The lobby was abuzz with the sound of excited chatter as pair after pair and single after single entered the Last Curtain. She moved amongst them, like she was one of them, a solitary female out for a night on the town, nothing special, just ordinary…but she was anything but.

She’d kept to herself since the night of the fight, since the night where she nearly died. She had tried to forget it, tried to blank that from her memory, but as always her mind would not allow her too. She could still see his face; those eyes that looked at her unflinching and with such keen study. She could not get away from them.

“Excuse me,” a male voice interrupted her thoughts and she realized she’d been standing in the doorway blocking the flow of eager patrons. She looked around her, trying to look normal again, before following the crowd.

The lobby was full, friends were chatting, laughter and of course the few like her who walked into the hall without saying a word to another. She left her coat with the attendant at the door, a tiny redhead with blue eyes and freckles who seemed overwhelmed by the series of coats and jackets that she needed to tag, hang up and give the patron a receipt floor. “Take your time,” Faith urged in a soft tone as the girl hurried for her coat. Usually Faith was not so kind, she went without speaking but this time the girl reminded her so much of herself, running this way and that at her master’s bidding. She flashed her a smile before walking towards the hall, the assurance that the redhead would be getting a tip from her.

The usher greeted her on the other side of the entrance doors and led her to her seat. She had a box, private and completely her own. It was usually shared between Gianni and some other man, but neither was going to be in attendance that evening, at least that was what had been communicated to her. She did not feel to socialize; she never did really, but tonight especially her mind still grappled with the events of a week before, of words spoken and resurfaced emotions.

The usher opened the curtain as she slipped inside, taking a seat on the red-cushioned chair and crossing her legs at the knee. She wore an emerald green dress, knee-length, off-the-shoulder with embroidery across the collar. Her accessories were silver, from her shoes to her bag and diamond chandelier earrings dangled from her ears.

She had arrived just in time for the performance as the dimming houselights indicated the start of the show in ten minutes. It was a cultural expo, Middle Eastern and Egyptian dance, music, prose and dress through the ages. It was an attempt to familiarize the western world with a civilization they knew little of while promoting the arts and culture. Faith had to be there. She was born in that world, it was where she was from, but from an age long past. Somewhere in the desert was the place where she was born, a place she could not remember. It was not everyday she got a taste of her home, and she wanted to experience it without Gianni’s annoying talk, hand on her leg or some other part of him trying to intrude her space. She wanted to simply enjoy, to sit back and for a few minutes think and remember.

It was odd that she actually wanted to remember, as she was always trying to forget. There were some things about her past she wanted to recall, people mostly, people who had died when she was young, and people she had once cared for. She found herself thinking about them a lot recently, ever since Sergei’s words burned into her mind. He had caused many things to resurface, memories and feelings she had locked behind the walls of her heart. They hurt to be released, even though her feelings were small in measure to the damn that still lay inside her. She feared the breaking of that damn and the flood that would follow. Armand would have been angry she knew, he lived for strength, had taught her to be strong on all things, and yet she had cried, only a week ago she had cried blood tears into the sleepless night.

Her burrow furrowed at the memory and she attempted to shake it off, she had to get herself together, to be what she was made to be, what Armand had told her she would always be…a beast, a tiger with claws ready for the kill.

What had she told him…she could not be more than she is? What she was made to be. Armand had taught her to be as those who harmed her, to do before it was done.

“Calm down Talia, I’ll have things ready by the morning. Not, not your morning, my morning…as in when the sun rises on my side of the planet, which science tells me is when it goes down on your side.”

A laugh from them both.

“Yes, I’ll have it, I promise. Yes. Right. Alright, Talia, your expertise is greatly appreciated, as is your patronage.”

Sergei took that moment of silence as his opportunity. It was then he pulled the phone away from his ear and turning it off with a satisfying little beep as it rested in its cradle. After that he simply leaned his head back against the seat’s head rest in a regrouping repose. Well and truly the vampire enjoyed his work, enjoyed the people with which he worked, after all Talia was the daughter of a prominent Russian banker that had recently decided to up grade his computer systems.

