Let's get one thing straight. I. Am. Not. A. Bitch. And. I. Do. Not. Hate. Her. But most people think I am, because I let them. To correct this assumption would make everything much more complicated. I stand by everything I've ever said. I've never openly or plainly lied to someone. But I haven't always answered with the whole truth either.
When she asked me why I hated her I answered with the truth, or at least part of it. I do think she's throwing away her mortality, I do think she's making the wrong choice. But she never asked what the other choice is. I do mean IS too, not was, she can always change her mind and accept what most of us now see. But she, they even, all of them, are oblivious, to the truth.
When I said I wouldn't have chosen this life if I'd had a choice, it was the truth. The bloodlust, the constant gnawing hunger, the voice inside your mind that whispers how sweet it would be, that screams at you in the deepest and darkest part of the night to just give in, to embrace all of our creation. If you're not strong enough it will kill you, or worse, drive you insane. You will become the monster that we all fear, because it is so very, very easy to be that 'thing' that we know we truly are.
Does that mean I wish to die? No. Does it mean I don't want the life I have now? Absolutely not. Does it mean I hate him for giving me the 'gift' of immortality? Never. I don't hate him for being compassionate, how could he possibly know what I had truly experienced. Yes, he saw the incident that ended my mortal life, but he knows nothing of the living hell that preceded it. Of what happened behind closed doors, in private, of the unspeakable things that monsters inflict upon their prey. I died that night at his hands, he and his friends murdered me, plain and simple. But truthfully, he'd been wearing me down for weeks, months even, all because I believed in the pretty lie that tasted oh so sweet.
That perhaps is why I'm angry, because once again I'm being forced to live within the lie.
When I was 'saved' I was intended to be his, his special mate. But how could I? He's no better than the last man who almost owned and but did kill me. He is at least open about his weaknesses, his fear of losing control, but he's also a liar, and a very good one. I don't believe the pretty words so easily now, I see through the deception of the vain picture of a happily ever after notion. I see who he really is, and for that reason I could never be his.
It is also the very reason why I chose my monkey-man. He is everything the bronze-haired boy is not. He is infuriating with his childish games, with his teasing, but he is honest, reliable, trustworthy, open and so very clearly mine. He is self-sacrificing without being self-serving. By that I mean he just does what needs to be done, there is no showy behaviour, no grand gestures or overly dramatic scenes meant to steal my breath away. He simply does. He understands when the dry sobs wrack my body in the middle of the night because I still mourn the loss of my life. He understands when I need to be alone and choose to work on the cars in quiet.
He is my world and that is why I'm grateful that I have this existence.
That is precisely why I am beyond furious at the choices they're all making.
When they met she was all he could talk about, her sudden appearance in our world always made me question something, her encroaching into our lives brought with it great danger and risk. Something our little pixie normally would have foreseen and tried to prevent. So why didn't she? Or did she not see anything? Or did she keep this knowledge to herself and if so, why?
The first time we saw her in the school cafeteria I knew things would never be the same again. Not just because the whole school was talking about the new girl, or the Cop's kid, but because she looked at us as though she saw who we really were. That was not a good portent. As we all filed in, in our established couple-dom and took our seats, of course he had to be last, making an entrance of course. He really should major in drama at college this time, such natural flair for the dramatic. I watched as her eyes tracked us, unseen to her companions, but not to mine, not to any of ours. She watched us as we observed her. We inspected and analysed her, it amused me to great end when he couldn't read her mind. That is until he started suggesting that it must be a sign that she was meant for him.
That night he started to truly worry me. He started watching her while she slept, without her knowing. Creeping into her room and staring at her. Like most humans eye their meal on the dinner table and pretend they could have a relationship with it. No matter how much you may love meat, you can't fall in love with a T-bone steak.
We all watched them over the following weeks, on the surface he did seem to genuinely care about her, tried avoiding her because the temptation was almost too much to bear. On the field trip I knew something had changed. His behaviour at home was frightening, if you were human. Then she started trying to calm him down, quietly encourage him even. That struck me as odd.
