Eight miles outside the town and twenty miles into the countryside, Veronica easily carried Henry in her arms up the spiraling marble staircase of his to the master bedroom. With her back, she opened the doors, walking with a prep in her step past the living space and right to his king-sized bed.

She lowered him down into the soft mattress and continued to dress his burns.

For several years, Henry fell in and out of hibernation, all the while Veronica fed him, bathed him, cleaned his manor, and dealt with anyone who wanted to see him. That included mischievous kids who dared each other to wander into Henry's backyard.

When Henry had gained most of his strength back, his face was still marred by the burns, skin clumped but now red instead of black—Veronica soaked the purest blood from a lamb born from a sheep the Italian village woman sworn was a virgin and wrapped his face with it.

She was real proud of that discovery—his recovery would shorten, and he'd bounce back in no time—no time at all.

Early one July morning, the heat was filling in through the blinds and open windows, waving the looong white curtains like Fitzgerald imagined in Buchanan's house. They were voluptuous with an innocent tone, moving about like they were intrigued with a childlike mind.

Veronica, with a tray of blood in a wine glass, carried it up from the kitchen, up the glamorous spiral staircase, down the long hall with the white drapes hanging from the floor to ceiling windows licking at her heels gently, and it into Henry's room.

Large pillars from ancient Athens stood high and mighty between the windows, upholding the manor with the strength of the God of wisdom.

Henry only spoke once about ancient Athens, but it seemed more of a history lesson than it was a memory of his. The again, typing his time period was difficult.

Her heels echoed softly on the light wooden flooring.

French doors that led to a beautiful balcony were slightly ajar with white thin drapes filling with the summers breeze.

Henry laid stiffly still on his back in his big white bed which was raised on a singular step. He had a bandage covering his entire face.

(His bed had see-through white silk curtains hanging from the top of the bedpost).

Veronica walked up the dais and placed the wooden tray on top his stomach.

"Breakfast for you, sir," she said softly. Henry muffled a reply. Veronica pulled back the bandage so his full lips, wet with perspiration, could speak.

"I'm ready—" he said in a low voice, sensuous and steady. He licked his lips. "For you to take the bandage off."

Veronica sat him up and handed him his glass, easing his arm up to his lips. He gulped and gasped an air of content.

He turned his head to her, staring slightly below her eyes. "I'm ready for you to take the bandage off."

"Ok, sir." Veronica, as quiet and loving as possible, muttered between her sweaty lips.

Despite not being human anymore, Veronica felt every sense of it—the need for food—the fear of dying—the beating of her steady heart—and of course—her sweaty body.

Easing Henry from his bed, Veronica led him to his closet door where a full-sized mirror stared back at him, and in the mirror, a man with bandages stood erect with confidence.

Slowly, Veronica unclothed his face, peeling away at the stuck fabric. After the initial pull, the bandage fell to the floor, revealing a soft and reborn man.

His dirty blond hair was perfectly lightened at the ends and fluffed with the right amount of volume. Bangs tickled his uncreased forehead just enough for some strands to barely touch his trimmed and full golden-brown eyebrows.

Just below, his almond blue eyes were large with a doe look and glossy with every kind of emotion one would want to feel when gazed lovingly at.

Anyways, they stared at his reflection that started at the tip of his thin and unblemished nose, one of which that guided him with every sense of direction needed. And below that, full pink lips to smile at you with.

He ran his finger along the length of his smooth jaw, running it along the bone until it faded into his neck seamlessly.

"Get me my coat," he said slowly.

"But sir, it's still light out!"

Without a change in tone, Henry seemed to have ignored her.

"Grab my parasol while you're at it." He pointed to the hanger with his coat and light pink parasol. "If anyone asks, it's yours and I'm just holding it for you." He fussed with his hair as Veronica laid his coat across his back shoulder.

"Thanks, luv." He said, often too fondly. Henry pulled his gloves on and layered his socks so all that showed was just his head.

"I don't suppose this heat is bothersome to you, sir." Veronica held up the parasol as the windows opened to bring in the unfiltered light.

"No," he opened a cap of blush and brushed some redness into his cheeks. "But I suppose it's quite bothersome to you, hmm?" Veronica shifted her weight.

