Rome - 1771
Her name was Teodora. Her father was a merchant, who spent most of his time taking his family with him from country to country, dealing with foreign trade. It had only been just recently they had returned to Rome. And just in perfect time. Angelus and Darla had just arrived. They had just lost Holtz somewhere in North Africa some weeks before and they were looking for some fun on their holiday. A sort of celebration.
Angelus met Teodora one night, as she started for her home. There was something about the girl that drew him to her. Perhaps it was her youth, or the innocence he saw in her doe brown eyes, that certain shy way she lowered her head to try and avoid looking at him. Whatever it was, his mind was made up.
Over the course of a few weeks, he worked his way into the girl’s life. He was surprised to find she spoke some English, something she had picked up on her travels. That made things easier for him as the lines of communication were opened. He had gifts delivered—beautiful baubles and jewels for her to wear. He composed love notes, leaving them beneath her door. Over time, his attentions drew to stealing kisses from her. Darla chided him for teasing the poor thing, but there was that malicious glint in her eyes, and Angelus knew she enjoyed every moment her darling boy spent torturing Teodora with false claims of love and desire.
The poor thing never saw it coming. She finally invited him into her parents home. After a few heated kisses, he showed his true face. He delighted in her fear and terror and it only sufficed to make him hurt her more. Her blood was sweet, virgin. He composed her quite comfortably on the settee, for her parents to find soon enough. He took a few extra moments to make sure she got to wear the gifts he had given her one last time, the jewels of the necklace at her torn throat glistening in the firelight. One last love note lay beside her head, where her lifeless eyes stared wide at the scrawled words across the creamy page: