They tried to make me go to rehab but I said "No, no, no!" (Sigh.) They didn't listen to me.

Chapter 2: The Asylum

In three hundred years, one can lose faith in the human species. Prisons and school houses were two of the institutions I despised most. Some days they claimed to be educational. They paraded around saying that they could teach right from wrong, and prove and all things, especially those of evil nature, had a consequence. Being alive for three hundred and twenty-six years proved to me that not all things of evil nature were punished; my existence was the exact definition of that proof.

I had learned the tricks of living through each passing century and found each more strict than the last. Everyone's names were on paper, both the poor and rich. Histories were marked down…although those seemed to still be of only the rich and important. Few histories were written of a man who did not leave an impressive mark on the world.

In this century, of the year 1918, the World War ended. There was rejoicing, there was grieving, but most of all, the emotion was relief. There was homecoming, but there were burials. Some didn't know what to feel. I had no loved ones involved, for all my relatives had died centuries ago. I had lost track of the cousins, finding no interest in watching the family tree grow and spread its branches. I had made few friends in my strange immortal life, so I didn't feel the pain of losing them either. I hadn't been called on to enter the war, for my name was not on any papers. I only had my job at the asylum due to some forgery. No government knew my real ancestry.

I had begun my work at the asylum for many reasons. One reason was because it was a place where you could see both extremes of human emotion—foolish, uncontrollable happiness and pitiful, weak, depression.

The second reason was because I wanted to help them, as best I could. I had some knowledge of medicines and the medical practices of being a doctor, but I knew I wouldn't be able to control myself in a hospital. There was too much blood. So, I helped those whose minds were ill, rather than their bodies.

Some days I reasoned with myself that I was helping because I was bored; the life of an immortal was not the most full-filling. Other days, I knew that, if I was being honest with myself, I was doing it for Esmera, my long lost wife. She learned piety, kindness and charity before her time. And she had radiance in her eyes. And she was the loveliest woman I had ever laid eyes on. In all my years, I had never seen her equal. There had been many beautiful, radiant women, if I was honest with myself, but none matched her. Her dark hair, dark eyes, soft skin, and a smile that seemed to hold secrets, ones that I wanted to take from her, one kiss at a time.

But, luck had not been with me. My Esmera was gone.

I was vampire now; I was immortal; I was lonely. Talking to the patients, trying to make sense of their insanity entertained me, as wicked as that was. But finding pleasure in their twisted words was only the third worst of my crimes.

Second was my blood lust, and how I handled it. I took those patients who were killing themselves from their thrashing, those whose lips could no longer form words and their stares stared nowhere real, and I sucked from them the blood that sustained me. I found no guilt in killing those who were already more dead than alive.

That was until I met her. My worst crime was how I treated her, above the rest. She was in there wasn't she? Wasn't she just as crazy as them? But she didn't talk like them; she had some reason to her speak. When her body shook and she stared at the door before anyone entered…she intrigued me. She always knew when I was coming, and she told me so. She smiled at me, weakly, for the shock treatments had left her so frail. Thankfully, she was calm enough not to earn more shock treatments and wise enough not to mention any of her intuitions to anyone but me so there was no reason to continue the torture. Those who were wild and declared seeing monsters and shadows of the future were given the more frightening therapy.

She had asked me to call her Alice, so that she could be reminded of her days as a dancer, when she was happy. She said her first name brought her only memories of pain, of betrayal. I honored her request, and cringed whenever I heard a nurse or doctor call her by the name 'Mary'. Was I the only one to notice the sting in her eyes when she remembered her past? Did they really think that someone locked in here would want to remember why they were sent here?

But the most shocking thing about Alice wasn't her sanity, but the way she spoke. Tired and drained, she still had more energy than a ball of flame. Her smile sent electricity flying through the room. The nurses smiled when they knew it was their turn to visit her, to hear what comment she would have on how they did their hair, or wore their uniforms, or even how pretty they looked. She would ask for news of the outside world, and they would gladly give it to her, knowing that it wouldn't harm her.

Of course, there was a downside. Sometimes they came in just to deliver news and she turned her head away, interrupted their speech, and said she had already heard it. The nurses gossiped about it; they thought her eerie way of knowing things was what convinced the doctors she needed to stay. But I knew that it was two things. One, it was their pride, two, it was their own psychosis.

