Author's Note: It has recently come to my attention that the vampire character in this and my other small chapter story, "Blood Money", are both gypsies. Be assured, this fanfic was actually written before my Harry Potter one and the character of Melissa was never intended to be a gypsy. Unfortunately, she became one when I discovered I needed a reason for Draco to put a little trust in her. My apologies for that and this excruciatingly pointless Author's Note . . . As you were.
1582
Silently, she stares at the unmoving, but familiar body curled on the bed. It is true, then? she wonders in awe. Then she moves towards him stealthily, whispering, "These hundred years passed and you should lie not in a bed as you are but in a coffin."
He wakes suddenly out of his dreams to see her standing over him. Her eyes burn into his own, but she speaks to herself, "Immortality, without the Blood."
She spins violently, so as not to look at him. "Ah! but at what cost to me? An infatuation, every moment in endless time I have thought of you."
Turning around, she faces him, as he sits on the bed, worried. "On the blackest nights," she confides, "your memory lit my soul. From the instant I saw you, little scholar, my heart has longed for you touch."
It seems he wishes to ask her something, but she plunges on, "To have run when you did, to have secured forever in my fevered mind that image of fright. Oh! let me near you!" she cries, walking to his bed. "Permit me just one drop, just a taste to quit my hunger."
As she nears him, he pulls away, increasing the space between them. She turns viciously, "The thirst you cannot know, poet! Fill me with your unaltered life-force. Sweet soul, unstained with death!"
He backs from her as she reaches for him, "These times will destroy you, love! Take my hand and know your strength!"
She watches him, piteously, as he grasps the door handle. "There are others, do you feel them?" she asks softly. He quickly returns his attentions to her, interested. "Yes, they watch us throughout the nights.
"If they harmed you, I would die!" she whispers.
Taking his hand, she leads him to the window. "Come, master Gringoire, come with me to fly away! I told you of Pegasus's wings, let us use them! Together, to the highest reaches of eternity we will go! You and I, maker and child. No need to be longer trapped in between, wild spirit! No need to wonder if there is more!"
She pleads, heartbroken, "Come, I beg you, come!"
He stares into her eyes for a moment, then begins to walk determinedly towards the door. She calls softly after him, despairing, "Darling troubadour, don't leave! Don't abandon me!"
But to no avail. He, without glancing back to her, quits his own room, leaving her standing there alone.
She narrows her eyes and mutters, "Oh! that the fates are cruel. I'll have thee, Gringoire!"
Staring out the window, she sees him cross the street below her. "I must find my heart that you carry away. Ah, petit marchand d'illusion, flee, for I know not what I do."
With this said, she turns and extinguishes the candles in the room, emerging herself in complete blackness and sorrow.
