Chapter 10

Severe heavy warning: The past is set in the 1900’s, and Evie/Glass is in London. There will be uncomfortable and unsettling dialogue/themes surrounding Glass’ race that might trigger you. You are welcomed to skip this chapter and we will just provide a TLDR (summary) at the end.

You know I like you and
anyone who gets in my way, darling
Might get a handful of some shit
Or stay heavy-hearted
Because it’s cut—throat
To anyone who comes close
Be mine
And everything will be fine
—Yandere

LONDON, 1900’s

A young lord traveling the Wild West of London never took interests in the sights. It was the same old dreary atmosphere, gloomy weather, and sewers that stink of rotten flesh—and not one that Vampires would consume. His eyes were always staring between air molecules, waiting for time to pass so he could get back to America.

When all of a sudden, his eyes were caught by a single dark skinned body among pale whites. She sat on the terrace of what’s clearly a wh*rehouse, Silver Swans, wearing a dress that’s too loose for her thin, sickly frame. Her necklaces doesn’t even hide the bruises that is darker than her skin, it looked like spots off a Dalmatian. And her eyes—though striking and the most alluring, were half lidded, bored of life and living.

London still has beauty left to offer me. Lord Everest then demands the carriage to stop before the town’s most popular wh*re house.

“Well,” the madam greeted such dark-haired gentleman that walked through her doors, rings flashing and teeth lined with silver. “Aren’t you a vision. First time with us, darling?”

Everest inclined his head. “The place interested me after seeing such nice products on the window displays.”

Her laugh was warm, practiced. “Oh, sweetheart, we keep everything.” She gestured toward the parlor where women’s bosoms were spilling out of their tight but low cut corsets. “Tall, small, meek, feral. Soft hands, sharp tongues, even without teeth for your pleasure. If you want a fantasy, we’ll provide it for you.”

His gaze passed over the women without pause.

“On the second floor, I’ve seen a delicacy I’ve never tasted in London before. I hadn’t known any place that offered chocolate, and I came here only for her.”

“Ahh,” she didn’t waver, but she looked reluctant at Everest’s choice. “Well, I won’t mislead you, love. Our darkskin is not a lady at all.”

I know, Everest had known ever since looking at those eyebrows which are settled lower than the average woman. Those hands against the railing were slim and slender, but not delicate like a lady. And his throat had a hill one could slide a finger down.

“But don’t let that trouble you good sir, he’s our finest seller and business has never suffered for it. Clean and peculiar, for our special clients.”

Everest spoke quietly. “I want him.”

The madam followed his gaze and laughed. “Oh, you’ve got taste.” She leaned closer. “Don’t worry, love. We don’t judge men for what they prefer here.”

She clapped once. “Get me Glascow on room 8—enjoy yourself, sir. Your room is upstairs. Third door on the left.”

The room upstairs was dim and close. One lamp, heavy curtains. A wide bed dressed in dark sheets. The air smelled faintly of bleach as if trying to hide the atrocities that happen here, and also from the ashtray and cigarettes placed on the table.

The door shut softly. Before Everest stood a man apart from the room—dark skin glowing under lamplight, a satin dress clinging to a body that barely fits it. Pearls at his throat attempting to cover the violence underneath. He smelled of the same bleach that tries to cover smells, but also cigarettes that he smokes himself. Everest is looking at the most beautiful flower in a field of rotting flesh.

Glascow is not allowed to look at the white men in their eyes, else their words will be harsh and their hands heavy. But he focused on Everest’s collar just to get a glimpse of what he looked like. The client is a couple of inches taller than him, black hair lengthy enough to be tied behind his head. His body is slender, elegant looking in expensive suits. Even the way he stands screams luxury, androgyny. Those eyes, though… they look predatory, but not the human kind. It’s as if he’s genuinely hunting like a tiger; silent and graceful.

“You must be Glascow,” he said gently, sitting on the bed. “Your eyes look uninterested… dull, but somehow it makes you look even more attractive.”

Air escaped Glascow’s nose as a soft scoff, since nobody has commented on his eyes like that before. They mostly tell him to ‘smile, look alive,’ while they suck the life out of them.