Talia herself was a sweet well spoken young woman, a good conversationalist, and even more talented at violin. Sergei had met her once, tall and dark haired, she’d reminded him fiercely of his wife. She’d been beautiful in that way that women seem to grow with ice and snow as a backdrop; fine pale skin, an unshakeable manner, and a sense of self that made her seem the queen of all she surveyed. And indeed Sergei had no doubts that she was when in her element.

However in his element it made her a tad over bearing and more than a touch demanding. That had been the fourth time she’d called him, the second he’d been up for and answered as kindly as he could manage. Of course he knew Bill and the office could have handled all her questions. Not to mention the fact that he’d finished her system’s new software himself so hours ago around two in the previous morning. But of course that didn’t stop her from asking the same questions over and over again. And Sergei didn’t dare give it to her early lest she be more demanding next time. His mortal employees couldn’t handle the extra workload or stress.

Answering her questions the best he could, Sergei knew even he’d grown tired. If only because he’d gotten up from his chair and his reading and gotten into his limo, flipping through his events booklet simply for a way to avoid the woman a bit longer. Unfortunately he’d forgotten the car’s phone. Wasn’t that always the case? However now he simply wanted out before it rang again.

May the Norns be blessed, he received his wish. The car came to a stop and not waiting for the driver, Sergei opened it himself. When the driver peeked back at him, rolling down the between window, Sergei simply gave him a parting wave before he’d stepped out of the conveyance, quickly putting distance between himself and any semblance of duty.

It had been too long since last he’d been to the theater, after all what was the use of a private box, even a shared one if never was it used?

The thought alone of using it touched the man way down to his soul. And he smiled even as he waited amongst the gather theater goers, taller than many, yet clearly not the most imposing, dressed in a simple tan coat.

It was only when the vampire left it with the red haired young woman that glances truly came his way. His suit was ebony proper, a rather boring uniform that was if it wasn’t for the touches of shirt, handkerchief, tie, and cufflinks.

All of these things were a subtle and supple gold. The same gold as the hairs of his head, a gold so delicate as to be mistaken for white. The cufflinks were almost white gold, an alloy of precious metals (white and yellow gold) encrusted with diamonds cut into the shape of the same name. The shirt managed to make his hair seem all the more radiant in its color, the suit managed to accentuate an athletic form of wide shoulders and narrow waist, all in all Sergei looked like the businessman he was, out for entertainment.

In truth he was simply glad for some peace, simple peace, not that he was going to enjoy the show, in fact he was sure he would, even if he was forced to prove his identity just outside of his box.

“Mr. Drago…we didn’t know you’d be attending.” He usher said, it wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact.

Sergei nodded at it however.

“Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t warn anyone. But I didn’t know myself. Still there isn’t a problem is there?”

The man quickly shook his head.

“No sir, its just, well never mind. It is a shared box after all…”

That said, Sergei wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing and instead walked into the box, his eyes quickly accustoming themselves to its low light as he got the first senses of life. Sergei realized then that the box wasn’t empty.

Her vampire eyes saw clearly into the steadily filling hall. Well dressed men and women of all ages and society; more of the upper crust, were finding their seats for the beginning of the performance. It looked like an excellent turn out, which was good for the performers. It would have been rather embarrassing if no one had show up for the performance, not that she truly believed the elite of Demaitre would allow a cultural event to pass them by, not when there was business connections to be made.

Speaking of which, she needed to make some connections of her own if she was going to start financing a few things herself. Gianni was liberal with his chequebook, but it only went so far, or would go so far until he got a taste of Faith’s forbidden fruit as it were. That wasn’t going to happen, and despite her carefully calculated plan, she still wanted some insurance just in case.

Her finger absent went to a strand of dark hair as it dangled by her face, her features still, smooth and elegant. No one would ever suspect that such features, such exquisite lines and form had once been covered in dirt and sweat, with wild hair and bowing in the dry sand begging for water. Her face didn’t show the cruelty that had befallen her in the past, the cruelty she now took upon herself to inflict. It was a vicious cycle, a cycle of pain, rage and suffering that had continued through her. She couldn’t let it go, she couldn’t escape it. The animal she was would not be tamed.

