A/N: Another entry for my month-long writing challenge. This one is a little darker than my previous works, not to mention it's from one of my all-time favorite series! The prompt was: "Silver."
Silver and Orange
"...I don't believe this," Darren muttered, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. He held a single strand of hair in-between his thumb and forefinger. This particular piece, unlike every other dark strand atop his head, was a blazing silver color.
"Ah, it seems that your age is finally beginning to show," a low voice commented from somewhere behind the boy at the mirror. Darren's focus shifted off to the side as his mentor, Larten, came up behind him in the glass. Though Larten was much, much older, his hair still remained a stubborn, bright orange. Of course, this discoloration had occurred through unnatural means, and due to this no one knew when it would begin to fade, or if the startling hue would remain forever.
Admittedly, over the past few decades the memorable color had grown rather endearing.
"I never thought I'd make it this far," Darren commented, a genuine sense of amazement and relief in his tone. The years had certainly been tough on both mentor and mentee, as their countless odds-defying experiences proved. And yet, despite all of the hardships and heartache, Darren still remained standing upright in front of the mirror, clutching a tiny piece of hair that represented so much more than a simple mark of physical old age.
Larten smiled- a particularly rare sight, for this time the expression reached his bright eyes as opposed to lingering just at the edges of his lips. The orange-haired vampire placed a firm hand atop his protégé's shoulder.
"I am so proud of you, Darren," the vampire said, meeting his gaze in the mirror and giving the boy's shoulder a squeeze. In response, Darren chuckled and returned the smile.
"Thanks, Mr. Crepsley." The Vampire Prince reached up to put his hand on top of Larten's. Just as his palm made contact, however, the image of the orange-haired vampire in the mirror faded as if blown away by a sudden gust of wind, and Darren's hand met nothing but the fabric of his own shirt. Swallowing hard, he looked away from the glass and muttered, quietly:
"I wish you could have made it, too."