Hearing no reply from the young man, Everest adds, “Ahh, it’s dangerous for the sun to appear in this place. You might outshine all the women, they’ll want to stone you.”

This white man has very weird humor, and Glascow is not laughing. It’s clear the male worker wants this over with, so he starts untying his top and slip off the sleeves, making Everest laugh.

“Keep the clothes on, darling.” That made Glascow stop, his expression changed into silent shock.

Finally, he spoke with a voice soft and low, as if afraid to provoke the rich gentleman. “… why.”

Everest couldn’t contain the smile that’s been hidden for months in London, “Can you take the role of a man f*cking a lady? Can you use your c*ck to pleasure?”

Glascow reluctantly shakes his head no. None of the customers ever requested for a lowly darkskin to dominate them, it’s too humiliating. He has never tried, and he has never thought of it.

“Then you have nothing to offer me but your presence. Get me a drink and sit down, I’d like to talk…” Everest smiled warmly in a way Glascow had never seen on anyone else.

He obeyed and poured the gentleman a drink, before sitting on the bed next to him with his clothes intact—which is weird. He keeps tucking his curly hair behind his ear in nervousness, even when it’s still tucked.

“Mmm,” Everest observed the stack of jewelry on his neck. Only his clothes smells of bleach and cigarettes, but his skin smells of powder and milk, like he bathed inside a bakery. “I’ve never seen so many bruises on other wh*res. Is it the many clients, or just one?”

Glascow didn’t want to answer that question, but what a client wants, a client gets. Right now this strange gentleman shall get everything he wants from Glascow, including his words.

“All of them,” he answers in a soft voice, almost a whisper. As if raising it deserves punishment.

“Speak. Tell me who and why they do this to you.”

He didn’t want to. But when has he ever had a choice? “The madam’s only rule is to keep me alive. But I am only here for men to take out their anger and lust on a darkskin. They’ll be too ashamed to do this to women like me… but a boy in lipstick is more digestible to their palate.”

Everest exhaled a soft, delicate breath while staring at those black bruises—not even purple, but ash black, indicating how deep and angry the blood inside the skin is. Something boils inside of the young lord, and it’s not a bruise.

“Do you remember their names?” Everest asked very slowly.

“No… they don’t give me their names.”

Everest lifts his head, “Alright… do you know your name?”

Glasgow snuck a glance at his green eyes, but looked away nervously. “Marcus… my name is Marcus Glascow.”

“Nice to meet you,” Everest can’t contain his smile. Though his body is tainted, his blood remains deliciously pure. His fangs are poking through his gums just getting a whiff of it. “Do you like working here?”

“No.” Who would want to work here willingly? S*x isn’t even the only thing that is done to him here.

To Everest, those short answers from a mouth so plump and full keeps him wanting more. It just advertised to be kissed.

“Why are you here then?” Everest asked.

“My mother worked here… and she owed a lot to the madam.” The prostitutes rent the rooms and part of their payment from clientele goes to paying rent. His mother was fiercer, standing up to men and refusing to be abused. That led to less tips. But he wasn’t willing to tell that to Everest. “After she died when I was a teen, I filled in to pay her debts.”

“Are they paid off?”

“Not yet… else I wouldn’t be here.”

Such lovely flower in a pot, barely getting any sunlight so the petals aren’t as bright. Everest nods before standing up, pulling out a huge wad of cash. “I have business to attend to, I can’t stay long. However, I booked you for the entire night, so use this time to rest. I suggest hiding this for the time being.”

He’s not… going to…? Glascow stood up and followed Everest with his eyes, but looked down when the man looked back at him, “You don’t want me? Th-the madam will punish me if I didn’t satisfy you… !”

“Oh, I do….,” Everest looks down and reaches for Glascow’s chin, inspecting his high cheekbones and half-lidded eyes. “I do want you, more than what you’d believe.”

But he left saying, “I will tell the madam you gave me a great time… don’t worry, I will visit again because of your great service.”

That handsome, rich, American gentleman was a universe different from the others. Not once did he touch Glascow on their first night together, he only asked for his name. He was able to sleep for the whole cold night thanks to the thought of Sir Everest warming him under this thin blanket.