Come here my little wild cat. Come to the call of your master. He had beckoned as she crawled across the carpet covered sands to where he sat. Yes my lovely little wild cat. Obey your master. If you would only obey willingly you would not need to feel the taste of my whip so often. she sat before him, feeling his hands in her hair as he cooed in her ear. Her face was dirty and bloody where he’d hit her. Now show your master you will be obedient. You know what to do…

Her eyes had been closed so tightly against the image, of the memory that she had almost lost all sense of her surroundings. When she opened her eyes, her features were strained but they faded as the light from the hall filtered through the opened curtain. She turned to see what the matter was.

Her features went completely still, her face void of all emotion as her eyes beheld him. well-dressed, broad-shouldered, flowing blonde locks upon his head and the eyes…yes those eyes that looked on her and made her feel like a child. It was him, the man who had haunted her thoughts for over a week, whose words kept coming back to her. Sergei…the man with honest eyes and shaming words.

There was no doubt he would see her, no light was as clear as day to an immortal so there was no point trying to hide her face. Instead, she looked at him for a moment; her eyes avoiding the penetrating blue of his and wandering back to those seated beneath her.

She had come here to enjoy the performance, to clear her mind, to regroup from her encounter with this very man, and there he was standing in the box beside her. What was he doing there? She wondered, before it hit her. It was a shared box…the box was partly owned by Sergei.

Her hands would have been clammy if she still produced sweat. She filled with uncertainty and unease at his presence in this darkened little pocket of theatre. Yes, there was her usual reason for distrust and fear, but so much more this time. She feared he would recognise how he had unsettled her, how he had shamed her. She was feared the blue eyes that filled her with guilt for being what she was, yet she could be nothing else. Her stomach tightened, ready to flee the scene, but her body stayed firm. She could do this. This was precisely what she needed, Armand would have told her to never show fear, to go for the jugular every time, to attack before he had chance to.

She steeled herself up against him. She was ready…wasn’t she?

Sergei almost instantly felt a little tingle run up his spine and even without attempting to open up his senses he knew it was another immortal. Not so paranoid or so abundant in enemies, Sergei’s approach was a completely casual and unhurried movement to his seat. However his seat was just so, he could look out of the corner of his eye at the other and that was more than enough to give him the understanding that the other was female and dressed in a provocative if lovely shade of green.

Opening his other senses, those that went beyond mortal sensibilities, he sensed no killer intent, no veracious rage and that in and of itself forced the hairs on the back of his neck to relax. Then likewise his muscles lost the instant looseness that a trained warrior learns to practice and instead he folded his considerable height down into a chair as his heightened and extraordinary perceptions slid away to once again be held at bay by his mind’s discipline. This was at once a gesture of trust on his part (saying I trust you enough to not force my will or intrude upon your thoughts) and yet at the same time it was also a gesture of confidence that spoke of his lack of fear. Indeed, one did not show fear in the face of an enemy or even a potential enemy.

It was with that thought however that eyes of a deep and ambiguous blue, not quite the ocean’s depths or the blistering core of torch flame, turned upon the form that until then had only been lines and presence at the edge of vision. And just like that, Sergei’s expression became stoic, unreadable. Both because he willed it so and didn’t want the other to see his confusion, but also because the vampire was confused, not sure what should be upon his face at seeing this woman again.

She was as he remembered, beautiful in both form and feature. Her hair, brown and wave seemed darker even to his eyes in the low light, but her expression was like his nearly unreadable. However unlike his, hers still managed a certain dangerousness, a certain outrage, and confidence. Sergei had to admit that she reminded him of some of his brothers from oh so long ago. Back then he would not have believed a woman could be a warrior, but now after much time and encounters with cultures, the very women themselves he’d learned his lessons and learned them well, this woman was a warrior, warrior and a predator.

Despite that or perhaps because of it, there was no expression in Sergei’s eyes or in his tone truly as he spoke. Her name, her face had spent many ponderous nights in his dreams and yet his expression gave none of this away as he said.