The doctors, most of them, all had good intentions. They wanted to help, but they also wanted to be proved right. They wanted the next break-through. The war was over, but there were still more reasons to rejoice when a sick family member returned home at last.

However, there were others of their kind who had poisoned minds. They took advantage of their female patients. I had tried to accuse and punish those who acted on their sickened fantasies, but legally, I had no proof. So, I stalked them at night, and murdered them before they acted again.

Unfortunately, that left the asylum with few doctors. The sick inside the walls needed their help, their medicines, their break-through ideas, so I couldn't kill them all. I allowed the good doctors to live, to keep their morals, and I allowed the doctors whose minds were dark to live only if they helped more than they hurt.

Some had their eyes on Alice. She was beautiful, even in her frail state. Her hair—which had been dark, long, and beautiful, like my Esmera's—had been shaved, as was custom of all patients. She had been bald when I first met her, and she had been ashamed of it. The nurses let her hair grow out, to keep her from depression, but she had a seizure, and a complete mental break-down. From what I heard from the gossiping nurses, she had grabbed a nurse and warned her that she was going to be hit by a car. The nurse left that night, and, just as Alice had predicted, was killed in a car accident. The other nurses were wary of any Model T. after that. Alice's head was shaved again, to remind her again to not mention when she saw things—things that they told her were untrue. Myself, I wasn't convinced.

Even now, as I walked toward her room, chart in hand, and syringe hidden, I knew she didn't deserve to be here. In my long, extended life, I had seen many things to prove that the strange was completely possible. I felt with a burning conviction that that was the case with Alice Brandon.

I knocked on her door, out of curtsey rather than warning. I was sure she already knew I was coming, and she wouldn't be able to hear the knock anyway (although she swore she did). I opened the door, but, for a second, even with my keen eyes, I didn't see her. I heard her heart beat, so I wasn't worried—at first. But her breathing was shallow. I traced my eyes around the room and found her figure, caved into to corner, curled into a ball. Her skin looked so pale—white as mine.

"Alice? It's Charoum," I murmured. She didn't stir—instead, her breath stopped.

I stepped forward, worry crumpling my brow. Usually, she jumped up the instant I came into the room. What would cause her hesitation?

"Are you feeling sick today, Alice? Is there anything I can do?" I continued, stepping slowly toward her. "I know it's been a rough week, being that Nurse Aurania didn't listen to that sound advice you gave her. I hear she's going to recover from that bee sting. As soon as it was mentioned that you suggested that she might be allergic, they figured out what to give her. She's entirely stable."

I stopped when I had reached her, setting my things on the floor and sitting behind her. With any other patient, this would be considered dangerous protocol. Not dangerous for me, of course, since I was indestructible, but for most patients such near contact was disturbing. Alice preferred close contact. In this moment though, she cringed away from me. With her back to me, it was hard to tell if it was because of the cold I brought with me or because she knew that I was here to inject her with the poison that the doctors referred to as 'medicine'.

"I'd never hurt you," I promised, gently laying my hand on her shoulder. She cringed away, but let me settle my hand there. "I am here to protect you, I swear. I'm not even going to use the syringe today. You don't need it." I paused when I felt her body relax. "To be honest, I don't think you ever needed it."

Suddenly, she hoisted her body up swiftly, leaning against the wall, her eyes studying me closely. She narrowed them and stared into my eyes. The dark circle under her eyes told me that she hadn't slept all night. They were so much darker than usual, a grey-purple color, too. A lash of guilt hit me. I hadn't checked on her last night as I did every other night. I had been assigned work in another wing.

Alice's lips twisted into a content smile. "Your eyes are so bright today, Mr. Colopatiron," she commented cheerily, the sound barely audible. "It's as if I have the sun placed right before me, even when in this awful dark cell."

I smiled. Even in her tired state, she was a bundle of energy.

Her hair was covering almost all her head. I was pleased they were allowing her enough dignity to have hair again. Although there was hardly enough to count as a lady's hair, it was at least past the bald stage. Maybe if they released her within a year, she could pass as a pretty young lady, instead of an escaped asylum victim.

"And it is so nice to hear your voice today, Mr. Colopatiron," she said in a weak voice, so that I required the best of my hearing to make it out. Her voice was more of a breath than actual sound.

But when I worried over that sign, I worried not for her health. The tone of her breath—her voice—it wasn't out of weakness of health. It was fear. Something terrible had frightened her. It had to be terrible, because I knew Alice too well by now to think it was something made up in her own mind. I jumped to the conclusion that she had seen something straightaway.

