Not much has changed since I last visited less than two months ago. The scent of my human self is worked into every corner, overlaid by a strange sense of corruption. I briefly seat myself on the back of the settee, looking around the cramped space. As Canus mentioned, the kitchen table is missing from its place. Otherwise, the cabinets are all shut, and all the flat surfaces are empty safe for the thinnest layer of dustโno humans, no dead skin cells, no new dust being generated.I grimace and stand up. Walking into the bedroom, I see empty air where previously were the scattered personal effects that Canus had originally deemed too sensitive for me to see. They, of course, are hidden away in my study back at the estate, and, as loath as I am to agree with Canus, I still have yet to page through them properly.โA bit of a let-down,โ I comment. โI thought you said Iโd remember something.โCanus says, practically into my ear, โDonโt pretend you donโt know where I need you to go.โI jump
โIt was grandadโs, you know. An antique, though I suppose not quite so antique as you.โ It had a smooth handle worn down by three generations of use, and it kept its edge remarkably well considering it went about a dozen years without anyone bothering to check on it.โI did keep it, yes,โ Canus confesses.โItโs pretty, isnโt it?โ I remember how its silver blade flashed in the dim and flickering candlelight. Looking back, I recognise how silly it was to put a tealight in the sink to see by. My thought process had been that, even if some strange happenstance knocked it over, Iโd at least be certain that it wouldnโt catch the entire block on fire. I could have used proper lights, I suppose, but I was loath to waste electricity if it was going to be ages before anyone found me. If I were to die, I could at least help spare the planet from a similar fate.At first there was nothing, and then it hurt so much that I could barely slash my other wrist as well. Shortly thereafter, the cold came
โI love you, too, Favilla. Always have, always will,โ he says. Itโs as gentle as Iโve come to expect of him, as steadfast and sincere as I could ever wish for. We stare into each otherโs eyes for a moment, and then, as one, we say, โIโm sorry.โ We both pause, then open our mouths, then close them upon seeing our actions mirrored in one another. โYou first,โ I say when I open my mouth again. โYou have nothing to be sorry about,โ he says. โI do,โ I insist. โIโm sorry I did that to you. I didnโt mean to. You were never supposed to be the one to find me. I wasโโ I pause, realising that it might not necessarily be the best path to follow. I start again: โI mean, I know Iโm not Aura any longer, that she was the one who made the decision, that she was probably very ill and in a very bad place mentally, but I still feel responsible, somehow, for putting you through that. Please, let me apologise for that, at least.โ He seems to consider it for a moment, but then he nods, mind made up. โ
The car swervesโthatโs how startled Canus is by my question. When he regains control of it again, his fingers are tight around the leather of his steering wheel.โCome again?โ he says. โI could have sworn that you saidโโโThat Annia is convinced that Iโm to be the Starlight Queen? Yes, I did. She saw me eavesdropping on Chryseus and didnโt report it to him, as far as I can tell. Lady Chalcea seems to trust her, too.โItโs not until the last sentence that Canus seems to relax a little. I grin to myself. For all that he calls her a spoiled brat, Canus still trusts his sisterโs judgement.โShe was the one who took me to the shrine and told me who the Starlight Queen was supposed to be,โ I continue. โThat is, after I accidentally lost my temper at her.โIt feels so easy to tell Canus the truth, like some great burden is being lifted from my shoulders. I once imagined myself to be a practised hand at secrecy, but that was when I still had Scintilla or Chryseus in which to confide. I hadnโt
The last thing Canus remembers is the sheer devastation of it allโthe bitterness that had seeped into his very core, the pain and regret in her eyes, the purity of her confusion as he gave her his last order. And then there was pain. And then there was nothing. Then, quite suddenly, there was something. There was rain, each droplet splashing down against the roof in a familiar arrhythmic patter, banging against window panes in similar fashion. There was the silken slide of his shirt against his skin, the press of firm cushions against his back. He was slowly lifting out of his trance. Heโs always been slow to wake in the evenings, just like heโd been slow to wake from sleep as a mortal. He makes use of his grogginess well, however. Letting it dissipate as he collected his thoughts. Meditation, as he learned from a pair of old acquaintancesโmystics of a rare western school of Buddhismโwas an invaluable tool in the life of an immortal. It was a habit that heโd practised since long
Canus and I donโt bother going in the front door. Instead, we peek around to the back. Only when we see a ghastly hole in the ground in the cemetery, raw soil overturned atop the lawn where Katyโs grave must have been, do we continue on inside.The halls are unlit and tranquil, but Canus doesnโt hesitate as he takes the winding turns that lead him to a suite of rooms that I donโt remember ever noticing before. Itโs in an entire different section of the estate than the wing where Scintilla and I were assigned rooms. Itโs been somewhat hastily refurbished, the must of decades of neglect mixing in with the sharp smell of self-assembly furniture.The door has been left ajar, and Canus and I slip in the small reception area just as Scintilla slips out of what must be Katyโs bedroom.โSire,โ she whispers, head bowed.I catch her gaze when she looks up and flash her a supportive smile. She doesnโt return it, but something about her bearing softens just the slightest.Canus jerks his chin tow
