Disclaimer: I've gotten so used to saying "I own nothing" at the top of every story that sometimes I slip and write it above stuff that is all mine. But just so you know, I still don't own this.

Author Note: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter; I haven't been writing fanfiction as of late, but this chappie popped into my head last night, and I thought I would share it. All Italian quotes and their translations taken directly from "The Gospel of the Witches" a religious text from Strega Witchcraft, of which an online copy may be found at www . sacred-texts . com /pag /aradia/ (just take the spaces out of the url, as ff.n does not allow links in stories). I speak no Italian and can therefore claim no accuracy for either quotes or translations.

Chapter 8

(Jager is off hunting alone, for once, and Fala sits in the same jungle where she first met Moira, alone, counting the minutes.

Moira herself appears suddenly behind her, and Fala, startled, moves in to attack, then a feeling hits her, an overwhelming gratitude and loneliness. Seeing Moira, her dream and nightmare, right here before her makes her realized how much she has missed her, as much as she hates it. She supposes she never realized what Moira really meant until she was gone.

Gone. )

Moira (quoting): I diavoli dell' inferno chiamerai,
E in compagnia del sole il manderai,
E tutto il fuoco dell'inferno preso di se…(1)

(Fala looks at her as though she's gone completely mad, but does not move in to attack, or even acknowledge the strangeness of the situation.)

Fala (careful, cautious): Where've you been?

Moira: Italy. With the witches.

(She giggles a bit, unable to help herself. It sounds out-of-place, but isn't the sweet, innocent laugh that Fala remembers. It is quieter, and more aged, though the girl still looks the same, and always will.

Fala wants to forgive her then and there, but feels the smashed shards of her shattered pride cut a jagged line across her body, and hesitates.)

Moira: It was nice there. But I could see the stars, every one of them. And I couldn't see you.

(Fala's fangs are digging into her lower lip, reminding her of who she is, and how she is supposed to react.

To Fala, Moira's voice is heavenly with every word; it is something she has strained her ears desperately to hear for years, to no avail.)

Moira (still quoting, but tauntingly): Bella Fala…Più di una altra stella…che io amo più di altra stella…

(Fala glances anxiously over Moira's shoulder, feeling around for Jager's aura, but cannot find him. She wants nothing more than to be a bird, and fly away, but knows that the other would follow.

Moira has given up on her quotes, and looks at the ground, finally ashamed in a way no vampire should ever be.)

Moira (softly, honestly, humbly): I know this doesn't mean anything to you, but I'm sorry.

(Fala snorts in – somewhat forced – disgust)

Moira: I deserve whatever you do to me now.

(Another scoff, though less derisive and more pitying.)

Moira: You want to kill me, is that it? Torture me and tear out my undead heart, whatever you want to do to me, I deserve it.

(Fala thinks: I want you to be my Wildcat again, can you do that? Oh, yes, and I'd like you to quote more of that Italian.

What else can she say? 'How did you like Italy?' or 'Killed any Aztec priests lately?')

Fala: Give me some more time, all right?

Moira: Time?

Fala: Space. More of it. I need…I need to think.

(All of her instincts are screaming at her to take her fledgling back right away. A voice in the back of her head wonders loudly why Moira is a whole five whole feet away – not to mention fully clothed.)

Fala: Those witches teach you any love spells? Thought you could just come back and be with me? It doesn't work like that.

Moira: Why?

(She is trying to sound ignorant, naïve; the truth is, she knows how love works. It hurts, and doesn't stop hurting. She only wanted it to hurt more. And she hasn't fed off a human since Fala; she has barely slept, and had three or four other girls purely to torment herself. They never made her feel a thing; she had forgotten or killed them all by the next morning.)

Fala: I need proof. I need time.

Moira: You need time with Jager.

(She hadn't meant to say it; regret and fear begin to play with her dread and humiliation, though love argues with them all.)

Fala: Don't you dare talk about Jager like you know him.

Moira (weakly): Fala, I'm…

Fala: He loves me more than you ever could. He's stronger than you'll ever be.

Moira: I know.

(Fala is unsure of how to react to the sudden lack of vampirism; she misses the Moira she used to know, the one who would laugh and kiss her and make everything all right. It seems strange that less than an hour of time in which nothing really happened could have caused so much hurt.

She knows she is far too set on might-have-beens.)

Fala: Jager deserves me. You don't.

Moira (concerned, almost frantic): What – what about time? And space. I…can give you that. As much as you like, I promise. I'll look at all the stars and I won't flinch.

(It's such a Moira thing to say, which cuts Fala to the bone.)

Fala: Let me decide. Let me find you, next time…if there is a next time…and then we'll see.

(Moira nods, and steps back a few paces.)

Moira (under her breath): Se questa grazia mi vorrai fare…

Fala (muttered): Then someday…

(1)And thou shalt call for me the fiends from hell; / Thou'lt send them as companions of the Sun/ And all the fire infernal of itself

(2) Beautiful Fala…Fairer far than any star…love beyond another star…

(3)And if the grace I seek thou'lt grant to me…