A/N: Just a drabble about a vampire artist and his muses, new and old.
The best of us were warbeaten and ragged. I, having been kept a safe distance from the fight, had been spared more than a sprained wrist and a few nasty bruises. Grace, my Grace, had not been quite as lucky. A bomb had gone off too close to her troop. Her left side was mangled far beyond repair: her arm was missing, that lung was punctured, her leg was shattered and had to be amputated, and what hadn't been cut by shrapnel had been badly burned... She looked broken. Grace's eyes were glued to me, mine to her. Her head, bandaged to protect the horrible burns she could no longer feel, was sitting in my lap. I rested my hand against her cheek and traced small circles with my fingertips. "My little Grace," I murmured quietly.
"Stay with me, Lucas." Her voice was cracking, straining to be heard.
My lips pressed against her forehead, soft as a feather. "Go to sleep. You'll be okay," I lied to her.
She knew I was lying. There was no doubt in my mind she could smell it on me, but the words were enough to ease her mind just a little. Her face relaxed as she sighed. "Be here when I wake up?" she asked hopefully. She wouldn't wake. Coyotes were strong, but prideful things. She didn't want to live unable to provide for herself.
"I'll be here, Love."
I didn't cry until her chest stilled, letting myself fall forward and sob into her neck. I knew death wasn't an end to a life, but it was an end to her being here, with me. My hands clutched her shirt, knuckles white as I clung to her corpse. Something in my chest shattered then, something I feared would never be fixed. My beloved Grace was gone, leaving me to pick myself and move on with the war on my own.
Eventually, They came and pulled me away from her, my body numb to their prods and light shoves to get out of the room. Her ashes were spread in what was once Alaska, our wedding bands tied to a heavy stone and thrown into the ocean.
Water dripped from the brush clenched between my teeth onto the sore hand I cradled in my lap. As much as my viewers would have loved for an update to the comic I had been successfully avoiding, their update would again have to be put on hold. Instead, I had been devoting the last week and a half to personal art. Unsatisfied with simple doodles and sketches that would never be fully realized, I broke out my paints and got to work on a large canvas.
My gaze swept over the image, vivid colors and dull hues, crisp lines and stark contrast giving the image depth I hadn't managed in a very, very long time. The background was a darkened snow-scape, a forest of hardy trees off to the left, far enough away that it would have taken hours to get there by foot, should the viewer have stepped into the painting. The snow, itself, was shaded with bits of periwinkle and grey - the blue snow untouched by man. Powder was kicked up around a tawny coyote and it played with a lightning bug under the full moon. The night sky was dotted with stars that I could have sworn were really twinkling as I moved from one aspect of my creation to the next.
Two hands, slender and gentle, wrapped around my shoulders, and I looked up. She bent down, pressing her nose against the sensitive flesh behind my ear. "Is this what has kept you from hunting with me for two weeks, Sweet?" There was a laugh in her voice, and I could feel her smile into my hair.
I eased back into her, holding her face with my aching hand. "Ashamed to say, yes. But when a creation begs me to be brought to life, I am at its beck and call."
She turned my stool around so I could face her, and finally I took a deep breath I hadn't realized was stuck in my chest. (Old human habits die hard.) Vivian was a fine example of beauty. Red locks framed her face and fell past her shoulders in waves. Her pallid skin had radiance my brush could never capture, despite my skill. Ivy green eyes glimmered with just as much love as mischief, always alight with the thoughts she could never turn off. Her body was willowy and fragile in appearance, but I knew better than to believe everything I saw.
A soft smile crossed my lips, and I pulled Vi into my lap. She smelled of apples and spiced rum; she had been baking. Ages had passed since we first met, just after the Third World War, and her sweet Embrace had given me much. Her kitchen skill had not been one of them, not that it truly mattered. She cooked out of the love of cooking. The food went to the streets, to the rats, birds, and strays. "It is beautiful," Vi grinned at me. "We'll hang it in the bedroom?"
"No," I said after a pause. "I believe it will be hung in the parlor. I want to see it every night before and after we hunt." I still ached for my Grace, but it was easier after being turned. It came at a price: I never felt the sun kiss my skin; I never tasted fine foods and wine; all of the people I had grown to love before, I had abandoned. However, time had passed. I'd adjusted, and I didn't suffer anymore. My art soothed what you humans would have called a heart, Sire Vivian was all the company I truly needed - outside of my paints and canvases. I was content, and that was enough for me.