From, Blood’s History: Cousins (Part 3)
In the late 1890s, I traveled to Copenhagen in Denmark at the request of my cousin, Magdalena Blod. No one had heard from the Danish line since the early 1750s, and while there was a subdued air about the letter, her name was signed and underlined, an old and subtle message of distress.
The voyage from Cross to Denmark was arduous, undertaken during the worst of the Atlantic storms. Several passengers died along the way, one by my blade before I threw him overboard for lacking a civil tongue.
In Denmark, I found my cousin at the University of Copenhagen, a prisoner to a professor who had discovered her longevity. He had overseen the writing of the letter, making certain there was nothing remotely close to a cry for help within her beautifully crafted sentences.
Magdalena welcomed me in and introduced the professor as a man of foresight and power, both of which were keywords. Only King Richard of England had once been referred to as such, and that was after he had put our great-grandfather to death.
I smiled, nodded, and drove my knife up into his heart.
Magdalena and I spent a pleasant evening in the man’s rooms, enjoying dinner while destroying all evidence he had gathered about our family.
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