Then there's the accident, the far too close a call that could have exposed us all. He left it almost too late, and why again did she not do something about it sooner. If she for one second believes that we accept she didn't see what was going to happen, she's the biggest fool of us all. Of course she saw, she sees everything. So why?
When he brought her to our home for dinner, invited the devil into our sanctuary, I could have ended him. In my mind the salad-bowl was his head. Then they floated in through the window, the exchange of words, the physical comfort she offered her, the bashful smile and flustered expression. I had my answer. So I watched, much more closely though.
He became obsessive, it appeared to be just the attention of a teenage boy with his infatuation. But he's not a teenage boy, he's over 100 years old. Our bodies don't age, but our minds do. He's not an inexperienced and innocent boy. He is the wolf in sheep's clothing.
He would leave them together, to babysit her, while he hunted, fed, so she was kept safe from harm. For months this continued, they grew closer, the prediction was correct, they did become very close friends. Their friendship made each other smile. It was thoroughly charming to see. As their friendship grew, he became possessive, then the marauders happened.
I'm glad he protected her, it's the least he could do considering it was all his fault. Just like what was to follow.
Her attempt to save her mother and even us was endearing to a degree. I respected her for that, it helped ease some of the resentment I felt towards her. Again I smiled when hearing about her confession that the mortal girl would be one of us. So she was keeping secrets. But his decision to prolong the torture, her mortality, I couldn't agree with. I hoped that one day, when she is one of us, that the change would reveal the truth to her, about him, and about her.
Then of course there's the Mutt... He smells. It's really my only problem with him specifically, and it's not even his fault. Again my issue is with the spoilt brat who insists he loves her. Her birthday should have been better than it was. I can't believe the empath lost it like that. We go to school everyday with how many girls who could at any given time be at that certain stage of their monthly cycle, and that doesn't push him over the edge? No! Or the various sports teams that all come in off the fields with injuries, that does nothing? No. But her itsy bitsy tiny papercut sends him into a frenzy? I don't buy it. There was something going on. Some sort of cover-up. They were in it together.
His abandoning of her never sat well with me. It's why the two of us left, I couldn't bear to be in the same place as him, watch him put on the show of missing his true-love whilst she watched daily and saw how things were really playing out. Watched the pain and suffering she endured because of us all. So we left. But I stayed in contact with my sister. I wanted to know if anything changed, for either of them.
It didn't surprise me to learn what happened. That she'd seen something terrible and had gone to see for herself, leaving her husband when the girl needed her, or if the worst had happened. I tried so very hard not to smile when I later heard the story of what happened, of the girl throwing herself into her arms, at the begging and pleading for her not to leave. Then the stench and arrival of the mutt. Of course she wouldn't leave. She never wanted to the first time. But he'd forced us all into it, with lies, always lies.
I probably shouldn't have done it, told him what I knew. But if she was dead, he should pay, he's as much responsible for her demise as that bastard was for mine. But truthfully, I wanted to see what he'd do. If the pixie was wrong, if she had survived, what would he do? Would he go to her? Would his first reaction be centred around her? Her family? No. It was about him, his grief, his intolerable existence that meant nothing without her. I think the lady doth protest too much. Guilty conscious much?
He did as I suspected, threw himself at the only form of execution we have. They saw fit to deny him. Funny that. That upon hearing the tale of woe even they, the most hateful, murderous, vengeful of our kind saw the poetic justice of the situation. Saw through the lie.
Then the two of them saved him. I almost wished they hadn't. It would be easier if they'd let him be ripped limb from limb, but then, the poor dear girl still believes the lie. Believes that there's only one who loves her. Maybe she's right, but which one? At any point they were all set free with the understanding that the mortal girl would be part of our world sooner rather than later, much to his dismay. Again, the seer revealed more than she had said, and why did our illustrious leader seem so pleased to know why the pixie had kept things secret.
