Requiem Of Exsistance

[HollywoodVampirella]

It was 2006 in a rather large home in New Orleans in the Garden District when our story begins...


Memories of the individuals who's lives had come and gone resonate thru the walls of the house...Ghosts are not settled and tempers still flair....

In the back yard you can see a small child's outline playing underneath the Large oak.... a swing gently moves but there is no wind...
There is not a day that goes by that some tourist doesn't stop in to gaze at the home of the Famous Anastasie Fountenine the late jazz singer of the 1920's. She lived there among the ghosts until her death in 1980. She was buried in St. Louis Cemetary#1. But her Ghost can still be heard walking thru the yards of her childhood home.
There is not much activity in the house during the day just mainly old Cecilia walking thru the halls wringing her hands in anguish. But come twilight the house comes alive with activity. There is something about New Orleans at this time of night that brings out the ambiance of the Undead.

[HollywoodVampirella]

Her name was Morgannia and she lived at 124 Bienville Street, smack dab in the middle of the infamous Storyville in New Orleans. There was nothing extraordinary about her—she was just a girl, with a plain name, working for three dollars a john in Miss Emma's brothel. Her major claim to fame was her status as an Octoroon. She was one-eighth Indian, and the exoticness of this touch of color made her a valuable, marketable commodity. Her other claim to fame was her youth and innocence, but as in all places of sin and debauchery, that bloom faded fast, and she soon became just another pretty face in the crowd, waiting to service the next john holding money in his clammy palm in nervous anticipation.

Morgannia came to work for Miss Emma in 1898, at the age of fourteen. She was all blushes and roses—fair and fresh-skinned. She had been orphaned at the age of ten and bounced around from aunt to aunt until she had been turned out onto the streets with a couple of old hand-me-down dresses, a battered carpet bag, and a hat that had seen much better days, and told she was old enough to find a job and fend for herself. She was looking for dishwashing jobs when Miss Emma spotted her and whisked her away like a protective mother hen. No one had ever whisked Morgannia anywhere, before. No one had ever expressed any interest in her at all. She had always been the extra baggage that someone had to assume for a prearranged allotment of time until the next unwilling family member had to take their turn at putting a roof over their dead sisters’ child’s head.

Miss Emma had bathed her, washed her hair, and given her pretty new clothes. Affection and beautiful baubles were enough to sway a love-starved half-child into loyalty. Morgannia had no inkling of what Miss Emma had in mind.

Miss Emma began advertising her newest acquisition about fifteen minutes after she had hustled her into her bordello and off the mean streets of New Orleans. She built up trust in the frightened girl, made her see her as a mother figure. Then she sold Morgannia's virginity to the highest bidder before the end of the week. With a crash course on sex and hygiene, Morgannia was initiated into the lucrative world of prostitution by a fifty-year-old, obese, and stern banker named Taft.
That had been three years ago. Morgannia turned tricks like an old pro now, using her hint of color to lure in the men wanting a taste of the exotic—and they came from all over the country. Her room was modest but clean, with a few luxuries. Morgannia had a china chamber pot, a bed, a vanity with a velvet-cushioned stool, and an armoire. She worked with five other girls, all of who kept their rooms untidy and disarrayed. Miss Emma had to barge in and bark orders almost daily to keep her place in working condition. But she only had smiles for Morgannia. Morgannia had learned how the job was done. She had learned what men wanted, what men expected. She had discovered it was an image they wanted, a dream. She became that beautiful, virginal girl for them; that temptress who seduced yet knew nothing about seduction. She was everything they wanted, tied up in a pretty little package. She only wore beautiful white dresses and pretty bows in her hair, giving her the schoolgirl look that so many men coveted. She feigned shyness and batted her lashes, developing the skills necessary to keep her johns coming back time after time.
Then she met Matthieu. He was an artist, a painter. He frequented the bordellos seeking girls who would pose nude while he paid by the hour to paint and re-paint them. The madams didn't mind. It was easy work for their girls: pose and be painted.