โPlease, my lady, thereโs no one else!โStrangely enough, the man pleading to me from outside the reception chamber sounds completely mortal. He must have been a thrall at some point, but he canโt be any longer, not with that level of emotion to his voice.โSimon, let him approach.โSimon gives me a look that speaks volumes of my presumed softness, which I pretend to ignore. To him, this is the first time that I've held court as Canusโs representative, but Iโve done it before, a time or two, back during my first life. It takes a moment, but Simon eventually unbars the door, letting in the human. Only two other petitioners are in the room, and though they seem annoyed, they also make no move to protest as I skip over their non-queue.As the human approaches, I realise that heโs somewhat familiar. Iโve seen him before. At court? Noโhe looked younger back then, barely more than a teenager, and heโd been immortal when we met, barely more than a newborn and stuck fast to his master, a dark
Everyone knows that the most important person in a vampireโs life is her Sire, the one whose blood is keeping a vampire tethered to the splendour of immortalityโher saviour, her master. Most vampires are half in love with their Sires, slavishly devoted to their every whim and fancy, willing to change even the most fundamental aspects of their characters to gain the tiniest modicum of approval. But not me. I wanted to kill him. ๏น Hello. I am, as my Sire named me after my transformation into a member of those monsters dwelling in the night, forever to be known by Favilla. Maybe itโs contradictory for me to use a name given to me by someone I hate so much, but the name my human parents gave me has long since ceased to matter so, instead, Favilla is what you shall call me. My story started just over three decades ago, the first time I died, when my Sire first found me and claimed me for his own. However, thatโs not where your story will start. No, your story will start on the night of
โPlease, my lady, thereโs no one else!โStrangely enough, the man pleading to me from outside the reception chamber sounds completely mortal. He must have been a thrall at some point, but he canโt be any longer, not with that level of emotion to his voice.โSimon, let him approach.โSimon gives me a look that speaks volumes of my presumed softness, which I pretend to ignore. To him, this is the first time that I've held court as Canusโs representative, but Iโve done it before, a time or two, back during my first life. It takes a moment, but Simon eventually unbars the door, letting in the human. Only two other petitioners are in the room, and though they seem annoyed, they also make no move to protest as I skip over their non-queue.As the human approaches, I realise that heโs somewhat familiar. Iโve seen him before. At court? Noโhe looked younger back then, barely more than a teenager, and heโd been immortal when we met, barely more than a newborn and stuck fast to his master, a dark
Canus and I donโt bother going in the front door. Instead, we peek around to the back. Only when we see a ghastly hole in the ground in the cemetery, raw soil overturned atop the lawn where Katyโs grave must have been, do we continue on inside.The halls are unlit and tranquil, but Canus doesnโt hesitate as he takes the winding turns that lead him to a suite of rooms that I donโt remember ever noticing before. Itโs in an entire different section of the estate than the wing where Scintilla and I were assigned rooms. Itโs been somewhat hastily refurbished, the must of decades of neglect mixing in with the sharp smell of self-assembly furniture.The door has been left ajar, and Canus and I slip in the small reception area just as Scintilla slips out of what must be Katyโs bedroom.โSire,โ she whispers, head bowed.I catch her gaze when she looks up and flash her a supportive smile. She doesnโt return it, but something about her bearing softens just the slightest.Canus jerks his chin tow
The last thing Canus remembers is the sheer devastation of it allโthe bitterness that had seeped into his very core, the pain and regret in her eyes, the purity of her confusion as he gave her his last order. And then there was pain. And then there was nothing. Then, quite suddenly, there was something. There was rain, each droplet splashing down against the roof in a familiar arrhythmic patter, banging against window panes in similar fashion. There was the silken slide of his shirt against his skin, the press of firm cushions against his back. He was slowly lifting out of his trance. Heโs always been slow to wake in the evenings, just like heโd been slow to wake from sleep as a mortal. He makes use of his grogginess well, however. Letting it dissipate as he collected his thoughts. Meditation, as he learned from a pair of old acquaintancesโmystics of a rare western school of Buddhismโwas an invaluable tool in the life of an immortal. It was a habit that heโd practised since long
