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She had forgotten the pasty taste of food. How unpleasant it was to eat now that her stomach only craved gore. The bland taste of it, like flour or chalk. The crumbly, sandy feeling on her tongue, resisting to soak in any moisture. Sticking to the roof of her mouth. Trapping itself in the small spaces between her sharp teeth. Scraping softly at the walls of her throat. Not enough to hurt, of course, but enough to annoy. That's what it was, eating human food. Annoying. But Madeleine had bought croissants and tarts for her. What was she to do, refuse her?
(It had become a bit of a habit for her to visit Madeleine and observe her as she worked while Claudia made tales of her day. Sometimes she'd bring a book, come in just to say hi, and spend the rest of their time together in silence. Madeleine indulged her no matter what Claudia decided their mood was that evening. Recently, she’d taken initiative of her own and had started buying little snacks to share. The nice gesture sprouted from an off-handed comment Claudia had made. Something about not being able to visit many places in Paris because of her busy schedule at the Théatre des Vampires.
The first time she had laid a pastry in front of her, Claudia had raised her eyebrows at her.
What is this? What does it mean?
Madeleine had shrugged. "They make you work so hard.” A small smile, or a smirk, had crept up on her. Sometimes Claudia still couldn't tell whether the tone Madeleine employed radiated condescension or genuineness. “This one’s from a little cafe de l’autre côté de la scène. They make the best éclairs. Try it. Tell me if you enjoy it.”
Claudia had not enjoyed it. She said she did anyway.)
So here they were, sitting across each other at Madeleine’s desk, eating treats together. They were sifting through their respective copy of the same book, occasionally stealing glances and smiles, but Claudia noticed Madeleine’s attention getting away from her for a while now. Her eyes strained more and more towards the girl in front of her, pushing aside words on pages.
She popped the last of her snack in her mouth and swatted the crumbs off her hands as she leaned back in her chair, eyes floating up to land squarely on Claudia forcing sweets down her throat as slowly as she could. Claudia swallowed roughly.
"You're staring." At what?
“Do you like it?”
“Mh? Oh. Yeah. It’s good. I like the…” She looked down at the rest of the pastry in her hand. “Orange filling inside.”
“Gelée de pomme.” Madeleine grinned. “You’re right. It’s kind of shit.”
A snicker bubbled out of Claudia, but she cut it short with a cough. Her hands hovered mid air, still holding the offending treat.
Madeleine cocked her head. “Do you dip your nails in chalk before leaving the house?"
Claudia narrowed her eyes. She put down the pastry and leaned her elbows on the desk, bringing her hands together under her chin. She gestured towards Madeleine vaguely with her pointer finger, the whiteness of her sharp nails evident under the soft light above their heads.
“Do you let mice nibble at yours?”
A smirk stretched at the dressmaker’s lips and she shrugged. “Je dis jamais non à une manucure gratuite.”
Claudia gave a small smile of her own. She sighed, feigning disinterest over the state of her claws. "It’s the makeup powder. Gets everywhere. Stains everything."
Madeleine hummed. She presented her hand palm up in front of her, beckoning Claudia to her. She hesitated a moment, watched the light give a warm glow to the tips of her fingers, observed the blood pump in slow gulps in the prominent veins on the inside of her slender wrist. When she slid her hand on top, she felt the soft calluses trailing on the pads of the seamstress's fingers catching on her own skin. Her hand was warm.
Madeleine tugged at her lightly and traced the raised bumps of her knuckles and phalangeal joints. (It tickled. She felt it all the way down to her toes; the gentle caress of Madeleine’s thumb pad, her other hand loosely holding onto Claudia’s wrist. It wasn’t quite like being under the rays of the sun, but Claudia felt herself burning all the same. She wanted more of it. More of Madeleine’s dainty fingers on her, feeling her, exploring her. She was too old now to feel any kind of shame about it. Perhaps still too young not to feel her stomach start to knot with nervousness and a little bit of something else.) Turning her hand over, she traced the lines of her palm and let her fingers travel on the soft map of the forever young skin until the tip of her index met the tip of Claudia’s sharp nail. And then she pressed. A pearl of blood formed just as saliva pooled in Claudia’s mouth. She pursed her lips when she felt her canines poking at her flesh. Madeleine hummed again, a small smile jumping on her lips.
"What did you do that for?"
"Curiosity."
"Does it hurt?"
(Madeleine seemed to be the kind of person who welcomed the hurt, the danger. She didn't run after it per se, but she didn’t run away either. She just waited. Waited to see what it did, what it brought. Observed as the blood dripped from her finger before she sucked it off.)
She shrugged. "I’ve pricked my finger before."
And for all the curiosity she claimed to have, she did not ask why Claudia kept her nails so sharp.
Instead, she got up and walked to a half made dress, taking pins from her little cushion.
Claudia watched the blood seep through the micro cracks of her predator’s nail, finding its path like it was a labyrinth. She resisted the urge to put it in her mouth. She sullied her dress with red and got up to turn and lean back on the desk, hands placed under her weight, looking at Madeleine. Her nails scratched under the wood, but the sound was drowned by the soft music she’d forgotten was playing from Madeleine’s turntable.