He reached for the bottle—empty. An empty bottle, with no other in sight; Matthieu felt his pain rise up and threaten to swallow him whole. He could not deny his thirst for the drink. He gazed at Morgannia's creamy neck pulsing before him; he heard the red blood as sweet as wine coursing through her veins.

He abruptly sank his teeth into her butter-soft flesh, draining the absinthe-laden blood, gush-by-gush, drop-by-drop.

Ah. He had lost control. Another love betrayed by the cursed drink! It was in his blood. For two hundred years he had been a slave to its potency. It drove him; it controlled him—even beyond the grave. Long ago he had turned to his undead lover to escape the grip of the absinthe. He had willingly let her bite him, turn him, thinking he would escape his state of drunkenness ... but his sense of feeling dead inside without the warmth of the drink coursing through his body carried his passion for the green stuff from his mortal life to his new unlife. There was no escape from his thirst for absinthe ... or his thirst for blood.
He was giddy on Morgannia's blood, but, like the ones before her, he wouldn't let her die. She wanted to live in his fine marble palace, to escape her life—and now she would. He slashed his wrist and let the blood pour into her gaping mouth. She choked, gasped, swallowed in a foggy haze, and continued to sleep.

[HollywoodVampirella]

In the morning Morgannia was still far too drunk to work. Miss Emma left her in her room, curtains shut, and portraits strewn around the room. Slowly, Morgannia regained consciousness. She opened her heavy lids and surveyed the room with fresh eyes. Her skin was cold and smeared with blood. The room around her pulsated. She covered her ears with her hands to block out the noise.
In the morning Morgannia was still far too drunk to work. Miss Emma left her in her room, curtains shut, portraits strewn around the room. Slowly, Morgannia regained consciousness. She opened her heavy lids and surveyed the room with fresh eyes. Her skin was cold and smeared with blood. The room around her pulsated. She covered her ears with her hands to block out the noise.


And then as if he had heard her thoughts and anguish Matthieu was standing before her with a smile.

"The noise will lessen soon," he said softly, knowingly.

"What is it? Why is it so loud?" she asked in agony, clutching her ears with her palms.

"It is the sound of a thousand hearts beating around you, their sweet blood flowing through their bodies. It is deafening, oui?" Matthieu ran his hand through her black curls. Morgannia stared at him in confusion.

"I drank too much," she said, spying the empty absinthe bottle tipped on its side where they had dropped it the night before.

"Oui. You drank more than you had bargained for." Matthieu shook his head. "You are like me now, mon cher. One of the damned, a creature of the night."

No further explanation was necessary. Morgannia had lived around voodoo and witchery her entire life. She knew the curse he spoke of. She knew the creatures he spoke of.

It was not a good thing to discover.

"A blood drinker?" she asked in a whisper.

"Oui. With a thirst like none other, for even stronger is the thirst for blood than the thirst for this emerald release." Matthieu held up the empty bottle.

"This is why you drink so much?"

Matthieu laughed. "No. It is because I drank so much that I became what I am. The addiction just chose to remain with me."

Morgannia clutched her ears and rocked herself. She was unclean. Dead.

Matthieu got up. "Come to my marble palace." He got up and left, unable to watch her as she suffered.

Morgannia was left alone to grasp the meaning of her new reality. One drink of absinthe had pushed her over the edge. She had asked for an escape. It had been granted.

She cowered on the floor, a low moan escaping her mouth. It seemed distant, muted by the deafening roar of beating hearts.

Slowly, the thirst for the green elixir returned, and with it a craving for thick, rich, crimson blood. The twin yearnings clawed their way through her mind. Morgannia rocked back and forth, ears covered, trapped in a new world—in a brand new kind of evil.

Cast off in the room around her, her human face, her mortal face, smiled out at her from the painted canvases. Everywhere she looked, her face looked back, mocking her loss of humanity, mocking her loss of soul.

"No!" she cried. "No!" But her voice was drowned out by the booming of a thousand human hearts rushing in her ears like the unrelenting sound of the ocean waves.

The faces taunted, jeered, mocked........