"Alice, is something about to occur?" I asked wearily, hoping it wasn't something that would get her into more trouble.

"Yes."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my right brow. "Does it affect someone you know?"

"Yes."

"Does it affect you, Miss Brandon?"

I was trying to put together a plan to convince her to not tell another soul about what she had seen coming, to save her from another shock treatment. Even as she spoke, I was playing out conversations in my head to make her keep silent.

"It most certainly does," she replied, with a little more enthusiasm. "And I was terrified to bits when I saw it. I hardly slept all night."

I opened my eyes to examine her eyes again. "I can see that."

She leaped from the floor and crossed the room. "I think it's the second worst thing I've ever faced in my short life, Mr. Colopatiron," she confessed. "I can hardly think straight about it. But I know my heart won't recover this time. That's a certain fact. But what else will come of it, is still unknown to me."

"Please, don't tell anyone this time, Alice," I begged, moving too quickly to stand beside her.

She didn't turn her head. She didn't seem to notice that I had moved at a pace too impossible for a human. She simply sighed and smiled broader.

"Relax, Mr. Colopatiron, this isn't a sort of secret that the world needs to know about," she teased. "This is a sort of secret that needs to be kept secret to the exact definition of the word."

"What could have seen Alice?" I puzzled aloud. "Normally, you want to warn others when something is about to occur. What's so different about this? I thought you told me you didn't believe in secrets?"

There was a split-second of silence. She partly turned her head, just enough so that I could make out her expression clearly. She was a mixture of uncertainty and nervousness. It was so unusual to see her uncertain, that my own expression changed to shock.

"I did say that, Charoum—if I have right to call you by your name, sir," she articulated, eyes on me as I nodded to give her permission. "I believe that secrets are only meant to destroy trust around intimate friends and common people. But there are some secrets that should never be spoken aloud."—she spun on her bare heels to face me with absolute trust and pride in her eyes—"In this case, Charoum, I assure you that I do not spill the secrets of others. This is not an accident waiting to happen, and it is of no other danger to innocent lives, so I swear no one will know."

"You're seeing secrets now, Alice?" I chuckled. "You said you saw things—events—can you read minds now?"

She giggled. "Why, that would be impossible! Why would it cost a penny to hear thoughts when I could hear them for free? Hardly worth the cost."

Her expression switched in the blink of an eye. Her smile dropped to a frown.

"Won't you tell me, Alice?" I pleaded.

She shook her head. "Do what you came in here to do," she directed. "And then you should leave."

I wanted to press the issue, but the circles under her eyes reminded me that she needed time to rest.

"I just came to check up on you," I lied. "You should get some rest, Miss Brandon."

She nodded again, but didn't move an inch.

With nothing else to say, nothing else that would help her, I gathered my things and took leave to attend to my other patients.

For the entire week, she would look upon me with fear when I met with her. By when the length of our conversations increased, her eyes changed, proving that whatever had haunted her about me before was vanishing. I was unbelievably pleased to have her trust me again.

Somehow, I had bonded with Alice—much more than I should have. Not only because she was a patient I attended to, but because she was mortal. And her blood—her scent that permeated the room—was the most delicious scent I have ever experienced. The taste of the air was so tangible around her. My mouth was brimming with venom when I came within a foot of her. It was only because of how much I cherished her company and enticing conversation that I was able to leave her alive.

So, knowing that she trusted me tore at my heart, knowing that I could easily kill her any second that she became too tempting. But I loved her too much to part. I wanted to always see her face.

After a week, I brought up the conversation again, about what she had seen. She refused to speak on it. I was persistent though, and she seemed to want to share, underneath all the denial.

"This troubles you, I can tell," I said, laying my hands on her shoulders. She was so tiny, so fragile, that I bowed my body in half, afraid that her neck might snap if she were forced to look too far upward.

"It's nothing," she deflected. "I want to hear something of what's happening in the world! I haven't seen Mother in seven months. Do you know if she is planning a visit?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "To the best of my knowledge, your recent outburst about the head nurse's husband having an affair has prohibited you from being allowed visitors."

"That's too bad," Alice pouted. "But I didn't really want to see her anyway."

"And your sister?" I pried.

Alice traced invisible patterns in the floor, ignoring my question.

"Please tell me what you saw."

"It is nothing you don't already know," she reassured.