But a man such as Everest Santiago does not sleep; he hunts at night, and laid his meal to rest in the alleyway, lips pale after he sucked out all the blood in them. “It doesn’t taste the same. Despite both of you having the same skin.”

He couldn’t get that male prostitute off his mind. There was no desire to kill him, there was no violence in his mind while thirsting for his blood. He wants it fresh, he wants the boy breathing heavily and moaning as his fangs enter him. Everest doesn’t want him empty like this boy right here; he wants Glascow to look at him with his heavy eyes after filling his hungry mouth with blood.

“Still hungry…” he decided to hunt two more in the night, unsatisfied because it’s not him.

The next day, Everest requested for the crossdressing boy in the window yet again. Glascow’s feet sounded more rushed as he comes inside room 8, a breath of relief escaping his full lips when he set his eyes on the handsome Everest Santiago.

“You’re here…”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“If you didn’t come back, the madam will suspect I defied you… she reprimanded me last night because you went home early. She called me… err…” he didn’t want to repeat the insult.

Everest steps in front of him, scanning his beautiful face but more so… those fading bruises under those pearls. He offers his hand out, “Forgive me, Glascow. Your presence is great service to me. I will give the madam extra money for her to leave you alone.”

The boy stares at the hand, heart softening by how gentle and delicate Everest spoke his name. As thanks, he places his hands on Everest, and the rough palm of the unfortunate met the smooth skin of an aristocrat.

“You shouldn’t do that for me,” Glascow says.

“I do what I want. Do you intend to dictate a client on what he wants?”

Glascow bite his lips shyly, forgetting his status after a man shows his a little bit of kindness. And for this, he feels ashamed. “Sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, a suggestion isn’t sin. Come,” Everest pulls him towards the window where he made Glascow face the outside, his back against him. “Look at all those peasants outside. You are above them, and they are inferior to you. I can feel their intimidation as they look up to your window and see your beauty…”

His nape… exposed. Soft skin to sink into—I wonder how he will bleed. Everest’s eyes turn red in hunger, even after consuming more than he needs the previous night.

“Th-that’s untrue,” Glascow replied, taking Everest out of his thoughts, “They would never think that. They said I am the color of dirt. That’s where I stand in life.”

“Who said such thing?”

“Many,” Glascow says, “I hear it most from the women in this brothel. But many bear the same thought even though they don’t say it.”

“If you are so below them, why are you the one most sought after? Sounds to me like you’re better than them.”

Glascow’s heart speeds up, and Everest can clearly hear it. “Because they’re cruel and seek satisfaction in digging up dirt.”

“Cruel… hmm.”

Glascow faces him, eyes half lidded and tired, but full of hope. “But you’re not like them, aren’t you? Americans aren’t cruel, are you? I hear there are many people like me walking free in your country, owning land and owning themselves.”

His eyes… full of positivity despite his life being in the negatives. As if he’s fine with living in a world where he is dirt, as long as there’s someone like him out there who owns their own. He has not stepped foot outside this brothel.

Everest’s attention was torn away from his blood and onto those eyes. “Unfortunately, cruelty is everywhere. And I…” happen to be the most cruel. “I’m not here to own you. I’m not here to be cruel to you. I’m simply here—not as an American, but as a friend. Will you allow that?”

Glascow’s eyes fall sad, but his face softened at the reassurance that Everest will not be as cruel as the others. Truly, he doesn’t know that this man is beyond the cruelty of humans.

That night, Everest stares at the brothel with a dried out boy in the darkness of the alley behind him, unnoticed by the gorgeous bird perched on the second floor. He takes note of when Glascow leaves his place in the window.

He also sets his eyes on the man that exits the brothel the moment Glascow comes back into view.

Not a minute later, Everest would come back with his lips lined with blood, holding the wrist of a severed hand with a ring that matched the mark on Glascow’s chest.

The next day, Glascow rushed into the room the moment Everest visited the brother.

“Sir Santiago!” He gasps, chest heaving in a sigh of relief. Everest finds it adorable how he just looks panicked every time he visits, for some reason. “I… I thought it was you.”

“Why are you scared?”

“The body in the canal! They said it was a client of mine…” Glascow runs to him, hands on his cotton sleeves, “I feared it to be you, I—!”

