The hours seemed to roll by like minutes. It was filled with the constant distraction of the company at my disposal; Elizabeth and Simon. They regaled me with stories about the many years of their lives. Or rather, Elizabeth's life. For I discovered, or at least put the clues together, that Elizabeth was at the very least: decades old. Her mannerisms and overall style spoke to me again of that Victorian era, or maybe just at the tail end of it. Despite this, she seemed to have seamlessly adapted into the modern world, and I'd wondered if all Vampires were so naturally capable. I've known elderly in the mortal world who take great issue with how the current times are not what they know, and are therefore bitter at it and themselves. That's the way the world works I suppose. You adapt or you get stuck; forever doomed to thrash in the inevitable throes of death, cursing the environment for changing without you.

She told us both of bawdy tales involving Aristocrats and the glistening nobility of that era. Those were my favourite. Especially if it involves murder, debauchery, and inter-personal politics. It made everything sound juicier.

My favourite one she told; was about a particular Aristocrat who had a taste for girls of the working class at the time. He was rich, powerful, and influential, so of course he could have anyone he wanted. All but one who denied him, over and over again. Most wouldn't dare deny him at the promise of wealth, or an easy life. But she didn't want that, she didn't want any of it. Even when he took more forceful means: she managed to slip away and escape, just ever so slightly out of reach. Forever unobtainable. It supposedly drove him mad, and he delved into all manner of dark dealings. Seedy underbellies of criminal empires, bribing of police constables, and even occultism, a supposed "dark-witch" and murder. Can you imagine? Going through all that just because someone told you no?

Elizabeth definitely should write a book one day. I'd be the first to buy a copy. What was even more curious, and constantly pervaded my thoughts; was that despite how intricate her details were, they seemed particularly practised as to not reveal anything about her own past. Her many stories, each one wildly different from the last, and not a single one seemed to involve her directly. I didn't want to pry, or dig. Someone who has lived that long, if she has indeed lived as long as I think she has, is bound to have scars. Painful ones too I'd imagine. She's too kind to have lived an easy life.

Simon was either a social chameleon, or is definitely about as old as I am. He's not as traditionally poetic in his language as Elizabeth is, and is closer to my own speech patterns and mannerisms. I learned that he was, in fact, one of the turned. He had been turned into a Vampire but a few years ago. I learned that he also used to be deaf when he was human. An accident involving an exploding gas tank robbed him of his hearing, and his family, for most of his life. Until Limbani found him. He refused to go into details, which was fair considering I could tell it was probably a painful experience for him to talk about, but I did learn of something else.

When I asked about Casper, the small Vampire boy I had met in the woods, I was given a small lesson in the "types" of Vampire there are. Also that it's considered very, very, rude to ask about what type they are. A hideous social faux pas, as Elizabeth called it. They didn't explain why that was; but, as with a number of things lately: I thought it best not to press any further.

The first, and supposedly the most numerous, are "The Turned". They are, as you can probably guess: mortals who have been turned into a Vampire. Apparently Vampires in their own society, went through simultaneously a voracious gluttonous period; where they fed and turned like crazy. Correlating with a massive drop in their numbers; and then a very restrained, selective period; where they were very particular about who they turned and why. So much so that there are apparently still laws about it to this day. Because of this careful selection; it's arguably the reason why Vampires are so influential and still a secret to the majority of the world. They're embedded everywhere they're needed to keep it so.

I couldn't help but feel a certain pang of guilt at my unease from learning this. That they could be everywhere. Witches live as life comes. Going through the motions you'd expect, with little cause to expand unless the individual wishes to. But Vampires... Vampires are incredibly long-lived and usually with the patience to match. They can make plans that last decades or centuries, and simply wait for everything to fall in to place. Like the worlds biggest game of chess. They don't have to remove the obstacle when waiting for the obstacle to move itself or crumble from the weight of time is so much easier. That was terrifying. A predator that doesn't attack even though it could quite effortlessly do so, but rather simply chasing, and waiting, until you're too exhausted to run any further, and death comes easily for your terrified and tired body.

The second type I learned about, and the second most numerous, are "The Pure-Bloods". A title that reeked of elitism to me, and if all the modern pop culture told me of the connotations of names like this; I instantly disliked the imagined sense of superiority that they probably had. But apparently that's not the case. A pure blood is what is referred to: when a Vampire is born, not turned, and their circumstance can be as individualistic as anybody. This is the result of a mortal and a Vampire coming together and crafting life with one another. I am also told at this point, that there is no such thing as "half-breeds". While the offspring may have some traits of the non-Vampire parent, nine times out of ten, it'll be one-hundred percent Vampire. The Vampire genome is too invasive. Too strong, it over takes and consumes whatever it comes into contact with.