Harshly, Henry grabbed the parasol and moved it back. "Sorry, sir." She held her gaze down.

Henry didn't answer her and kept patting the powder into his skin.

"Ring up the Daniel's and have them reserve a spot at Moroccan's for us, will you?" Henry allowed her to walk to the balcony doors to close them before closing her parasol and making her way downstairs to the phone.

"Reservation is for five!" Henry, still holding his blush brush, poked his head down the lit hallway and called out to Veronica. He watched her as she continued down the Greek pillared hallway.

~~~~

Henry and Veronica strolled down the streets of Italy hand in hand with a parasol to block the sun in Veronica's.

From block to block, occasionally, the sun would be behind the buildings, and Henry could walk freely twelve paces in front of Veronica. He didn't have to be held to her so tightly at any moment, but even then, there were accidents.

Spinning with a sense of freedom, Henry laughed at the feeling of the summers breeze through his hair and flittering through his thin blazer.

"Venice: 1920," Henry marveled, taking off his straw hat. "What a beautiful sight." He spun around in circles, allowing the tips of his coat to fly outwards.

Veronica, holding loosely the parasol, twirled it in her hands. "Tis an even more beautiful sight to see you in the city."

Her mind went to all the years together and held them deep in her heart.

Henry turned and smiled at her and stopped. A window shut and the sun from the harbor, reflecting off the water, hit the window to shine right on Henry's face.

"Ahrrg!" He muffled as he bent low, rolling against the brick building. Veronica came quickly in front, blocking the light and pulling out a small piece of gauze.

She took a pin to her finger and squeezed her blood onto it.

"Shhh..." she soothed. Veronica dabbed the gauze to his burned cheek.

"Damn it!" Henry stood up, taking the gauze and pressing it to his face.

Damn it! Veronica thought. All my efforts in reconstructing his features!

"Uhg, and I'm fully satiated too!" He threw down the gauze angrily. Veronica grabbed it and quickly moved to his face. Already, there was skin peeling away and sticking as it sizzled.

He pushed her away gently. "No—no..." he turned; tone still gracious for her efforts. It was a tone one would speak to a child trying to win back their parent.

"Let it scar."

Veronica lifted herself to his face and gave the burn a kiss. "No!" Henry pushed her away, but with enough force to push her against the wall with a loud thump.

"I said: let. it. scar!" He growled. Forcefully, he took the parasol from her and strolled off.

~~~~

Between two little trees, a garden and several squished buildings of various browns and pastel colors, a lovely little Italian restaurant gazed upon the water, and now with the sun behind it, shade was casted across the bricked road.

Bicyclists and men and women filtered past with ease.

"So, tell me," Rose Daniel, an Italian French woman with short thick black curly hair and a few wrinkles set deep into her puffy face stuffed her mouth with risotto. "How much longer are you two going to stay? At some point everyone is going to realize how young you two look compared to us."

Henry smiled, "A young couple can have their mentors, can't they?" He dipped his head as he cut into his chicken. "What about you, Earl?"

Earl huffed a grumble between his greying mustache. "What is it? Old fellow? I'd say, you're more of a mentor to us than we are to you!"

Henry smiled, moving his food around meaninglessly. Veronica smiled too as she ate, realizing it was still out of habit, also too realizing that she'd have to purge it all out later. Thank God Henry's architects over the centuries deemed it necessary to have a bathroom at some point in history.

"How long have you two been together?" Mrs. Daniel put down her fork and dabbed her face.

"Now somewhere close to four hundred years," sitting across from Mrs. Daniel, Veronica leaned forward to emphasize the time.

Mrs. Daniel smiled, "and no children?"

A clatter of forks fell simultaneously in pursuit.

Henry, deadpanned and serious, a face Veronica had never seen before since she spilled blood on a Dickinson first edition piece of his, eyed Mrs. Daniel.

"Pirates neutered me." It was a serious tone, but the silliest of words. Yet, despite that, everyone including Veronica sat motionless, gaping at what Henry had just admitted to:

He got up—Veronica trying to call his name, but all she got out was, "Master—wait!"