The car swervesโthatโs how startled Canus is by my question. When he regains control of it again, his fingers are tight around the leather of his steering wheel.โCome again?โ he says. โI could have sworn that you saidโโโThat Annia is convinced that Iโm to be the Starlight Queen? Yes, I did. She saw me eavesdropping on Chryseus and didnโt report it to him, as far as I can tell. Lady Chalcea seems to trust her, too.โItโs not until the last sentence that Canus seems to relax a little. I grin to myself. For all that he calls her a spoiled brat, Canus still trusts his sisterโs judgement.โShe was the one who took me to the shrine and told me who the Starlight Queen was supposed to be,โ I continue. โThat is, after I accidentally lost my temper at her.โIt feels so easy to tell Canus the truth, like some great burden is being lifted from my shoulders. I once imagined myself to be a practised hand at secrecy, but that was when I still had Scintilla or Chryseus in which to confide. I hadnโt
โI love you, too, Favilla. Always have, always will,โ he says. Itโs as gentle as Iโve come to expect of him, as steadfast and sincere as I could ever wish for. We stare into each otherโs eyes for a moment, and then, as one, we say, โIโm sorry.โ We both pause, then open our mouths, then close them upon seeing our actions mirrored in one another. โYou first,โ I say when I open my mouth again. โYou have nothing to be sorry about,โ he says. โI do,โ I insist. โIโm sorry I did that to you. I didnโt mean to. You were never supposed to be the one to find me. I wasโโ I pause, realising that it might not necessarily be the best path to follow. I start again: โI mean, I know Iโm not Aura any longer, that she was the one who made the decision, that she was probably very ill and in a very bad place mentally, but I still feel responsible, somehow, for putting you through that. Please, let me apologise for that, at least.โ He seems to consider it for a moment, but then he nods, mind made up. โ
โIt was grandadโs, you know. An antique, though I suppose not quite so antique as you.โ It had a smooth handle worn down by three generations of use, and it kept its edge remarkably well considering it went about a dozen years without anyone bothering to check on it.โI did keep it, yes,โ Canus confesses.โItโs pretty, isnโt it?โ I remember how its silver blade flashed in the dim and flickering candlelight. Looking back, I recognise how silly it was to put a tealight in the sink to see by. My thought process had been that, even if some strange happenstance knocked it over, Iโd at least be certain that it wouldnโt catch the entire block on fire. I could have used proper lights, I suppose, but I was loath to waste electricity if it was going to be ages before anyone found me. If I were to die, I could at least help spare the planet from a similar fate.At first there was nothing, and then it hurt so much that I could barely slash my other wrist as well. Shortly thereafter, the cold came
Not much has changed since I last visited less than two months ago. The scent of my human self is worked into every corner, overlaid by a strange sense of corruption. I briefly seat myself on the back of the settee, looking around the cramped space. As Canus mentioned, the kitchen table is missing from its place. Otherwise, the cabinets are all shut, and all the flat surfaces are empty safe for the thinnest layer of dustโno humans, no dead skin cells, no new dust being generated.I grimace and stand up. Walking into the bedroom, I see empty air where previously were the scattered personal effects that Canus had originally deemed too sensitive for me to see. They, of course, are hidden away in my study back at the estate, and, as loath as I am to agree with Canus, I still have yet to page through them properly.โA bit of a let-down,โ I comment. โI thought you said Iโd remember something.โCanus says, practically into my ear, โDonโt pretend you donโt know where I need you to go.โI jump
With my new revelation, tracking down three more victims and feeding Canus in between hunting is relatively trivial. It puts a new spin on the act, however. The pain that I derive from Canusโs feeding is no less than before, but now it comes with a sense of vindication. Now, every time he pulls away and licks my blood from his lips, I see the hidden emotions dwelling in their depthsโguilt and desire. Suddenly, I feel bad for him. I even feel the barest twinge of sympathy for Chryseus. The two of them have been hit the worst by the bloodline curse, enough so that theyโve been forced to feed on their progeny. Whatโs more, I suddenly understand that they must hate it, that they must hate seeing the source of their guilt every day, to feed from us time and time again. โItโs always like this, isnโt it?โ I ask after I come back from my last victim, healed and more fully sated than Iโve ever been. โThe guilt?โ Very carefully, Chryseus nods. โThatโs the real curse, I think. My Father likes
All thoughts of sustenance escape me. I stand, frozen, watching the bright glint of luminescence that is my mark slip further and further down the corridor before turning in the direction of the tearoom. The bleached white walls and linoleum flooring are dark without her presence, but I donโt even care. Iโm remembering back to a conversation I had with Chryseus. It doesnโt count, I said, laughing. Your progeny are all older than me. Then Iโll ask Father for another progeny, Chryseus replied, a glint in his eyes. Itโs been decades since my last. Heโll accept. It wonโt be the same, I insisted. You wouldnโt get to see them as a child. We can adopt a mortal baby, then. If we ask Father for special permission, Iโm sure heโll agree, especially if we raise it as a witch. If the baby is raised as non-human, then the secrecy laws wonโt apply. Okay, I said, heart in my throat. Alright. I once considered it to be the moment I fell in love with him. โFavilla?โ Canus asks. I blink. Thereโs