Elizabeth Sires Sol

Elizabeth Sires Sol
by Reuben Gregg Brewer


She had been in Italy for many years looking for Sabastian. He was once her companion and lover. Although they often argued, they never separated or fought. Even in the end, they did not truly fight. It was a sad and heated moment, but it was time for them to move beyond each other. Elizabeth needed time to rekindle her desire for life. Sabastian needed time to live his own life.

Elizabeth, though, had regained her desire. At first, she continued what Sabastian called her whorish ways, imparting her gift onto anyone she fancied. But without Sabastian there to take care of her new friends, as she called them, when they no longer interested her, or when things went wrong, it was not fun to be promiscuous. A great part of the joy was getting a rise out of her companion.

That was really all there was to it. She didn’t seek to replace him. That was unthinkable. She simply wanted his attention. Like a spoiled little child who got everything she wanted by crying and whining, so, too, Elizabeth gained Sabastian’s attention by acting out inappropriately.

Now that she had driven her companion away, she was sad but realized what she was doing was self-destructive at best. More often than not, she was needlessly destroying lives. She realized that she needed to find joy from within herself, not from others.

She spent several years alone in the wilderness of Eastern Europe watching the animals and examining the plants, and reveling in the seasons and all they brought. She realized that although she was barred from life as she once knew it, there was a new life waiting for her.

At first, she believed that her life was about the bloodlust, that the bloodlust was all that there was. She killed to live. That was all right while she needed to feed daily to live, but once she no longer needed to feed as frequently, she had nothing for which to live. The bloodlust subsided and there was nothing left. Thus, she simply started playing with her food. Being alone in the wilderness made her realize that there was so much more.

She enjoyed watching and learning. She enjoyed intervening to help when help was needed but would not destroy the natural order of things. And, she enjoyed thinking about her past. But her past was a complicated issue because it always brought her back to Sabastian.

She had not sired in quite some time and longed for her companion back again. This time it would be a different relationship. No longer would Sabastian be the father figure and Elizabeth the rotten child. They would be equals watching the world pass forever and be forever together.

Finding Sabastian, though, proved more difficult than she had expected. She knew it would be hard, but so far it had proven impossible. She was in a state of despair, of utter loneliness, when she met Sol.

*****

Elizabeth always preferred artists. They viewed life as she once had—it was meant for living. That was what drew her to Sabastian, he was vibrant and alive. This inclination led her to spend time in somewhat disreputable bars and taverns. She also spent a fair amount of time walking around artists’ workshops examining their art.

It was on one of these visits that she noticed Sol. Most nights, her favorite workshop was empty and she could walk through at her leisure. This night, however, a young sculptor was still at work. She sat and watched.

He was tall and thin. He had long blond hair and a chiseled face. He was rugged and yet at the same time soft. His masculinity and his fervor instantly drew her to him.

He attacked the stone on which he was working with passion. Each strike was calculated and the results scrutinized. Often, he would run his cheek over the strike with his eyes closed. She sensed that he viewed the stone not as an object on which to inflict his will, but as a part of his own body to mold and sculpt. As the day approached, she went home, but the artist remained to work.

Elizabeth came back the next night, to find him at work again. She watched. The process fascinated her. He took such care and applied such love. She watched him for several months. Each night he worked and each night she watched. Slowly, she became less and less cautious. His work was what mattered to him, not her. One evening she sat openly for him to see.

He looked up at her sitting across the courtyard and smiled. She smiled and nodded her head. He went back to his work. At dawn, she stood to leave and looked up at her. He smiled again, but sadly. She returned his gaze and nodded.

This continued for several weeks. Each night she would arrive at dusk and watch her artist work until dawn. At dawn, he would watch sadly as she left.

*****

One morning, as the night was fading away, he did not look up, but instead spoke. "My muse, why must you leave in the morning," he asked. "From my first day here, you have been by my side. But only at night and never by day."

"I live by the night," Elizabeth answered.

"Then so must I," he answered.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Sol, and, if I may be so bold as to ask, what may I call you?"

"I am quite fond of Your Muse, but Elizabeth is what I am called."

"I see that the dawn approaches, Elizabeth, you must be off. Perhaps you will come close enough to talk to me as I work tomorrow night."

"Perhaps," she said as she left.

*****

The next evening, Elizabeth did move closer, but they did not speak. Sol simply looked up and smiled at her. She could sense from his mind that this was enough for him, to have his muse close to him.

This pattern lasted for several weeks. Until one day he was in the yard but not working when she arrived.

"Why aren’t you working," she asked?

"My time here is done," Sol answered.

"Why?"

"The master does not approve of my work."

"Any why not," she asked, realizing that she had never bothered to look at his work, only at him.

"He tells me that it shows great skill, but that it will not sell."

"May I see it?"

"You have sat by my side, but have never looked at what I was creating?"

"I am ashamed to say that you correct."

He walked over to a large cloth covering his work and pulled it away. Underneath was a marble statue of a demon like figure holding a man limp in its hands. She looked at him with eyes wide. The demon was female, with features much like her own. The man was Sol.

"Is this what you think of me? You believe your muse is a demon?"

"It is what I see when I look at you."

"I am no demon."

"I hope it does not offend you. I didn’t mean for that. In fact, I believe it is actually quite a beautiful scene. But no one else sees this, they all tell me it is grotesque and horrid. I believe it is a love scene. Who is to say that she is killing him? Who is to say that she has not saved him?

"No, this is not a show of anger or hate, it is a display of love."

"Then you believe I am a monster that loves."

"Yes."

"And I am here to save you."

"Yes."

"How should I accomplish this?"

"Does my art not tell you how?"

"You do not know what you ask of me."

"No, I do not. But I ask it anyway."

"Then so be it," she said as she walked to him and drew blood from his neck. Elizabeth knew as she created him that it was not Sabastian she longed for, but a companion.

[Copyright Reuben Gregg Brewer, 2004. All rights reserved.]