We meet at a local hotel – not hers, but selected with purpose on my behalf, unknown to her, of course – in the foyer. It is late, but not too late – and I have already eaten. My cheeks are blushing from the pulsing blood (not my own) as I spot her, having arrived earlier than the set time. Fluttering with emotion, I stride purposefully towards her. She spots me and stands up.
- So, Miss Dumornais, we meet again.
- Thank you, Miss…
I intercept her.
- Please, call me Ravna.
Not my birth name, nor my chosen name, but the name I inherited after death. I’m interested in her reaction. She seems puzzled, but not visibly alarmed or distressed. We shake hands, and sit down, one directly in front of one another.
- I take it you’re not really her, then? Cosplaying? Something like that?
I simply smile. The living, masquerading as a dead author. Oh, how delicious irony can be.
- Something as such, yes.
- Oh.
Oh, indeed. But I don’t tell her that. Instead, ask her about the health of her family, if she is enjoying her stay in Denmark, if the language barrier is hampering when translating one’s work over to English in order to publish it both national and global at the same time (a feat I myself picked up upon when I was sitting where she is now sitting, wearing those elegant shoes and lightly ripped jeans). The conversation seems to be flowing, but I can tell she’s holding back. I don’t quite want to have to rely on Presence as much as I could, so it will have to do without for a little while.
I suggest we take a walk, after insisting on paying for her tea. A comment about how a Frenchwoman shouldn’t indulge in coffee this late, I smile reassuringly and hint that coffee no longer is on my menu, either. This pleases her.
We take a stroll along the dimly lit streets, heading in the general direction of my domain. The conversation travels across topics such as theology, mysticism, the current state of the world, trust and friendship, the loneliness of the craft (writing), the ability to be part of higher society – I notice how this intrigues her slightly – and the fondness of a beautiful city.
The moon raises electric. Somehow, I can feel it above us, hidden behind the city lights. I think of how light pollution causes sea creatures to move towards larger cities as if having the natural instincts in disarray, drawn to the unknown by a purely animal sense. A beautiful, yet tragic fate, much akin to me and my kind.
I ask her if she would like to live forever. Again the puzzlement returns to her face. We stop. The street is empty but for us. I ask her again. The reply is hesitant, as if she’s fumbling through in the dark. Which, to be fair, she is. I take her hand, look into her eyes, but keep myself in check and behave politely, as to not scare her. I ask her what she would sacrifice, in order to be by my side, to live as I live, to be as I am. Almost without thinking, I draw on my Presence. It only occurs to me when I see her widening eyes and slightly gaping mouth. Sighing, silently cursing myself, I lean close and whisper into her ear, five little words.
- I can teach you how.
While still within my grasp, I slip a note in her pocket. On it is a time and place – two nights from now, evening, Solbjerg Graveyard, entrance at the North. It also states that she is to come alone.
With all the restraint I can muster, I leave her with a cab that will take her back to her hotel. Now I have preparations to make.
The following night passes uneventful. There are some reports of unrest along the lower ranks, but I pay it no mind. Pälvi comments on my absentmindedness before handling what must be done.
Then the second night comes, and I watch from the shadows. Kira hangs back from across the street, but with a good vantage point. If she’s against this or not, I cannot tell – nor did I ask. Soon, she’ll be a vampire herself, but not of my making. Alexandra, the Tremere Blood Magician, had expressed wishes to tighten the bonds between our clans. I suspect that my quickly elevated status had much to do with the offering, but I had discussed it at length with Kira in private and arrived to a common understanding. While both were saddened to no longer be living together, our connection would not be broken off so easily. Suddenly, the thought of this being one of our last nights out alone sting my mind. However, having a loyal and proven Tremere on my personal strike team seems like a fitting exchange.
Time passes. Part of me hopes that she will not show up. That would, of course, trigger the necessary elements I hoped to avoid, events I had put in motion myself. No regrets. Mortal coil is not for the undead. Suffering is not everlasting, nor the fleeting feeling of euphoria.
