Chapter Text
Alim Burhan was an accomplished scholar. He’d worked as a private tutor for many wealthy families, though none quite as odd as the Selwyns. He had been hired to tutor the daughter of Dr Alistair Selwyn and his wife Carmilla, a master illusionist. Rumours circled that their youngest child was the product of an affair, that the illusionist had used her skill to fake her pregnancy. He had thought little of these bizarre claims until he first met the child. Elva looked very different from her family, with her pale skin and dark hair. Though, of course, she was very unwell.
Often Alim would arrive only to be turned away, for she was confined to bed, with no energy. But when they did have lessons, she was a sweet girl, eager to learn.
Alim wondered about her illness. It seemed conventional medicine was not effective, for on a few occasions their lessons had been interrupted by the arrival of Healers from the Selwyn’s church.
At first he overlooked her peculiarities. But as he spent more time with the eleven year old, a pattern revealed itself.
She was attentive in lessons but seemed quick to tire. When the midday light streamed through the windows, she would shift in her seat, drawing her sleeves down, struggling to focus.
On one particularly sunny morning, Elva had seemed more distracted than usual, fidgeting in her chair. By the afternoon Alim noted that her few exposed areas of skin — her hand, neck and face — had turned pink, as though she had spent hours at the seaside.
Her appetite was also puzzling. During lunch he noted she ate quite large portions for a child with such a small frame.
But it didn’t click until a lesson in mathematics. Alim passed Elva a silver compass. She took it readily but soon shifted her grip, rubbing her fingers against her skirt. By the end of their lesson as she returned the compass, he noticed a number of raised red lesions where the metal had rested.
Sun-sensitivity. Pale, almost translucent skin. Insatiable hunger. Silver allergy. The pieces fell into place with horrifying clarity. She was a vampire — or at the very least a dhampir. As the weeks went on Elva tired more easily. He was turned away from lessons more often. Her skin appeared waxy. A quiet panic began to grow. She was being starved. He had to do something.