To Whatever End.
I remember when Kurda told me he was a vampire.
Despite the cold and drafty room we were in, winter's winds howling just outside our door, he was sweating and seemed so sick, weak and almost collapsing, shivering in the dark corner farthest from me.
I was afraid, but I feared for him: imagining all manners of misfortune to have fallen upon him. What could have possibly put him in such a state?
Then he told me. Right out. At first, I did not believe my ears. Senses can be so deceitful in times of trial and anxiety. Then as his words registered in my anxious mind, I shook my head, no, that sort of thing only happens in the books made to scare people, the stuff of nightmares.
Kurda had covered his face and turned away from me, dissolving in the most heart wrenching misery that I had ever seen from a person. No not a person, my traitorous mind whispered, a monster. All the bones seemed to have left his body, for that instant, as he sunk to the floor, his fluid grace belying and yet betraying his non-humanity. He just huddled there, in that dark corner, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as if desperately trying to hold himself together, certain if he did not, he would simply break apart.
It took me only the span of a breath to recover from my initial shock--to determinedly push aside the innumerable thoughts vying for attention in my mind; mainly the ingrained fear of the evil, nightmarish being now cowering on the floor before me.
A veritable war for my soul began raging in my head, but I would not recognize it. I would only see Kurda, my heart, my beloved, suffering such agony on my behalf. How could I not see him for the man I knew him to be? Not as a vampire, but a man. The same man who had courted me so tenderly, doted unceasingly on me, and coaxed from me the first real stirrings of love this heart has ever known. For love him I did. Wholly, devoutly, even madly.
I went to him then, and took him in my arms, pressing his fair, golden head me, trying to soothe away his pain and reassure him that I still loved him. No matter what. Yes, I even spoke those exact words to him.
That was when I asked him what ailed him, what had happened to put him in such a state. His reply stunned me. He had been starved of human blood. The substance that he needed if he was to continue to live. Or rather exist. He put my fears to rest, however, despite his obvious pain by explaining in his usual lawyer's way that he did not survive on blood alone, but ingested it as a sort of tonic, a medicine if you will, in order to stay healthy. I remember laughing almost hysterically at his choice of imagery. But my heart softened at the gesture of putting my fears to rest.
It was then, that I did the ultimate sacrifice. I gave up my humanity, my ignorance of the world of the dark. The world that once you see, you can never unsee.
Taking the knife from its sheath in my pocket, I gashed my wrist, and held it up to him to feed.
For me at least, love did conquer all.
That gesture changed my life. As irretrievably and completely as if I had placed a wedding ring on my finger. My world would never be the same, simple, relatively normal world I'd always known. In offering my life's blood to Kurda, I would forever, yes forever, be transported into a new world few would ever see, let alone live in. I was from the on, his. I left my family, my life, and accompanied him into his. In the years that followed, I followed him willingly, even joyously into whatever dangers he had to go to.
The result was these three small scars on my left cheek, scars I have had to cover since his death.
However, I do not regret my decision, not for a second. My love for Kurda was what made it all bearable. His love for me gave me the strength and courage to live in his world; to embrace it with all its marvels, oddities, and yes, even its horrors. And to help him plan the scheme that was forever to change that backdated, conservative society. The tragically flawed plan he was executed for.
I missed him terribly that one time he went away and left me behind. But still I obeyed him as I wanted him to be happy with me, to be proud of me. As much as I wanted to be worthy of him. To be worthy of him was my heart's desire. But I did not have the courage that one time to follow my heart as it screamed for me to follow him as he left for Council.
I miss the way he looked at me, with such sweet affection, his touch upon my skin, his arms around me, his kiss so tender and passionate all at once. I miss his love. I'm nothing without it. Withought him, I am nothing. I crave him. Constantly. My body may continue to live, but I died inside, along with him.
What I had sworn that night, I meant every word. My vow to him, "to whatever end, we stay together, now and forever", broken. My heart mired forever in guilt all consuming.
I knew I was to be his assistant, as soon as he returned. But what I didn't know was that as he took the blood from me that fateful night, a trace of his blood had seeped into the wound I had made to feed him. I will be able to live a normal life, but I age slowly, and I will never regain my humanity. This and that jagged scar upon my left wrist. The marks that he has left upon me both physically and emotionally that will remain always. Our love and my very existence a long forgotten secret to both worlds. The secret that was lost with his life, his body. I am truly his last secret assistant.