At what seems as an eternity, she arrives. I can sense her, smell her, and taste her. I know not if this is a product of Auspex or my imagination. Something to test out later, for certain.
Once more I approach her from a position of power. Liana Dumornais, author, reader, intellectual and companion to be. She sees me, waves and stride to meet me halfway. From behind, Kira sneaks closer, unseen, unknown, and under the cover of my Presence. Liana does not see the syringe until it is far too late and Kira has emptied half of it into her neck. She stops, surprised. A hand goes to her throat. The look she gives me is fearful and trusting at the same time. I scoop her up before she falls, unconscious and limp. Kira helps me. Together, we swaddle and swing, playing once more the part of the drunkards heading home from a party with too many drinks.
Home, I place her on the couch. I tell Kira to stay in the kitchen and have something to eat, or order takeout, if that would be more to her liking. Informing her that this would be one of the last mortal meals she can have, I offer no limits in price range. With a curtsy (Oh, how I’m going to miss her doing that!) she leaves me alone with the mortal.
The toxin wears off quickly. Liana groans and awakes, slowly. I sit opposite her, regally, legs lightly crossed, hands on the edges of the arm rests. I let her wake. If there is fear in her eyes, I see past it.
- I would like, if I may, to offer you a choice of some importance. A strange journey, if you’d agree to my terms.
My words cut into the core of her. The serenity and seriousness of dramatic importance is not lost upon her. Good.
- You can leave here, unharmed, untouched, and wake up in your bed, thinking this was simply a mistake. Or, you can stay, and become more than you’d ever imagined.
I pause for dramatic effect.
- There are conditions, of course, and rules that must be obeyed. Sadly, I cannot reveal everything to you until you have made your choice. For you see, I too, must abide by traditions and regulations. Law is what keeps us alive and keeps the chaos at bay.
Another dramatic pause.
- What I can tell you is that I would like for you to stay. I will not force you to, or stop you if you’d prefer to leave. The choice is yours and yours alone.
I lean forward and look at her. She does not recoil, but doesn’t lean forward either. I take this as a good sign.
- Stay with me. Please.
I notably withhold any form of Presence. This is her choice and hers alone. I will not taint or muddy it, even if I silently scream on the inside.
Moments pass.
- Yes.
I can barely keep my composure together. I hope she does not notice. I rise, walk around the small table that separates us, and sit down next to her. Gently, I slide a hand up her arm, letting it rest on her shoulder for a brief moment.
- This is your last chance. After this, there is no going back.
Liana nods.
I bare my fangs as my hand grips her neck, but gently, push her head to one side, brushing her hair away with my other hand. I would want this moment to be of significance, but I cannot resist much longer – the Beast is howling and clawing and biting and struggling stronger under the surface than I have felt in ages. I feed. What Liana experience is washed away, all but for a mild concern in the back of my mind. Then, as she approaches the threshold of death, I rip open a small vein, putting my wrist to her lips. Droplets fall into her mouth. Then, all too soon, a sucking notion can be felt, weak at first, then stronger and stronger. As the blood leaves me, her hands rise to grasp me, hold my wrist to her lips, instinctual and with force. Knowing not just how much blood is required, I allow her to drain a good portion from me, but as dizziness starts to curve the corners of the room into roundness I withdraw from her. She sinks back into my lap, and I stroke her hair, observing. Having never seen an Embrace this close before, I try to memorize some of the effects my mind to write down later, but I’m afraid that most of it would be far from scientific in nature. A stray thought occurs, and I consider being present for another Embrace, but impartial to the act, and merely the observer. However, the intimate nature of the event would require a vampire I trust implicitly, as well as a consenting mortal. A girl can hope, though.
Once more, the seemingly lifeless body stirs. Liana opens her eyes. I continue to stroke her hair as I smile down at her.
- Welcome to the real world.
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