A/N: I was thinking that there were a lot of Pam's POV of the night she was turned, so I thought I would do one from Eric's. Mostly because it kind of bugged me why, after c.800 years, Eric decided to create a child. This is what I came up with (probably OOC and it's not strictly canon, but as this is for the show, not the books, I thought that wouldn't really matter), hope it works and that you enjoy it! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

She Was His
Eric: "Don't Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes"

~*~
If I'm gone too long don't forget where you belong
When the stars come out remember you are mine

Don't let the stars get in your eyes
Don't let the moon break your heart
Love blooms at night in the daylight it dies
Don't let the stars get in your eyes
Oh keep your heart for me for someday I'll return
And you know you're the only one I'll ever love
-"Don't Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes," Dean Martin
~*~

When he first saw her she was perfect.

Her small heart shaped face and golden ringlets added to her flawless, doll-like appearance.

He had always had an eye for beauty, and hers was extraordinary, but it was the fire that burned in her eyes, child though she was, that truly drew him to her.

He had always had a soft spot for children as well, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, least of all himself. If he had then he might have been able to explain to himself with greater ease why he found himself walking towards her.

He smiled at her and, with a flourish, produced a blood-red rose as though from thin air and handed it to her.

She smiled at him, causing her eyes to dance in childlike wonder as she accepted the rose – without even looking at her adult companion, something he had not witnessed in a child before.

She was not afraid of strangers. She was not afraid of him.

He decided that he liked that.

As he watched her walk away, swathed in furs and walking beside her companion – again detracting from the normal child behaviour in not holding her companion's hand – he found himself wondering what it would be like to have her fire, her fearlessness, for himself.

But she was so young…

Shrugging off his feelings, which were mingled with something like regret, he turned and walked away into the softly falling snow; missing the little girl pause and look back over her shoulder at him.

…

He had never thought that he would see her again, but when he did he knew it was her.

Her beauty had not diminished, but matured and softened into the graceful figure of a young lady.

She laughed now, instead of smiling, a deep, throaty chuckle that told of her lust for life and, he noticed, was frowned upon by her family. The fire was there too, crackling in her eyes, blooming on her cheeks and dancing in her smile.

Yet it was the blood-red roses that she had laced in her hair that caught his attention.

Then her eyes had found his.

She had recognised him, but was still without fear; instead her eyes had challenged him.

He found himself wondering whether she had surrounded herself with young men on purpose, to taunt him. He didn't like it, she was his.

And he knew in that moment that she always would be.

…

He found her much later in the garden.

There was no struggle; she had been waiting for him.

When it was over and he held her lifeless body in his arms he felt an odd sense of completeness.

As though he had been searching for something for the past 800 years or so and had finally found it.

He heard voices, her companions were looking for her; tightening his hold on her he carried her away.

She would never belong to them again.

She was his.