“Ms. Faith, it is…” He blinked. “It’s good to see you again. Though I hope it is not taken amiss when I say it is a most unexpected surprise…”

His expression became a smile then, perhaps a bit forced, but a smile that was just what it was.

“So you are a fan of the theater?” He said, the question more implied than direct. Sergei again was unsure of how she would react and unlike the vampire Ferox he wasn’t willing to push her in any shape or form.

She kept her eyes focused on the people beneath her instead of Sergei, though she could sense his every movement. He had shown her kindness when she needed it, but now that she didn’t require his help she did not trust his kindness to last.

He slipped into his seat without a word, and she did not acknowledge him. Had he not recognized her or was this a game? If a game, then she could play, she could pretend to not know him and continue her evening with her thoughts. Though how much would she accomplish in ridding herself of unwanted feelings with him sharing the same space as her for hours?

If he had proven anything to her it was that he cared about mortals, and with that in mind she could be at ease, he wouldn’t try anything in their presence. Momentarily she felt the nails of her hand grow long out of instinct, but she soon tucked them neatly away. She had not come that night to get herself into another fight; she had come to enjoy the music, the art, the pageantry of a time long gone. She had come to just be for once. She wanted Tahirah to have her night out of her cage to see the word, before she forced her back in and Faith took over.

She felt no intrusion from his thoughts; he refrained from attempting to read her mind to gauge her. She was thankful for it, though she had wiped her mind clear the moment she saw him. She would not allow him to know what confusion he caused in her mind, how her perplexed her.

She felt him turn towards her and she instantly did the same, mirroring him almost in the lack of emotion on his face. Her eyes met his.

She had hoped not to meet him again, in fact she had almost prayed for it. Sergei caused her riot in her concept of the world and she did not wish such a feeling. He was everything of that night, but his suit was more handsome than the one he had been wearing. She took him in at a glance, her eyes surveying him without effort before returning to his face. She could hardly stand to look at his eyes less they evoke the same emotion they had before, but she could not look away…she would not. It was weakness to look away, and she could not show herself weak. He had seen her in the most vulnerable position of her life, now he had to see and think her strong.

She maintained her gaze as he spoke; thanking for the split second his eyes closed to blink and barred the blue abyss of his eyes from hers. “Mr. Sergei. This is unexpected,” she confirmed, her voice even and low. She could not say it was good to see him, that would be a lie. She wasn’t pleased to see him at all. Seven days and nights she had tried to erase him from her thoughts and failed, and now it was as if they had summoned him to her.

He smiled, and for a moment she did not know how to respond to it. She nodded her head politely. She could not get her lips to form a smile; they refused to obey her.

“Very much,” she said softly, turning her eyes from him to the stage and the music began to rise from the orchestra. He obviously he was or he would not have come. He was alone, and if you didn’t like theatre you didn’t come alone.

The curtain rose as the music played, the first of the performers emerging on stage to begin the act. The lights from the stage cast upwards sending the faintest light over her face. her eyes looked to Sergei momentarily before refocusing. She stilled her heart, at the sight of colours and faces, and from Sergei's presence.

Sergei couldn’t help the smile. Despite how much the woman put him on edge; all but sat him literally on pins and needles actually, still he had to admit that it was nice having company. Or that was as long as it was civil company. When last they had met (when he’d saved her life) Faith had been civil up to a point and that more than anything had affected his reaction. Sergei could admit that perhaps he had been heavy handed, perhaps from her perspective condescending and while that hadn’t been the case. Well the way she had run, it was rather obvious that he owed her an apology.

He met her gaze then and nodded slightly at her answer. It seemed an obvious question now; after all she was here, here as he was. And yet unlike his own reasons he could barely begin comprehend her own. Then again wasn’t that way of individuals? Every one was different…what it meant to be human or whatever else that they might be.

Sergei sighed.

Why was he doing this, why was his mind going down all these strange paths? Why was it that she was sitting less than four feet away and yet he was unable to look at her for more than a few moments? Sure he didn’t wish to offend her and he had seen wars started for less than cross looks, but this was ridiculous. Sergei was more than a millennia old, had lived and seen things, people and places that were without equal and yet he was humbled by this woman that gazed at him with such devoutly unfriendly eyes.