"Then it can't hurt to tell me," I griped.

"It can hurt," she muttered. She began twisting her fingers and hands into strange shapes. She stared at the wall and smiled whenever she finished a shape. "I can't wait to go camping."

I ignored the insane comment—knowing that it was probably she had seen coming, not that she had finally lost her mind.

I lowered myself to her level, trying to force her to meet my eyes, but she ignored me.

"How much can it hurt?" I prompted.

"A lot," she sighed.

"Who is it going to hurt, Alice?" I inquired.

"Me," she said. Her hands dropped to her sides.

"It's hurting you already, by not being able to talk about it," I rationalized. "So don't you think it's better to share it?"

Her eyes scanned over the floor, coming up slower than molasses to meet my gaze. She set her hands on her hips and her mouth formed a frown.

"It might hurt more than I can bear if dare share it with you," she said.

I had barely a half-second to puzzle over that when she giggled and put her finger on her chin.

"I quite brilliant, rhyming like that," Alice laughed. "I'm a poet and I didn't even know it." She paused at that and giggled again. "Maybe when I get out of here I'll write whole sonnet. I'll write a whole book just for you, Charoum."

"Have you seen…yourself getting out of this place?" I wondered hopefully.

I was happy if it were possible, but was quite sad, thinking of the possibility that she would leave me. My smile was worn bitterly, trying to pretend for her that I wanted her to be free. But isn't that the way of the world? Trapping a bird in a cage only to hear her sing. That's why all of them were here. So that we could watch upon them as they slowly unwound. As each of them forgot how to use their wings, as they domesticated. They were trained to live in their cages, to adapt to the normal way of thinking. But they were meant to be crazed and wild.

Alice, wild and beautiful, was thankfully—so far—unchangeable. She retained the beauty that so many lost when they were sent here. Those deemed insane were beaten down until whatever path they had been on was inaccessible. Mainstream society was the only definition of sane.

"Whether I get out or stay in depends entirely on you, Mr. Colopatiron," she announced raising her hands in the air. "So do I stay or do I go?"

"Alice," I winced. "You know I have no control over that."

Her arms fell. "You and I both know, sir, that you could easily arrange my exit," she whispered conspiratorially. "I am certain it is within your range of…talents."

I chuckled. "Talents? You mean besides checking charts and making conversation?"

"You are at least thirty and five, are you not?" Alice pried. "I myself am only ten and four,"—she paced around the room as she spoke—"Quite young to be so thoroughly trapped." She plopped herself onto the floor and put her head in her hands. "What a bother."

"I am thirty-six, Miss Brandon," I answered, "since you insist on asking. But, you are not fourteen anymore."

Alice's head snapped up. "I'm not?"

"Time does seem to get lost in here," I sighed. I clasped my hands behind my back.

"How strange," she said. "So how old am I?"

"Seventeen, Miss Brandon."

She sat up straighter and grinned. "I am quite old," she cheered calmly. "I should definitely be allowed a brandy when I am released from here. Mother can't refuse me and Father..."—she cut herself off and seemed to remember that her father was deceased—"Well, even if I weren't older he wouldn't have a say in the matter."

"You changed the topic," I commented. "Very skillfully, actually—I almost forgot my question."

"I was so close," she sighed.

"So what talents of mine are you referring to?"

"The talents that would put my life uniquely in your power," she dodged. "No syringe today, I see. That's some good news. Any other news for me? Another war, perhaps? Has my family remembered me yet?"

"How would your life be in my power?"

Her head flopped backward as she stretched her arms out behind her. The scent coming of her neck was insatiable. My eyes rolled back. Resisting her was hard when so much of her skin was free from the usual bondages they kept the patients in. Her open neck made her blood especially tempting.

"More frequently, sir, I have been seeing many situations with you and myself," she revealed. "Not of the nature on which Dr. Reeves visits me, of course…"

I pictured Dr. Reeves. He was a gray-haired man of thirty-nine and a taste for his patients in appropriate ways. His wife didn't know. But I didn't have enough cunning to tell her. I was shocked that I hadn't realized that he had focused his eye on Alice.

Alice's eyes widened and she gasped. Her body lurched forward.

"Alice!? What's wrong?" I bellowed, flying forward to check on her. Her gaze was focused on something far off, so I didn't worry that I was moving at an inhuman pace.

She mumbled incoherent words, sounding like "Help, don't, kill".

I checked her pulse. It was bit quickened, but nothing too drastic.