[HollywoodVampirella]

Like a shock or a jolt Morgannia was jerked out of her thoughts and sensed someone coming…

It was her. I knew it was her. I sensed no other for yards. Removing my hands from my pockets I strode quickly to the door - opened it to her.

The very sight of her standing there on the same spot I had predicted several times sent a small shiver through me, which I tried to hide unsuccessfully. She was attired in her customary black and red, though she looked modern. Long flowing curls of reddish-blonde hair ran in waves down her back to her waist. In all my years I never saw hair that ever matched hers, no matter where I went. As I looked at her I realized how much I had missed her. How much passion I had stored up inside of me...saved in a small box reserved for her. I swallowed, unable to believe she was really there.

My mind ran through possibilities of greeting her. Running into her arms? Too affectionate...She wouldn't enjoy that half as much as I would. A handshake? Laughable. A simple 'Hello'? None of these would do, and so I stepped back, ushering her through the door with a small, "You came..."


She came into the living room and sat with her arms folded on her lap a slight grin on her beautiful face. I gestured toward the wine that the servant girl had brought..."Althea welcome back to New Orleans...." "We have been expecting you. Everything is set for tonight’s dinner and the guests will arrive in a few hours. I was a little worried you wouldn’t come."

[HollywoodVampirella]

Althea smiled and nodded as Morgannia handed me the glass of red wine. She brought it slowly to her lips as she gazed into Morgannia’s face. The taste brought back so many memories that Althea sometimes wished she had forgotten. Bitter sweet was the flavor that touched her pallet. “Something troubles you?” Altheas words seemed to have brought forth the tension she could sense as she followed Morgannia from room to room. She spoke as if words could not come forth from her lips. Then Morgannia managed to speak, “No, actually I am just fine. Having you here is a delight for me. It is something I have been wanting for so very long.”
“I know.” Althea grinned as she finished her glass of wine and stood from the chair of crimson velvet. She had a sense of satisfaction with her reply to which brought a sort of fear, but yet, inquisitive look on Morgannias face and into her eyes…

[HollywoodVampirella]

Morgannia sat as she drank her wine and wondered what on the Gods' earth that could make Althea say that she knew what Morgannia was thinking...As Morgannia sat with her back to the massive fireplace radiating in the warmth of it she thought of times long ago....


I remembered the first time I had laid eyes on the gothic beauty...was over a century ago...Shortly after I had met Matthieu; the man only Man that I would be faithful to the rest of the days I walked this savage garden called Earth....
It was a warm summer day and I had only caught my breath as i drew closer to the Vieux Carré the buildings crowding each other and the narrow streets. Cast-iron and wrought iron balconies overhang the sidewalks, providing shelter from hot summer sun or sudden downpours.

Cool, inviting courtyards can be glimpsed down narrow alleys or carriageways, and the smells of shrimp remoulades and seafood gumbos waft from hidden kitchens. I caught my breath as I drew closer and closer to this volatile beauty, when she stopped at the fruit stands beneath the arcade. I put my left hand up against the slender iron post in front of me and pressed my hand against my lips and gazed at her with wide blue eyes. I didn't not realize that I seemed to be wanting to hide and it covered all of my face except for my eyes. There was a pain in my eyes but the kind that reveals itself in a flicker of pain with the flinching of ones inner thoughts.
She was slow if not languid as she walked; her stiff market basket was riding gently on her arm and her shawl a blaze of peacocks and silver against her red silk dress. Her fine mass of hair hung in hopeless tangles from the grip of a hematite comb. Diamonds sparkled on each and every finger, with which she gathered her long gown and stepped upon the curb. She stopped and turned her head to the side and said my name.... I was aghast.... but it was just the name of a painting that Matthieu had for sale. She asked my beau who this beauty was and of course Matthieu had to turn and point to me who was staring as though I had seen god. She smiled in my direction and I was shaken to my core.

"Morgannia" Althea breathed shaking her from my memories...
"Yes?" Morgannia whispered.
"When shall this great ball get underway? I must go and freshen up and make myself presentable"

"It will start once the Witching Hour commences,” Morgannia replied as she regained what little composure she had left.