Glascow realized he just touched the aristocrat’s expensive clothes. “I’m sorry… I was worried…”

“You’re worried about a client?” Everest’s pupils seemed to dilate.

“I’m worried about you…” he says, clutching his slightly loose gown to his chest. The delicacy of his eyes seemed to bring back the normalcy in Everest’s eyes. “I’m so happy… I’m so glad it wasn’t you. I keep praying to God and he answered…”

“God isn’t a man,” Everest laid a gently hand on his arm, assuring him that what he did earlier, touch him, was not a sin. “We all came from the womb of our mothers. God is our creator, our mother. Do not discredit our mother’s suffering while bearing us, by calling Her a man.”

Glascow’s mouth seemed to twitch for a smile, comforted by the thought of his prayers being heard by a mother.

Everest left before sunset, just so he can watch the window for that beautiful bird yet again. And when the window fell bare…

The hidden vampire in the night consumed the man who took the bird away from his sight. Severing hands, collecting their rings… how f*cking dare they leave bruises on that lovely boy’s skin.

Everest left the man’s body to be consumed by the pigs in a pen. “Now you sleep with the animals, just as you treated him.”

That morning, he made sure to bring flowers as he asked for the boy in the window again, watching his breath escape his lips at the sight of this green eyed man.

The more time passes, the more Glascow looks at him with shy eyes that seem to grow bolder by the day. “You seem happier, darling? Has life treated you better?”

“Not so,” Glascow answers honestly, while fixing Everest’s drink. “I haven’t had many clients except you on the daily. I’ve used the money you told me to hide to pay for rent.”

“But I have paid her extra, that should’ve been covered.”

“Ahh…” Glascow looks dishearted, sitting on the bed with Everest. “The money you give to the madam goes to her pocket. What we earn in this room is the rent we pay her.”

Everest’s knuckles turn whiter than his pale skin, especially when he starts to hear the desperation in Glascow’s voice.

“Do you really just want to be friends, Sir Santiago?” Glascow inched closer to him, tempting the monster sleeping inside. “I can do more for you. This time, I’m not forced to bed with a client… with you, I feel safe to feel pleasure. So if you want me, then I want you too—”

“Honestly, I don’t want you to do that. I don’t see you that way, Glas’…” Everest tilts his head, “What’s your name again?”

Glascow’s eyes widen, but not in shock. More of… heartbreak, evident in his voice. “Marcus.”

“Ahh… such an ordinary name for someone with a face never ordinary.” Everest smiles, standing up to end their session, “Do you mind me calling you Glass? You remind me of the fragility of youth… yet still holds whatever is thrown into it; only breaking when dropped carelessly.”

“Glass?” He looks up at the man, wondering if Everest sees him as a child. Why doesn’t he want to sleep together? I can be on top of he wants, I’ll learn quick.

I have… never desired a man like this.

But Everest knew it’s not love. It’s safety and comfort that attracted Glascow, not true love.
He had to leave.

On the way out of the brothel, the madam called onto Everest with an ominous warning, “Be careful out there, good sir! Word has gotten out that our little darkskin has brought the plague here in London after his clients go missing.”

“Ahh, thank you for the well wishes…” Everest turned to face her, “They found more bodies?”

“Yes sir, all of them coming back from that cave you’ve been in…” she chuckles. “If not for him staying in the window, he would’ve been suspect. To be honest, I think he did voodoo magic to those fine men…”

“Now why would he get his clients killed? Wouldn’t that ruin his business?” Everest tilts his head.

“He was never a bright boy, best believe it’s some kind of vendetta. Word has gone around. Wives are angry, and so are the people looking up to see the curse of London sitting in our window. I suggest you enjoy him well before they decide to deliver justice.”

“Justice,” Everest smiles, “I like that idea.”

The next few nights, Glascow remained by the window the whole day, barely anyone seeking after the curse of London. His eyes are less tired and more depressed, worried. He thinks of ending it all, jumping… if not for his sole client still coming back for him.

“It’s the American… they’re always clueless about danger…” the women said as Everest came inside the brothel for the last time.

This time, Glascow didn’t rush. His feet encased into old, tattered shoes fell onto wood. He feels his life slipping out of his hands; he’s buried in debt, barely paying rent, barely getting paid.