Alice's hand grasped my shoulder. She eyes focused on my face. "He hasn't touched me," she assured me tersely. "So don't hurt him. Patella Kato needs his new formula to cure her seizures."

I was stunned. Somehow, she had guessed my exact train of thought. She had spaced out and somehow came back with that knowledge. And how did she know that he was working on a new 'vaccination' for Mrs. Kato?

"Mrs. Kato suffers from horrid mood swings, Alice," I explained. "There are no seizures."

"But there will be, tomorrow morning," Alice recited. "Only Dr. Reeves can help her."

I nodded my head stiffly.

She smiled with relief. "Thank you."

I stood abruptly, keeping a safe distance from her sweet scent. There was sweat on her brow from her strange episode and although there was more salt in it than I usually liked, with her scent infused with it…it was unbearably good.

"What talents, Alice? What could I possibly do to Dr. Reeves?" I questioned. "What is it you saw that worries you so much? Can't you tell me?"

Alice stood. "It was about you," she started.

"I had a feeling that was the case," I sighed sharply. "Was it really so terrible? You've been afraid of me all week!"

"And I've decided it doesn't matter to me," she cheered. "You are the only one I have in this entire world."

I peered at her over my shoulder.

"The only person who is…close to me," she rephrased. "If I tell you, I may lose that."

"You won't, Alice," I promised, facing her. "You can always trust me, and I will always be here."

Her smile turned shy and she blushed. The fresh scent to her cheeks brought a smile to my lips. Thankfully, she was staring at the floor, so she didn't see how wicked my expression was in that moment.

I approached her and put my arms around her. "You're safe with me," I whispered. "I won't let any harm befall you."

There was a second of silence. Alice drew in an unsteady breathe and stiffened.

"I promise your secret is safe with me," she assured me. "But, please…don't hurt me."

"I've already told you, I won't hurt you," I reminded her, my smile faltering.

"I mean because of…what you are," she rephrased. "Don't hurt me."

I pulled backward. My arms stiffened at my sides and my jaw dropped in shock.

"What I am?" I rasped.

She bit her lip as it started to tremble. She nodded her head.

I narrowed my eyes. "And what exactly do you think I am?"

"Something…out of the ordinary," she explained. "Something extraordinary—something I've never encountered before."

I worked hard to hold my composure. "Out of the ordinary as in inhuman…?"

She nodded again, slower this time. Her eyes met mine for a second, but she winced away.

I covered my eyes with my hand. My head was reeling from the sudden revelation. What exactly had she seen?

Tears spilled over her cheeks. I stood, saying nothing, doing nothing, unsure what to say.

"What secret, Alice?" I questioned. "I have no secrets. I am just as human as you are."

"Of course," she sighed, hugging her arms around herself. "You have no secret. And I am completely normal." She laughed. I looked through my fingers wearily. "That's why I'm in a place full of psychos. I'm normal."

"What is it you saw that would make you think that I have a secret?" I prompted.

"You have no secret," she mumbled angrily. "Forget I said anything."

"What did you see? Did I do something? Was I with someone? Was I in your sight?" I stammered. Could she really have figured out my secret through one of her visions?

"Uh, I saw that you brought the syringe," she said, obviously lying. "That's the big secret. You have it hidden. Not so bad."

She made her way back to the far left corner, wiping her eyes as she went.

"Did you see me, Alice?" I asked in a voice too loud to pass for nonchalance.

"I saw nothing," she lied again, sitting down in the corner with her back pressed into the wall.

I moved too quickly. I was too out of control to pay attention. I crossed the room and grabbed her shoulders, peering into her eyes with my own eyes large and wild with fear.

"What did you see, Alice?" I demanded.

Her head shot back into the wall when her eyes focused on me. She looked passed my head to where I had been standing a half-second ago and then back to my face. Her eyes were wider than saucers and her face was paler than it had been when I had seen her, pale with fear and tiredness, a week ago.

"I saw something like this, Mr. Colopatiron," she whispered. "Only you were honest."

I released her shoulders and stepped back.

Scenarios rushed through my mind. She could tell people about me. I could be found out. But she was in an asylum, so no one would believe her, right? So that was covered. I didn't need to worry over being forced to leave the asylum—being forced to stop helping the mentally ill as best I could.

