A/N: This piece takes place after the actual story and as such, I'm not sure if it fits so well in the same context as the earlier one-shots. Anyway, this is something from Alfred's point of view, after the story has ended, and what being a vampire might mean to him.
Alfred often thinks about being a vampire.
He isn't sure if it's a normal thing for a vampire to do, to ponder on one's existence like he does. In any case, he never asks her what she thinks of it, for he feels such questions are beyond her mind. Not that she's not smart; she just sees the world different than him.
Alfred believes that most – if not all – people go more or less mad when they are turned into vampires. He at least did, and sometimes he has hard time when he tries to remember those first nights when he was following his new heightened instincts instead of anything that could be called reason. It's all just a confusing mix of sensations and scents and unconnected imagery, with the cool voice of the Master to guide them through it.
Some vampires stay that way, or at least very similar. Others don't. Alfred doesn't know why this is, and no one seems to have an answer. There's even vampires like Magda, who just seem like they were born for this... unlife. If Alfred ever envies her, it's for the way she has something resembling control, even in the beginning when he and Sarah were little more than mindless beasts.
Little by little, the world starts to make sense again, and even though the hunger never quite disappears, he begins to remember another life... another Alfred. After a while, his existence is not just defined by the primal instincts. He begins to feel again, to think, to question. For him and Sarah, it takes a while to adjust, because their bloodline is so strong. This is why the Master rarely turns people anymore... and it's also why his vampiric offspring have a special status among his flock.
Sarah is a happy vampire, like Herbert is. They both enjoy the darkness, the eternal life, and the pleasures of night. They don't long for past or yearn for lost things. Humanity is one such thing.
But Alfred is different. He begins to realize this as he gets used to being a vampire. He doesn't enjoy the unlife like she does, and there are what ifs that often plague his mind on that moment just before death claims him for the day hours. Oh yes, he does indulge in the pleasures only vampire can experience, but they do not fill his heart like they fill hers. Sometimes he wonders if he should hate her for making him this way, but in the end, he doesn't. He knows the hunger, and especially how it was in the beginning. He just happened to be there one nearest to her.
Alfred can't even hate him, the source of his vampire life, the one they at first call the Master. If it wasn't for the professor, he'd never have left his home, would never have ended up in the castle... and if he hadn't been so desperate to save Sarah, who never even wanted to be saved, he would have left these lands human. The Master isn't even the one who bit him, although he might be considered responsible for it. In the end, it's just a sum of coincidences. All of them were just doing what was their nature to do. For the vampire Alfred, this is moderately easy to accept because essentially, all vampires are slaves of their own nature.
And maybe Alfred's inability to hate the old vampire is because they're the same. If it's because of their shared bloodline, or just a coincidence, Alfred doesn't know. At any rate, they both have tasted melancholy and taken it as their lover. And little by little, he isn't just "the Master" anymore, but also someone with a name and something more under that cover of power and authority. This awareness seems to grow with Alfred's self-control.
There are many things Alfred doesn't know or understand about himself, or about being a vampire, but he does think the blood between them speaks silently, and it's because of that he sometimes sees inside the older vampire. He's fairly certain other vampires under Krolock's roof don't see him like he does... except for maybe Herbert. Sarah doesn't in any case. Perhaps it's because Krolock gives out more of himself to him than the others – at least he feels so, even if he can't even begin to guess what would be the reason for that. And sometimes, when the old vampire looks at Alfred, it's like the young one can hear the other speaking without words, of days long gone and lost loves and how it felt to walk under the sun.
Humanity, he whispers in apprehension. Krolock looks back at him, almost as if he were smiling, although not in a happy way. They don't exchange more words, but there seems to be silent understanding between them, the kind Alfred never quite reaches with Sarah.
Much later, if Alfred was to point out the particular moment when he came to love the older vampire, this is probably it.