Author's Note: Just a small warning about the rest of this story, it jumps around a fair bit. But don't worry about trying to keep track, it's not all that important.
1882
The crackling fire casts eerie glows across the unaltered face of the one whom he abandoned so long ago on that night. She sits patiently, waiting and still. Finally, he enters, nervously at first, then with increasing courage.
She stares into the flames and whispers, "You've come back to me then? These hundreds of years passed."
He stands silently in the corner, as impassive as she, looking on in a certain awe at what he cannot place.
Her gaze meets his and she smiles unhappily, "I've changed, I know. Not in the way one would think, but to now be more beautiful, more terrifying, more cold, more cruel than ever I was. Time works its miracles.
"I suppose, perhaps, that you are still frightened of me, of this soft, sophisticated demeanor that the centuries have tempered."
She stands and walks swiftly toward him, softly taking him by the arm and leading him to a cushioned seat. "How do you fare, my gentle poet? Has the world treated you well? Does your hatred for me still blaze beneath your breast?"
He looks away and she turns back to her chair. "To think you could have died that night and on any gone by!" she says to herself.
He starts at this but allows her to continue on, "Why do you live still, troubadour? What gives you reason to breathe? That is, if you do breathe."
Reproachfully, she shakes her head at him. "There is not one who has ever existed in such a state. Not a vampire, not a witch, not a demon . . . what classification would you use?"
Not letting him answer, she hurriedly puts in, "You were a scholar once, monsieur Pierre. Do you still study, study those who come and go as you do not? Does your changelessness hurt you, as you do not know from whence it came?"
She leans forward and whispers secretively, "My diligent child, there are so many others, so many like me, who could help you in your quest. Would you take their names, would you if you knew they would weep at the sight of you?"
She quickly rises from her seat and moves towards the burning fire, back to him. "Ah, sweet dear! How I cried the night I cursed you!"
He also comes to the mantle, grasping her by the shoulder. She faces him. "And look now! You stand as a very Regal Truand. All that I never was," she admits, then quietly adds, "Yes, this because I killed to survive.
"But you, who did you kill?" she says with increasing vigour. "Only me, without saying a single word. Oh, leave! I cannot take this horrid sadness."
She collapses onto the floor, and looks up at him standing above her. "My dreams, they are in you. Now go!" she cries. "My Prince of Salvation, go!"
He moves towards the exit, this time not out of fear, but respect. She mutters sadly, "Hold me in your thoughts but let me be, once more, the creature of solitude."
As he leaves, as she fights to remain conscious, she sends out one final message, Farewell, my love.
