This time with Avacyn is longer. There were a lot of good times, she and Sorin had laughed and cried and stayed up all night watching cheesy movies. It made him smile so wide his face hurt. Which just made it that much worse when he had to kill her.
The fever came over her one night like it always did in the middle of the night like it always did. It gripped her mind and darkened her heart. The next day her eyes would be tainted black pools and her words would be venom filled. Sorin would try to calm her down and reassure her that everything was fine. It never worked.
Eventually her fervor would stoke her into a violent rage and Sorin would have no choice but to end her life at the point of his own sword. At the end she would regain her sanity for a few brief seconds and say those three brief words that broke Sorin down every time.
One might assume that after thousands of years and dozens of reincarnations Sorin refused to cry. One would be wrong.
Sorin never knew who cursed him to live like this. A never-ending life of repeated murders and tragedy but he knew that he hated them.
Sorin had tried everything to rid himself of this curse. He had attempted to kill himself, but his vampiric curse forbade him from doing so. He tried starving himself, but he simply fainted for a few hours. He tried throwing his sword into the deepest ocean only for it to reappear a few minutes later.
He had tried ignoring Avacyn only once. She always approached him first and the one time he rebuffed her was the worst day of his life. The next day's paper had her in full color on the front page, blood flowing from both arms dressed in black and splashed against a hardwood floor. Sorin was thrown out of orbit and the world came crashing down. The headline read in big bold black letters those three words. His three words.
From that point on Sorin never ignored Avacyn. His time with her was never usually longer than a month long. They would meet in a bar or while Sorin was walking through the streets and she would introduce herself.
She was much more self-conscience as a mortal. As an angel Avacyn had glowed with radiant beauty. As a 20 something in the 21st century Avacyn was a liberal arts major in New York studying something like Journalism or Art. It changed every time.
Her hair was blonde now, not as ghostly white as it had been before, and her skin was tanned and gleamed in the morning sun. This time he met her as he left work.