy.

"I'm in a hurry, Monsieur, so that's all. I'll figure everything else out in the morning." Fire burns in the back of Eleni's throat, and she seeks a way to soothe it, at least temporarily. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to part with a jar of whatever you're drinking?"

She flashes her charming smile, canting her head to the side as her blue eyes pretend to appraise him with interest. It works. He pulls out a jar with a lid from underneath the stall. It strikes her how flimsy the wood is, how easy it is to destroy. This whole village could be pulled apart before anyone knew what hit it.

"For a pretty little thing like you, m'Lady, can't be sayin' no." Eleni grabs onto the jar gratefully, careful not to let her fingers graze his. She opens it quickly, anxious for the burn of the liquid to soothe the other, more insatiable thirst. "Let's get ye into something more proper, aye?"

Eleni merely follows as the man moves toward a covered wagon, her ring clutched almost adoringly in his palm. It is this tenderness towards someone---a wife, a mother, a daughter, a mistress---that will save his life.

It's a lesson the poor man will never even know he's learned.