The third and final type I have learned about, and the rarest of them all to the point of almost extinction, are "The Apex". Again, a title that just seethes a sense of superiority. Although the combined experience from Simon and Elizabeth is quite limited, with Elizabeth only ever meeting one before and stating that they were "quite polite". An Apex was someone who was born a Vampire from the union of two Vampire parents. I am told this is exceedingly rare because since the three curses, Vampires have been as close to dead as possible. So their children are often stillborn without, what they call: the blush of life, to help them along.

This all culminated back to my original question about Casper. It turns out he's what they would call: a Pure-Blood. He was Limbani's born child, and a father only known to her.

It was amidst the laughter of conversation when an alarm began to sound, instantly splitting the idle chatter with piercing beeps that cast all three of us into silence. Simon clutched his ears with a cringe, but Elizabeth was gave no sign of discomfort at the sound as she gently stood from her seat and approached a digital clock. It was nine o'clock in the evening, and I could feel my heartbeat at the back of my throat as an invisible concoction of equal parts nervousness and excitement, made themselves known to me.

She gave a knowing look to Simon who slid, rather clumsily, on the wheels of his chair, procuring a ring of iron keys from inside a draw and tossing them to Elizabeth who snatched them from the air with a gesture so graceful it flowed with the freedom of water; some how fast enough to catch them but slow enough to mimic the purposeful display of a house-cat in comfort. Each subtle twitch of its whiskers, or snake of its tail, an entire language on to it's own.

Elizabeth excused herself from the room, closing the door with a click, and despite being hyper-aware of the watchful gaze of Simon; I couldn't help but stare at the monitor and wait. I couldn't see Aramis at all, although apart of me is sure that the channel on whatever T.V. he has in there had changed at some point.

A few minutes passed, and I saw Elizabeth come into view of the camera. Her form, gently coming from the top of the camera and touching the floor, her entire appearance just daring gravity or any upwards force to disturb her attire. It was then my heart fluttered, my fists clenching at the sensation as Aramis then came into view. They were talking as he presented his shackled wrists, rubbing them as each loop of heavy metal fell to the floor at Elizabeth's request. I smiled seeing him chuckle, although I couldn't get a read on his body language; his teeth seemed comically white through the filter of the lens.

I saw his jaw tense and his gaze lower. Causing a well spring of nerves to prickle my insides and form a lump in my throat. Elizabeth seemed to be reassuring him over something, although I could probably hazard a guess, and while I did my best to remain optimistic. He's just as nervous about seeing me as I him... That's all. The worst of me simply spelled doom. Calloused fingers, pinching the edges of my heart and prepared to rip.

In my day dream, I hadn't noticed that they were no longer in view of the camera and the fear suddenly made itself palpable. Like I could taste it. My pulse began to quicken, my palms began to sweat, and my vision on instinct looked for safety. Escape. Hide. Avoid the coming situation at all costs because it is a threat, and threats hurt.

Simon seemed to sense this, placing a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay, alright? And if he does anything stupid, which he won't; Me and Elizabeth will be fighting over who gets to fuck him up first okay? You're an awesome guy. Now come on. Chest puffed, shoulders back, big man. Get hyped!" He said, and I couldn't help but let out a laugh that started uneasy but ended much more comfortably.

Sure enough, as each minute crept by excruciatingly slowly, the door handle turned. Elizabeth entered first, a brief second; questioned at the presence of Aramis before he too entered. Or rather stood at the door way. The air was thick all of a sudden. Like there was a suffocating fuel just waiting for a match.

He stayed in the doorway, eyes unable to meet mine, and I fought with whatever monsters within my own mind on what to do. I wanted to get up and run to him. Hug him. Kiss him. Tell him I fought as hard as I could for him and ask if he was proud of me for it. Because I wanted his approval too. I wanted him.

But there was this hesitance. An uncertainty, brought on by his now reclusive body language, that spoke unseen volumes to my own.

I almost pounced when his voice finally sliced through the uneasy tension:

"Hey Avery, do you uh... do you wanna talk?" He asked, and for the first time since arriving, he looked at me. Although the look was distant, and distracted, like looking at me was a task and to that effect it didn't last long at all. I found myself glancing to Elizabeth and Simon for some form of strength or direction, but upon finding none, merely coughed up a simple:

"Okay." And got up, slowing my pace so that he would lead onwards.

There was great silence as he led me through the hallways. Strangely, it wasn't the awkwardness that one would normally find when not actually wanting to be here. Instead it was an air transfixed with silent dares and would be fuses. A single word, a single touch, a single breath would be the spark that caught the world on fire, and it remained this charged for neither of us did any of those things. Like we were afraid of the guilt that would come from igniting such blazes that would surely burn everyone.

After travelling some stairs, my pride not allowing Aramis to see how out of breath I was from such a task, we eventually came to a simple wooden door. He opened it, leading us inwards, to where I was met by his bedroom.

