Light
Her name is Veronica, but she introduces herself as Sunny, and I understand why immediately. She gives off warmth as I give off cold; I takes her hand and, for precious moments, my own feels alive again.
Her eyes are light brown, like cinnamon, and they brighten as she speaks. She considers her words carefully, and I can see her stringing them together behind her eyes, weaving sentences that spill from her lips with enthusiasm. Still, she remains calm, even as fascination dances in her gaze. She is drawn to me, I know. I can see curiosity mix with the fear, she is as delighted by my presence as she is frightened. And yet, when I attempt to enthrall her, to gently press into her mind to follow my command, she shakes it off as if she had not noticed it.
She is so unabashedly human; there's a thin scar on her left temple, she pauses in the middle of sentences, she cannot stop moving, tapping her boot heel on the ground or moving with the top half of her body as I walk around her, unwilling to let me out of her sight. Her brow quirks even as she tries to remain in control; her emotions are like words on a page as we converse.
I can see that she is captivated by me, but she still asks questions, politely pushes back. Her interest does not encompass her. She does not blindly obey as I make requests, she asks questions, she speaks her mind. She looks at me not like I am a god, but a riddle; she is determined, it seems, to figure me out.
I cannot rip my eyes from her. Everything I say prompts a surprise, an answer I didn't expect, her warmth never faltering even as I see the respect and the nervousness in her eyes. She is unflinchingly kind, unashamed of it; it is so strange, to find somebody so bright, so ready to share that happiness.
For the first time since my turning, I want nothing more than to relish the warmth of the sun.