When he met Everest for the last time, the man was—”Oh my God!”

The madam was sitting frozen on the chair, pearls removed from her body and instead wrapped around Everest’s hands, offered as gifts to his precious Glass.

“Wh-what did you do… S-sir…”

“I’m presenting you a parting gift,” he says with a huge smile, offering him the madam’s pearls. “I’m leaving London. I thought I’d leave you with a gift.”

“Y-you’re leaving? What is… what…” Glascow could barely process the scene.

“Oh these? This is not it, these are simply decor, not worthy as gifts to you… I offer you, my darling Glass, the gift of life.”

“Sir…” Glascow backs away in fear, but in a split second Everest travelled right front of him and wrapped his waist and body in pearls.

“Don’t you want to leave? Don’t you want to come with me?” Everest knows that under those pearls, are faded bruises with no smell of other men. Everest asks him with an arm around his waist and a hand caressing his horrified face, “I want you in a way that you couldn’t understand. Let me show you… let me make you understand.”

Glascow is scared. He backs away, but almost slipped in his old shoes. What is Everest going to do to the Madam?

“Oh, you want more gifts? Here…” Everest released him only to show off a sack, untying it and pouring out hundreds of rings from tens of men who left their mark on him. “Justice.”

H-he… he killed… he killed them?! Glascow shakes his head in denial that Everest killed all of his clients. Indeed, he was the most cruel of all.

“Oh is that not enough?” Everest laughed, before lighting the cigarette Glascow left by the table, not smoking it. But instead throwing it to the curtain, where he poured gallons of gasoline earlier. The flames trailed past Glass, the thing making him slip earlier, and onto the hallways where it ignited the wooden floors of the brothel.

Glascow fell back and was caught by Everest, suddenly hearing the screams of the women which… didn’t scare Glascow as much, because Everest’s arms are around him. Cold, shielding him from the flames. They banged on the doors, but it was closed. Glascow’s dull empty eyes glowed orange because of the fire before him.

“If you are dirt, my love…” Everest grins while holding the frozen boy, “Then they are nothing but ashes…”

Glass thinks of all the hands that have held him before—gripping, bruising, taking without asking. Hands that smelled of sweat and jewelry and shame. He remembers staying still, letting his mind drift somewhere soft while his body was used like an object left on a table. But Everest’s arms are cold, steady, unafraid of his trembling, comforting him. The fire roars, people scream, and yet for the first time in his life, he felt at ease.

Everest held his hand and turns him as if they were in their wedding dance, “Be with me. Stay mine, and you won’t have to worry about life. There won’t be people like me, or people like you. Just us, for eternity.”

Glass should have felt terror then. Fire licking the walls, heat pressing against his skin, the sound of lives ending around him—but all he felt was quiet. A hollow calm, like something inside him had finally gone still after screaming for too long. Maybe this was what safety felt like.

Glass looks up at him, no longer shy. For he burned the brothel, which means he’s no longer a prostitute.

“Why… am I not scared?” Glass wonders, looking around the flaming bedroom. The women’s voices are faint, as if their screams don’t matter. He could only look at Everest as if he’s an angel sent to pick him up. “Am I dreaming?”

“No. This is real.”

Glass’ tears fell down as he no longer feels scared, he no longer cares about the screams, the fire nor the madam about to be consumed by the flames.

“If you are the angel of death…” Glass cries, holding onto Everest, “Please… take me with you.”

“Evie, stop! You’re taking too much!

“EVE, STOP IT!” I couldn’t hear the screams, because I’m inside Glass’ mind—and I saw how he surrendered himself to Everest Santiago on December 12, 1902, his teeth sinking into both our necks in the past and present.

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TLDR: Jude experiences a vision of Evie’s origin: in 1900s London, the vampire Everest Santiago becomes obsessed with Marcus Glascow “Glass,” a brutalized prostitute. Everest wants friendship instead of s*x. While Glass clings to him for comfort, Everest murders Glass’s abusive clients, burns down the brothel, and offers Glass eternity with him. Traumatized and numb, Glass surrenders himself to Everest. The entire vision of the past is happening while Evie feeds on Jude in the present.