It began with an itch beneath the skin, as if thousands of tiny creatures skimmed across the muscle and sinew of the whole body, changing the cold and quiet blood of the veins into a ticking time bomb. It would happen slowly at first, the bleeds being a particularly nasty part of forgoing rest after dawn breaks, but after that it would make the body weaker – vulnerable.

Eric slowly turned his head, eyes quickly alighting upon his progeny – his child, Pam. She did not need him to speak, nodding once in acknowledgement of his silent request, and promptly began ushering the last lumbering, drunken blood-bags out of the door. He was in no mood to treat with them tonight, and she knew it. Pam had an ability to sense his darker moods, and if they were to remain here comfortably for a prolonged period of time, he would need to keep these moods to himself as much as possible.

At least, that's what she tells him.

They had half an hour until dawn, judging by the feel of his body. And he trusted his body above anything and anyone on earth. Even Pam, with her blind devotion and utter commitment to him, was a liability. Hard as it was sometimes to picture her as human, body warm and pulsating with life as the first time he had seen her face, she still possessed a few very human weaknesses. Her blind devotion was one of them…it made her lose her highly valued common sense.

He noticed her approach once the bar had been closed and locked, though he did not look up.

'Go to ground,' he said, hoarsely. Hours had passed since he had moved, let alone spoken, and he had to clear his throat before adding, 'I will be down shortly.'

Pam folded her arms, 'Eric, listen to me. What has gotten into you?' Her words were lower, quieter than usual. This was a speech solely for his benefit, something private between the two of them. 'Never once in one hundred years have you cared about hearing it for yourself, so why now? What changed?'

Questions irritated him at the best of times, and coupled with his sombre mood the effect was instant. Pam realised that all too late, however.

'Enough!' he hissed. The blue irises of his eyes became chilling in that moment, dangerous even. When a human was on the receiving end of such a look, it reminded them of exactly what he was. Death. Inhuman. Vampire. 'You are old enough to know what it is, Pamela, but still too young to long for it!'

Blood pooled at the corners of her eyes, and she took a step back towards their personal exit door. He hated it when she cried, it was not this side of her that he loved…loved enough to bind her to him for ever. Fierce and strong, that was Pam, but it was too late to amend it now.

Her attachment was stronger than ever, and with each passing year, she got a few degrees warmer.

She spoke as the first drop of blood escaped her eyes, 'I don't want to hear it. I have no reason to. It's a ridiculous concept anyway. How many other supernatural beings do you know that hear a song in their dreams, to find a so-called 'soul mate'? Love is overrated, pointless!' she sobbed, as she threw his own words back at him. They were centuries old, yet he could still remember saying them to her. She took a steadying breath, 'We do not love. That is what you taught me.'

And he had believed it to be true, until now.

It had shattered his illusions of vampire life when he had first witnessed Bill Compton and Sookie Stackhouse together, always looking over their shoulders, never happy until they were within touching distance. Never before had he seen a vampire risk so much, for something so temporary – fleeting in the greater scheme of things. Compton had to know that Sookie would grow old, would get sick and die. The span of her life was nothing in comparison to the eternity Bill would have to then spend without her.

And yet, despite knowing what lay in wait for them both, they carried on fighting; ferociously, desperately, as each of them struggled to make their relationship lasting and worth it all.

He looked at Pam standing there, stubbornly ignoring his obvious wish to be alone in order to pull him out of his misery. That was love as well, he supposed. Not the same love that Bill felt for Sookie, it was not like that with her any more, and it made him think of his family from before. How good it had felt to destroy Russell Edgington in revenge for their murders. That was how Pam felt when she thought of him. It had been enough as well, that familial bond, but even that had lost its potency.

The itch beneath his skin became more intense, to the point where it actually became uncomfortable to sit for much longer. He needed to go to ground; he needed to sleep, if only to stop himself from thinking.

Pam did not move when he shot towards her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. She visibly relaxed, and looked up into his eyes questioningly.

'I was wrong,' he said after a moment. He thought quickly, assessing the consequences of telling her what he had learned. It was common knowledge among their kind that vampires heard music, a voice and a melody in their dreams when their 'soul mate' was within their midst. However, not one of those people lucky enough to hear it had ever revealed what it felt like. It was a risk, but she would never have to know the truth behind it. He sighed softly, 'It is rare that any one of us will hear the song, you know this, but what is not common knowledge is that Bill Compton has heard his.'

Pam raised a perfect eyebrow, 'And now you feel left out? Please. Can you imagine waiting centuries to hear this ridiculous song, only to find that it belongs to a bar maid in Bon Temps? How disappointing.'

'That is not the point,' Eric ground out, his patience becoming very thin as a buzzing sound began to fill his ears. They had ten minutes left, 'The music, the voice you hear in your dreams, it's supposed to be the most beautiful thing imaginable. You are never the same again once you hear it, no matter who, or what you have become.'

He shivered as blood began to drip from his nose, and when he felt a sharp tug on his hand, he did not fight back.

Pam remained silent as they descended into the vault beneath Fangtasia, the darkness like a balm against the heat that had begun to build in his veins. His coffin was welcoming as he lay down, cushioning his head on the soft, velvet pillow. The sleep was taking him already, and just before he slammed the lid back over himself, one voice reached him through the mist and fog inside his mind.

'Eric?' asked Pam, from a meter away in the far left corner of the vault. Her voice was quivering once more, and he knew that the blood would be streaming down her cheeks as she asked, 'I don't care what you do, or who for that matter. But please, don't release me.'

'That is not my intention.'

A resounding bang signalled that the lid of his coffin had closed, cutting him off from the world. Something stirred in his chest when Pam had made her request, something akin to panic. She was his child, nothing would ever change that. Not even the voice in his song.

Because Eric had a song, however distant it may be. A haunting, wailing, melancholic song that sent images of crashing waves and large wooden halls to assault his mind's eye. It was getting closer every day, louder and more vivid as the source approached him. He had kept it carefully locked away inside his head from the first moment the vibrations of sound had reached him

They would be here soon. Nothing was more certain.