Sometimes he could pretend that he was normal again, whole and fully alive. He could hold Rose in his arms and let himself believe that the heat of sunlight on the back of his neck and reflection of the day in her eyes was his now- that he belonged to the warm bright place that he had once been forced to renounce. He would lie on the soft grass, vital green and gently brushed with a fine coating of dew, and stare at the glorious sun for as long as he would dare. He'd raise his hands and watch as the light filtered through them, then turn to Rose, her dark hair made golden, and smile and tell himself this world was once again his home. He'd close his eyes and bask in the comforting lie.

For he knew it was a lie. Deep inside, he felt the skittering of doubt gnawing at him, the sting of the untruth pinch into his gut, the sorrow of it all tugging at his heart. He tried desperately to ignore this, but when he was alone at night, eyes wide and open to the inky darkness he had once thought was the only place he would be able to be, he could feel the truth inside him.

Buried down, though not gone, he could hear it, banging on its cage and vying for freedom. The strigoi. Unlike outside at noon, when he could pretend the light burned away his other half, in the dark abyss of midnight, no such denial functioned. Ever since that blood had entered him. He had never quite recovered. His dhampir self had reawakened, but the strigoi did not sleep. He could feel it, cursing in his mind and coaxing violent thoughts within him, yearning for the blood which had once been his sustenance. It showed him images of Rose, throat torn open, dark blood pooling around dark hair. It begged for release, and he feared one day he would be weak enough or wrathful enough to comply. He wanted to leave Rose and Lisa and everyone else, and never return, for he knew his absence might be the only thing that could protect them from himself, but every time he tried, he failed. The strigoi inside him laughed with cruel hysteria as he packed and unpacked his bags, quickly putting everything away before Rose could see. It happily told him of how, one day, it would come out and wreak havoc on his Moroi and dhampir friends, how it would torture his lover slowly, enjoying the scent of her fear. It encouraged him to let it out, and some days, even under the bright, lovely heat of summer day, he thought he might.