[HollywoodVampirella]

Althea nodded and quickly retreated to her room to freshen up. The room was so beautiful, Morgannia knew just how to work out the décor for her. She smiled and sat down on the bed looking into the fireplace remembering…Where she had come from and how far she had come and what she has over come to be who she is now.


Althea Marisole is her given name; borne into a poor family in the year 1875. Her mother was the mistress of Monsieur Rousseau. He was a pirate of the Haitian Islands, whom took my mother into his bed for many nights until the affair was discovered by his wife then soon after he was hung as a warlock.
Her mother gave birth to her just before he was hung. She told Althea she took her to him and he smiled and kissed her on her forehead. He told her to never let his wife know of Althea or she would surely have the same fate as him.
So Althea was raised in the Irish Channel though she was not fully Irish, it did not matter, no one knew of her origin.
As Althea grew into a young woman of 15; her mother could no longer fight with her illness... her disease of the mind. She passed in her sleep as Althea sat at her bedside.
Soon after she realized she had nothing to support herself, nowhere to go. She had to find a means of support.
She soon set out in search of a job. Her searches had led her to the Vieux Carré, the French quarter. Althea strolled around until she came upon a plump man standing in front of a bank looking at his pocket watch. She slowly walked up to him and tapped him on the arm and asked for a few coins, if he had some to spare. He bared an evil grin and instead escorted Althea into his office into the bank. He said his name was Taft. They spoke of a job and of a place to stay. He insisted that she stay with him until she could find something suitable for a lady such as herself. Althea was grateful for a time, until the moment he barged into her room down the hall from his, in a drunken rage.. He stole her innocence that night, then left her in her torn nightgown in tears, blood on the sheets…
The next morning, Taft sent Althea to live with his Sister Emma. He told Althea that she would be better off there.
Althea soon was introduced into the ways of the LeBlanc house. She was to satisfy the needs of both men and women alike. For her services she was paid with gifts and monies.
She soon realized that her sexuality and herself had favored women. They had a softer touch and were more gentle and their skin was so much softer then a man.
There was one man whom caught Altheas eye each time he visited the house.
He was of pale complexion, with his deep blue eyes, he seemed to see right into your soul. His hands were callused ridden but yet gentle. His smile was a childlike smile of maliciousness. He was tall in stature and his long black hair was most times pulled back.
He was Xavier Tibbadaoux. He was Matthieu’s older brother, which Althea had no knowledge of until later on.
One night he had sent for Althea and another woman, when she had refused Althea went alone. Though they had spoken many times at the LeBlanc house, he had never shown interest. Her heart skipped as the carriage passed by the black iron fence which enclosed his Manor on First Street. She had not known what he would be like behind closed doors alone. She wondered if he would be a reserved gentleman as he had sat before me, or like Taft. As Althea was escorted up to the huge Manor, the white oleander hugged the fence lines and oak tree leaves bustled with the slight breeze of the evening air. Althea slowly walked up the slated path with heart pounding as she reached the door step of this huge manor with white columns standing tall all around the house. Windows were softly lit with lighting some still darkened. Her heart was pounding as she reached for the large handle of the ornate door knocker. The door slowly opened and a small woman of color stood aside and motioned for Althea to come in.
In her Creole accent she told Althea to follow her as she took her shawl and looked her over. Althea thought dark purple velvet and black lace dress was suitable enough, for she had an approving smile from the woman. She had Althea follow her to the front parlor. She told her to wait there for Monsieur Xavier.
Moments later he let his presence known with a glass of red wine and a charming smile.
“Bon Jour Madame”
Althea smiled and slowly received the glass from his cold hands as his fingers slightly caressed hers. She nodded demurely. He then sat next to her and her heart started to beat a little faster.
“Mon Cherie, why are you so nervous? You have done this before.” He placed his hand on hers. Her heart steadied a little; maybe he was the gentleman that she had spoken with many times before. He then took the glass from her hand and placed it onto the gilded table and then leaned in and kissed her lips passionately. It was as if he had taken her breath at that moment. Althea had wondered of him many times, even while with other men but it had not compared to that moment…