But that wasn't what I was most worried over. If Alice had seen anything that implied what I was, then the fears in her tone when I walked in made sense. If she was afraid of me, if she told that other nurses that she feared me, then I wouldn't be allowed to see her again. 'It wouldn't be beneficial to her health,' as the head nurse would say, 'to continue seeing her'. I couldn't have that.

"I know what you are, and I will not expose you," she swore, placing her hand over her heart. "You are my most intimate friend, and I trust you, besides that."

"Do you really know what I am?" I demanded, crouching to the floor.

"Yes."

"Then say it," I hissed. "Name me for what I truly am, little Miss Alice."

"I think I shouldn't," she argued. "It makes it worse."

"Am I a too much of a monster?" I seethed.

"Sir, you are a poor soul who has been wickedly trapped into being an immortal of a most foul means," she resolved. "Not a monster."

"Name me by the creature I am," I insisted.

She sucked in a large amount of air and held her lips tight together. Her eyes held the resolve to tell me. I waited. She leaned forward and in a low voice, with great courage, said:

"You are a vampire."

I hissed and sprang to the other side of the room, running my hands through my hair. She had figured me out and I was now beside myself with aggravation. She had known for the past week—had feared me for that long! She had lost sleep over knowing what I was.

"I saw you, with Miss Dina, the girl who went missing," Alice confessed. "She had been thrashing so horribly that she broke her wrist and broke Miss Regina's nose in the process. I know you did it for the good of this institution. That's why I trust you, why I would never tell anyone. I swear."

"Didn't you see what I did to Mr. Carpenter last night?" I raged, spinning to face her, and then, so suddenly she screamed, leaned into her face and lightly grabbed her neck. "All he did was get in my way. But because I was a little thirsty I decided that he would be my victim."

She swallowed hard. The movement was caught inside my hand. I loosened my grip and brought my face closer, lowering my voice.

"You could be next, Alice," I warned.

"That's what I saw, Mr. Colopatiron," she confided. "I saw my death last week. I saw you bring my life to an end with my blood being sucked up like a bee to nectar. Me, of course, being the flower and you, obviously, being the bee."

I removed my hand from her neck. "So why not run?"

"I'm locked in here," she reminded me. "I get out of here for eight hours each day to either paint or talk about my thoughts with someone who could care less if I'm talking about the birds and the bees, the color yellow, why there is fire in the water, or about the latest president." She paused. "If I mention that my only friend wants to drink my blood, I hardly think they'll call me sane."

I grinned. "No, I suppose not."

She rolled her eyes, an attempt at nonchalance, but her lip was trembling.

"So, what's next?" I wondered. "Is this the part where I kill you?"

"That's up to you," she said. "You didn't kill me last week, like you were supposed to. So, you choose."

"You're afraid to die," I realized, seeing her shaking increase.

"I'm not afraid of you," she bluffed.

"That's not what I said," I continued. "I said, you're afraid to die. Why?"

"Why? Do I need a reason? I'm insane, remember?"

"An insane person has no need to be afraid to die," I reasoned. "They already are."

"I beg to differ," Alice snapped. "They are equally alive as either you or me."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "I'm already dead and you're about to die."

Alice gulped. "Okay, so that's not a correct assumption. Since I am soon to die and you are not quite alive, I suppose they are more alive than either you or me."

"Precisely," I simpered.

I watched her quivering lip. How it reminded me of my dear Esmera! How she would make such a face when she worried if I wouldn't come home from battle, or if she worried our child wouldn't come soon enough…I could think no more of that. I examined Alice's face again. How much she looked like my Esmera. She was smaller, more energetic, and younger, but so close in appearance. I could picture the still body of my child—my little girl—when she was born. I wondered if she would look like Alice.

Thinking on that, I couldn't bear to hurt her. Alice Brandon, who reminded me so of my wife, who I so wished were bound to me in some way, was quivering from fear of me. If only she had been born to me three hundred years ago, that my Esmera hadn't been butchered by the vampiress who had altered my life so…If only I had the life I had wanted, and the end I had hoped for. Instead, I was on this earth as a monster.

I had one choice though. Alice's family had abandoned her. So, why couldn't I keep her? She would have no objection. There was no one else who would want her.

"Except, Alice," I continued, "I think you deserve to live. You deserve to leave here."

"We'll see," she muttered.

I leaned backward and she relaxed. Her shaking stopped.

"When am I to die, then?" she demanded nervously.

"I won't kill you," I promised.

"Today," she interjected.

I smirked. "Today."