Madeleine was fussing with the pleats of the dress’ skirts, pins poking through the garment as easily as Claudia’s nail had torn through the weave of her skin. The light caught in her updo, making her hair look like fire, red turning into a yellowish glow on the top of her head. Claudia’s keen eyes followed flyaway strands until they landed on her cheeks. She watched freckles dance under the squinting eyes of her prey, peppering the skin all the way down to her neck where Claudia’s favourite vein pumped in languid strokes. She fixated on it, nails digging further into the wood. Licked her lips when she felt it splinter.
“Now you’re staring. Qu'est-ce que tu regardes?”
“You.”
“What of me?”
Something pushed her to keep talking. Maybe it was the giddiness of a little girl, or the impatience of a 40 year old woman who hadn’t tried to flirt in years. Maybe it was the blood she heard thrumming a hard rhythm along the column of Madeleine’s throat.
“Your neck.”
“My neck?”
Shit. There was confusion in Madeleine's voice, in her tone. Claudia knew she didn’t think of her as a little girl anymore. She treated her like a grown woman. But Claudia also knew there were still things unknown to her. How forward could she be about this?
Still, she pushed.
"How soft it looks."
For a moment, the confusion only grew. Claudia saw it in the furrow of her brow and her hands hanging in the air, her hold tightening around the small pins. Then, a stutter in the steady beat of her heart. Blood rushed to bloom prettily at the base of her neck. Her breathing halted. Claudia clenched her hands in fists. She focused on the biting sensation, the breaking of the skin of her palms, but then–
Tu veux toucher?
No words were uttered. No sound except for the blaring symphony of Madeleine being alive. She hadn’t spoken at all. Her thought was just so loud it echoed back into Claudia’s mind.
I want, I want, I want.
Claudia pushed from where she'd leaned against the desk. Its legs scraped against the floor.
She thought she saw Madeleine's foot start to lift, as though she was about to take a step back, but she stayed rooted to her spot next to the half-made dress. And then, she swayed forward, just enough to make Claudia's resolve crumble. Like a moth to a flame, or the flame to the moth, she reached up until her hand splayed on the light blue cotton of Madeleine's collar. She already felt the warmth of her flesh seeping through. Could feel Madeleine's pupils boring into her, flicking about her face. Could feel the soft puffs of her breath wafting over it. Could imagine the unreadable look on her face. But she could only see the contrast of her fingers creeping upon her skin. A wolf's paw on a lamb's neck. Her heartbeat danced under her fingertips and she felt as much as she saw the blood flowing through her. She left a trail of white lines under her touch.
When she finally looked up, dared to look into Madeleine's eyes, her pupils were blown. Her freckles were swallowed up by the pink dusting her cheeks. Her lips were parted, a hint of teeth and tongue peeking through. Claudia almost bore her teeth at her, almost lunged forward to finally taste the forbidden fruit that had been dangled in front of her for too much of a tantalizing time. Then, she felt Madeleine's callouses on her hand again, and she licked her lips like she was about to say something, and Claudia blinked, and the spell was broken.
She coughed.
Madeleine didn't say anything as her hand dropped back to grip at the fabric of her dress. She didn't say anything as Claudia's tongue tied in a knot, as a bird swelled in the back of her throat, as Madeleine grew feathers where Claudia touched her—
More, more, more.
"I have to go," Claudia decided.
"Oh," was what Madeleine replied, soft, accepting, and still all too confused.
She took her bag and her book. She left the unfinished pastry. She scrambled to leave and as she reached the door—
“Claudia?”
Madeleine was standing awkwardly in the doorway to her little office. Claudia raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“Let's meet for lunch. Tomorrow. 1pm? I know a place down the 6th, à côté de Montparnasse.”
The bird in her throat quivered and cooed when she cleared her throat again. Its feathers got stuck in her airway.
“I can't”
“Bon... alors, in the evening? Supper? Closer to 8... my place. I will cook. You bring the wine.”
It was a bit funny how the woman tried to act nonchalant, offer a suggestion, give a thought, but her voice carried her desperate longing to not be alone, to know and to be known. The curiosity she'd talked about earlier, the hopeful flutter of her heart matching the wings flapping in Claudia's throat. She was looking at Claudia, eyes big and hands clutching pins and Claudia knew. She felt the same loneliness, deep inside, scratching at her rotting bones. And the same want, to see where else this could go. What wouldve happened if she had stayed a little longer, indulged a little more, risked to know and to be known.
“I don't know much about wine.”
Madeleine's face broke into a rare genuine smile, one that reached her eyes, teeth poking through the small curtains of her lips. It was charming, crooked. She looked younger.
“Pick something red."
Red like blood in her veins, in her heart. Her heart which Claudia could not help but eavesdrop on.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
“Red." She nodded once. "Got it.”
When she got home that night, she thought she saw feathers around her coffin, a flicker of a memory, but there were none, and the only trace of a bird was the coo in her throat echoing the growing excitement of her undead heart.