Her name was once Elzbeth Thomas but now she only knew herself as Azrael Lefay. Once she was a woman of stature, of high moral standing. Now she was nothing but a vile creature of the night, a parasite forced to live amidst the herds of those she preyed upon, a mere shadow of the woman she had once been. For a few moments carnal pleasure, she had been forever denied the beauty of the sun, the transcendence of the soul to eternal paradise.
It all began over a hundred years in the past, a time of seemingly moral and social repression. A time when women with no prospects of marriage were considered superfluous. Even though the era that was considered the Pax Britannica was soon to draw to a close, the contradictions that defined this time were still in full force.
Elzbeth Thomas, as she been named upon her birth, was the youngest daughter of a wealthy merchant. Her father was insistent upon the symbols of status that he had felt all those of moneyed pedigree were entitled to. Those whom he attempted to emulate so fiercely saw him as little more than an untitled peasant with delusions of stature, a social climbing upstart who did not have the decency to inherit his wealth and position through primogeniture, this poor man actually had to work for his money.
As the youngest daughter, Elzbeth had few prospects for marriage and none that met the strict letter of her father's requirements. None were wealthy, none were nobles. The concept of marriage for love was as foreign to him as would have been any of the red skinned noble savages from the Colonies (even though they had long since attained their independence by virtue of blood and persistence, her father still referred to them as the Colonies, as did many of those wealthy nobles whose families had lost lands and wealth in the uprising, oh so long ago).
While there was little hope of marrying her off to further the family's social standing, Elzbeth was still expected to attend those social functions that her father dictated. Tea parties and balls were high upon his list, in the hopes that somewhere there yet remained a suitable husband upon which to rid himself of his final superfluous daughter. As of yet, his hopes had been repeatedly dashed.
Elzbeth squirmed in her corset, the servants always tightened it more than she felt necessary but they listened to her father and he was insistent. Her dress was expensive, the high neckline was uncomfortable to her as well. She entered the conservatory for yet another tea party, uncomfortable but forced to bear it all with a smile.
She sighed as the hushed whispers filled the room. As often as she attended these gatherings, she would never be accepted. It did not matter that her father was wealthier than any of their families. She quietly sat and endured yet another formal tea.
As always happened, she was quickly forgotten. The conversations began quietly, in hushed whispers. Sarah Martinson, the daughter of a successful banker turned to Elzbeth and smiled. "I have been invited to a private ball. I have no desire to attend alone. It is a few days from now and very exclusive. I understand that there will be gentlemen attending from America."
Elzbeth had no desire to attend yet another social function in which she would be an outcast, but something made her think twice. Should her father discover there was a ball that she did not attend, her life would be even more difficult than it currently was. She agreed to attend and then continued sipping her tea and being ignored.