When the redheaded wench returned with her newborn army I thought we might finally get some answers. The mutt and his packmates were all but frothing at the mouth for a good fight, my frustration over the whole sordid mess wasn't being sated by the most pleasurable of ways, much to my husbands annoyance. I was tired of watching this charade. Of their continued behaviour, of the denial of what was becoming so painfully obvious to anyone who actually bothered to open their eyes to see.
One is a liar, one is blind and the other who sees all does nothing.
That whole 'war' was nothing but a colossal waste of time, energy and lives. So many newborns who never knew that they were being used as a distraction, their mortal lives stolen only to have their immortal one thrown away by some psycho's delusions of revenge. All could have been avoided if it weren't for his actions, his pathetic need to control Fate. Fate can never be controlled.
Then the sham of their wedding. Oh la dee dah. Our infamous conversation, and my remembered words. Oh yes, she'd want the bloodlust. But I never said what that consists of, what desires are truly awoken when the truth comes out.
He, as usual, had everything how he wanted. The white wedding, the virgin bride, the tropical honeymoon. It was all about him. Not her. She never wanted to marry, she wanted this life, to be with us, all of us, she honestly thought and believed she loved him. I think a part of her still does. So they married, with the promise that she would die and be reborn into our world. It was the agreement, the deal.
Then the shit hit the fan in the most spectacular fashion. She conceived his child. He's over 100 years old, has been aware of 'protection' for at least the last 80 years, but thinks it won't be necessary. Honestly? Really? Am I the only one that isn't buying this? As if any of us hasn't heard of 'Sucubi' or 'Incubi'? We're VAMPIRES, the 'Doctor' of the house should've at least given him a heads up, a warning, a lesson in anatomy and biology if nothing else! Or did he and brains-trust think it wouldn't matter, because she's set to die anyway, so what does it matter? Until it does matter. Because it's a child.
I did notice when it changed from being a 'monster' to the 'child'. From the minute she knew she was carrying she wanted to see it through. It's why she called me. Me, of all people, because she knew that no matter how I may or may not have felt about her, I would respect her, her wishes, and do everything in my power to protect them both. Which is what I did. It almost cost me my sister. She didn't understand, none of them did. It wasn't about me getting a chance to have a baby by proxy. It was about a human girl who'd been lied to, manipulated, abused and mistreated by a bunch of life-draining, self serving immortal creatures who should have protected her from what was happening. But we didn't. We knew what he was capable of, we've known him for lifetimes.
But we betrayed her because we're family. That's why I crossed the line. It's why, when the end was coming, why the pixie left and made arrangements for the mutt and the baby to survive. If we were all going to die, it should be to protect her. To do what should have been done in the beginning.
When the baby was born I saw the change in the dog, he's not a mutt anymore, but a domesticated albeit smelly dog. I had wondered about this change, was it a show, another lie like all the others, still trying to win the girl's favour. But I saw him change before my eyes as his landed on the tiny bundle in my arms. I believe him, the imprint story, I've seen its evidence with my own eyes. While we waited to see if she'd return to us, I watched him, the puppy and the baby. He would protect her daughter as we should have protected her mother.
But as you know, we did all survive, they're still married, still live the fairytale, still believe the lie. The pixie returned with her husband to live with me and mine, and our parents who offered their children their gifts of love and compassion. Everyone thinks the doctor's gift is his control around blood. It's not. It's his compassion, his innate ability to help others without judgement or expectation, just hope. My husbands strength is a gift, but so too is his plain honesty and devotion to his family, the protection that saved me many times. The seer, the shield, empath and mind-reader are all well suited and sometimes I wish they'd hurry up and understand the proof for what it is, that things are not always as they seem, that the liar is just as caught up in the lie as the one who's been deceived. If only someone would tell the truth and set them all free.
Then there's me. I am beautiful, it is a gift that has helped me throughout the decades, to avoid discussions I do not wish to have, to avoid assumptions because I'm a pretty face and no-one believes I see more than I do. But that is my true gift. I do not see the future like my impish sister. I see through the veil, through the pretty words and pictures that liars would have us believe. I see the truth behind the lies.