"I'll be right back, I promise." He said, barely above a whisper, like each word was a knife aimed at me and any louder would trigger them to strike. I nodded in response as the door clicked shut, taking Aramis' presence with it.

His room was much larger, and much tidier than mine. Mine was a cluttered mess, of many warming colours, and while not necessarily disorganised, certainly felt fuller than this one. He had a large bed with sheets that glimmered like satin. Everything seemed to have a place in here. Even the stuffed toy animal I had one for him at the carnival, now sits proudly on a table to the right of the bed, meticulously positioned so that it may have scope of the entire room. He had thick, black-out curtains, blocking the outside light, and a number of photographs line the walls and dressers.

I found myself examining one curiously. It was black and white, I could spot Aramis immediately. His face was caked in smears of dirt, a chain of dog tags set around his neck and he was wearing an army uniform. His sleeves rolled up and a helmet that seemed two sizes too big sat lopsided upon his head. His arm was draped over another soldier beside him, who smiled in a similarly goofy manner. His ears jutted outwards and there was a gap in his teeth that made him seem a lot younger than he probably was.

A name is called on my lips as my fingers brushed the frame:

"Jonathan." I whisper, as if it wasn't me saying it but someone else. Someone who wanted to say his name in a precious breath. There was a flash, a wave of cold spread from the photograph and up my arm.

"Please.... Let me do this" he says. A stark cry of desperation on his voice. He's begging. Pleading. He's ready to bleed. The thunderous booms and shakes of the earth mean nothing to him in this moment. They can't hurt him anyway, they don't know how. He's holding something. Someone. He's the one that's growing cold. A warmth is present though, not in his body, but in his touch. In the broken smile as he reaches upwards from the ground at his back, to wipe the tears from the begging mans face. Telling him no. There is love here, and it is vicious as it goes silent. Like the world was swallowed by a ravenous, toothy maw. Shredding, ripping, agonising pain. And then nothing.

I find myself wiping away the tears on my cheeks from feelings not my own, my chest feeling heavy with each little sniff. I dare not to look upon any other photos. I don't think I'd like to feel those memories if they're all like this.

Thankfully it seemed I had enough time to compose myself as five minutes later, Aramis arrived back into the room to find me standing in the exact same spot he had left me, awkwardly fiddling with my hands.

Him closing the door looked like the greatest amount of effort, taking all of his strength to pull himself away from it and in my direction. I watched without looking, stealing cornered glances at his movements as he willed himself closer.

"Avery, I... I'm so sorry" his voice cracked, and I found myself pulled on to him in an instant. Wrapping my arms around his torso and pinning his arms to his side as I rested my head on his chest. I squeezed like death awaited me were I ever to let go.

"You-- You're not afraid of me? Repulsed?" He sniffled, but I couldn't speak. I was too weak to do so, so I held on for dear life. Only squeezing tighter as I felt his hands connect with one another around the small of my back. Laboured breaths causing his back to heave in jutters as he fought back at the urge to cry, which only made my resolve stronger as I clutched harder.

Time passed and I eventually manage to gather the strength to step away, although never quite letting go as I held onto one of his hands in between both of my own.

"I'm trouble for you, Avery. You've nearly died twice because of me, once almost actually because of me. I'm a monster, and everything around me is doomed to die, like poison. I'd understand if you chose to leave. If you wanted to get as far away from me as possible. I'd understand." He said.

I raised his hand to my mouth, kissing his palm, then his wrist, then his palm again, like he did for me outside the house after the carnival. I pulled his arm forwards, pressing his hands to my chest, and I could feel each, electric, pulse of my heart, vibrate at his fingertips and get swallowed by the meat of his arm.

"I chose to open my vein to save your life, Aramis. It is a choice I would make again, and again, if it would see you live. I chose to come here, after nearly dying, into a den of night creatures with a penchant for drinking the blood of mortals, one of which nearly crushed my face with her forefinger and her thumb like it was nothing more than popping bubble wrap. I chose to sit and wait and learn, for eight hours, with people I didn't know, all just to make sure you're okay. And now I am asked to choose again..." I say, stepping forward so that there was no gap between us, clutching his hand to my chest while one my other hand pushed at his jaw so that his gaze would meet my own. Our lips barely an inch apart, his breath tickled across my face, sprouting goosebumps along my spine. His other hand hung loosely at his side, but I could feel it twitch with a hunger for some form of contact. "I choose you."

And he kissed me deep.

A/N: WOO! Sorry for how long it took for this chapter to come out. It was really difficult for me to write for some reason. But anyway, I thank you all for your patience, and I am glad you're enjoying (assuming you are if you've read this far lol)

Thank you all again for reading, it really does mean a lot to me.

Anyway... Enjoy! ^,..,^

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