I had put on the black dress, and upon seeing me Uriel said he wanted to do a sketch so I let him. I sat in the parlor room divan and the hours ticked by without neither of us speaking, reminiscent of the past. He used a charcoal to draw my profile in his sketchbook multiple times. Finally, I insisted he show me and saw it.

It didn't capture my beauty at all.

"I've been thinking for a while, and as reluctant as I am to say it, you might be good at drawing everything but people."

Uriel looked hurt.

"My eyes aren't good. Sometimes it blurs."

"Then come closer," I demanded. He came closer.

"Oh, it's beautiful. It's just like your profile."

I scrutinized the face once more, the angular cuts in the note and chin, the softer lines for my rounded brow and lips. My hair was put up as the ladies in the town had by Veronique, of course. I tilted my head to one side and looked at his art again, unable to see how exactly it resembled me.

"I'll keep on trying," he said as he pulled his sketchbook away, determined.

"Come here," I whispered.

The drawing room was empty, Veronique had brought the girls somewhere upstairs and Laurel was most likely preparing for dinner.

"Do you want to drink blood?"

"No—just come."

He walked to me and looked confused for a brief moment before I pulled him down, arms wrapped around his warm neck, then traced them to his face.

I loved holding his head in my hands, and he drew closer.

"Uriel. What if I wanted to drink again?" I whispered the words into his ear.

"I'd refuse. My arm still hurts a lot," Uriel said plainly, "and you're not in need. You're just playing with me."

"Uriel," I said his name. I loved the familiarity of it as it escaped my mouth. "Uriel. Foolish Uriel."

"Foolish?"

"What if I wanted to kiss you?"

"Then kiss me."

First Love makes you stupid, I heard Agnes say. How could you lower your standards to a man like him?

I pulled back the hair tie on his silky yellow hair, and it fell to his shoulders now, in waves and curls. I threaded my fingers through it before I finally felt his scalp.

"I'm going to kiss you."

I pulled his head down from the scalp, and by the time our mouths opened and tongues touched, like butterflies in my mouth, he was resting a knee on the couch next to my lap. His mouth reacted and his hand also raised slowly to touch my cheek.

We parted after a long time, both out of breath but aroused.

"Don't you want to sleep with me?" I asked.

"Not here." The words he breathed were on my bare shoulder, and I craved for more.

"I don't mind. I want to love you."

"No. People might hear."

"It doesn't matter! I want you!" I hissed. "You're my property now."

I bit my lower lip and my head was dizzy from the refusal and the embarrassment of me asking for him. Men always asked for me.

Uriel picked up his head from my shoulder and smiled. His hair around him in his patterned black waistcoat looked sharp. I touched the rim of his glasses, tilted from our kissing, but then I let go and he stood there with his sketchbook.

"But I can kiss you," I repeated, "right?"

"Yes, but if we are doing it I want to be able to care for a child."

"I've done it many times," I mused. "But somehow, I've never gotten pregnant. I knew, to be honest, something wasn't right with me. It was terribly hard for Agnes and Edith to conceive, too, then their daughter and finally, my mother. Our bloodline isn't strong enough."

"It's not the issue of conceiving, it's the issue that men have used you for sex, and I've always despised them. If I do the same now, my father would be disappointed, although to be honest, I don't know how he died." Uriel smiled sardonically. I shook my head.

"We vampires get anything we want. We have an uncannily beautiful face with nearly symmetrical features and unique looks. My body, too, was perfect when I matured. Everything about me was perfect as a human, except I wasn't a human. I lust, too, and I want to sleep with you." I looked at him hopefully. "So please, wouldn't you say yes?"

The clock chimed. I looked in horror as a little bird jumped out. It was five already. As expected, I heard Veronique and the girls' footsteps and then their voices, jumbled and giggling without any worry. I was envious as I closed my eyes, knowing I'd never be part of them.

If only I was fifteen or younger, and hadn't been Queen Butterfly. If only I could forget Sabine and my mother, and even Agnes and Edith. They loomed in my hearts like red butterflies. Even when I tried to love Uriel I couldn't—because I had been tainted and as much as I denied it, I feared men for their lust.

I didn't believe in princes.

But I believe in Uriel.

He pondered before opening his mouth "Maybe when—"

I stared at him, and then the girls entered.

"How was the portrait?" Lark asked. The girls stopped in the doorway as they saw Uriel and me, close and yet far.

"It's time for supper, now let's help Laurel with the kitchen," Veronique said, sensing the tension. "We should hurry!" They left, and I looked at her, standing there, turned to the side.

Her violet dress was very plain and long, with a rose brooch, and she only had her wedding ring on her hand, but long earrings of blue gems, maybe sapphire. When she turned her face was serious, and she closed the door behind her, making my senses alert.

"Relax, Marie, or Margery. You're a smart one, as Yves told me, but I had forgotten to mention one thing. Please do not have a relationship with Uriel nor Yves. Well, I suppose it's an easy thing for you to attract any men, you're wonderful, but I want these girls to grow up as—human."

I felt my nails dig into the brocade armrest, and she continued, in her slow and serene tone.

"They've all adjusted well, but I know you've been drinking Uriel's blood. I suppose you two have an interesting relationship of some kind, but I forbid it in the Derosier house. We rehabilitate vampires, not feed them." She turned her eyes, blue too, but much more vibrant than Uriel's, to him.

"It's my fault," Uriel said slowly, thinking of what to say, "but we've had such a relationship since we left Jardin, actually. I tricked her into killing the matriarch and naturally, now my body is hers to use or throw away."

"You're healthy, and young. Why did you do something so stupid?"

Uriel laughed. "Love makes one mad. I think a philosopher said that, and only now do I understand."

"We won't bother you or the girls. It's between us," I finally said softly. Let me have this bond if no others. I've lost Sabine and my mother, but Uriel—I've betrayed everything for him.

I won't let him leave me.

"Fine. I give up." Veronique turned and opened the doors, and with a smile, told the girls we'd be in the dining room soon.

She left, and with a sad smile, Uriel held out his hand. I took one and he pulled me up, but when I stood next to him, there was a premonition of some sorts, a feeling I couldn't shake off that we might not be happy together.

In fact, were we happy even now?

***

We stayed up late into the night until we heard knocking and then a ring of the doorbell. It was the first time I felt it, and the sharp ring caused the vampires to recoil and hold their head, all but Laurel.

She went to open the door with Veronique and there was hurried talk as they ushered two familiar guests in.

"Cecile!" I cried. The younger ones also watched as she smiled. I was surprised at how relieved I was to see that shy, hesitant smile.

"Margery, Lark, Bernadette, Adalyn! Oh, and Uriel!" Cecile took off the kerchief that hid her hair and she was in a simple dress. Her white hair was now pulled back in a braid, and her face was as sickly pale as always, but her cheeks were so rosy I didn't recognize for a moment.

Dr.Gregoire next to her spoke to Yves and then Uriel joined in.

I looked at the two groups from afar, Cecile bending down to hold the girls in a hug, strands of hair falling to her cheeks, Lark squeezing and holding her neck. She was much more beloved than me. I was sure Dr.Gregoire and her could marry and have a life considered 'normal'—unlike Uriel and I.

Something cold came over me and I turned around, unable to see the view anymore. One might call it jealousy, but to me it was far more ominous, a fear of some kind. I'd never love Uriel, because he'd never love me—knowing my past.

But he said he loved me...he said.