Why did he continue on like this? If she wished to be his enemy so be it. After all he had enemies, truly. He was Amman, it was simply to be expected that those that did not agree with his philosophy would be his enemy. And yet again he remembered the sensation of her drinking from him and then her eyes as she left the mortals behind, safe and sound. She had threatened them, surely, but her eyes…those dark eyes had been so very sad at their depths even as she did.

Somewhere during the course of his thoughts, Sergei’s attention had fallen on the stage as things first began. And yet even as he wished to simply enjoy it, the words had left his lips before he could say otherwise.

“Faith…” He began. “Ms. Faith, I owe you an apology.” He finally said. “A about last time we met…I apologize.”

Music in her ears, dance before her eyes, remiss of the past, of a home she hadn’t seen in centuries. All this should have made her calm, maybe even a little happy. Wouldn’t it have done so for another person? But not Faith, oh no, it could not be that way for her.

She enjoyed the music yes. She remembered a time when music was that electric, but at the same time told a story. Music of this new age rarely did so. Each performer portrayed their character to perfection. Faith could remember when such characters were not well known, when they were performed in small camps for entertainment. Now they were culture, to be performed before the world. It was funny how things could change.

Her body was tense, though to the untrained eye she looked perfectly at peace. She heard him sigh, her eyes wanting to look around, but her willing forcing them to stay ahead. She could not understand him. She could not. He was so civil, so polite. Usually it was false, she could read a false statement or reaction in a heartbeat but Sergei made it difficult for her to tell anything about him. This fact, amongst a host of others, gave her reason to be concerned, to question him and his motives.

She took a deep cleansing breath, releasing it slowly in hopes that he wouldn’t notice. Why did he have to come tonight? Why couldn’t he have stayed wherever it was he usually frequented? Why had she wanted so badly to attend this performance? She could have asked herself a thousand questions and come up with a thousand answers, but they wouldn’t change the fact that she could reach out and touch Serge with very little effort. Boxes were far too small.

Her look may have been unfriendly, but there was reason. She wished him no harm; in fact she still feared harm from him. Then there was the way he had spoken to her, chided her almost for her actions against mortals. She just wanted him to leave her alone, to continue in the way she always had…alone and answering to no one, feeling nothing. His presence didn’t allow her that, his words and eyes seemed to do nothing but make her think and feel things she wanted to forget. She had her memories, those never left her, nothing seemed to keep them away, but the feelings of those moments for good or bad she had banished long ago. Segei was causing in insurrection in her emotions.

He must think her an animal, with his humanitarian ways. She killed; she had killed that night in fact. He would look down on that without a doubt with his pious morality.

Faith…

She went ridged as his voice saying her name. Couldn’t he just watch the show? She was sure he was going to say something about that night, about her running, about her weakness. She couldn’t bear to hear it.

“Don’t…” she began but when still as he apologised. She looked at him quizzically. “Why are you apologising?” she finally was able to ask after several seconds of silence. “All you did was…” she couldn’t say ‘save my life’ she just couldn’t. “You have nothing to apologise for. I think you made yourself clear.” Her eyes lingered on his face, but tried to avoid his eyes.

Another sigh, this time lighter, this time more airy slipped from between his lips then and Sergei nodded almost despite himself as his arms crossed and he looked away at the show, the music and dancing touching a part in his soul that he strove hard to move away from. It was different, so drastically different in all that he knew of this part of the world or really any that he knew, despite having made his way to the part of the world where the very grains of sand themselves are like a limitless ocean, to be traversed like the ocean he knew, but star and by knowledge of the wind.

And yet as different as it was, it touched him in that part of his heart, his soul that longed for the sea, for the smell of mead and iron. For the closeness of others, be that brothers as the huddled before the raid or his lovers/ his wife as they lay together with the hearth for warmth. So different was the culture his eyes absorbed and yet how it reminded him of what had been, who, what had vanished so long ago.

Then he spoke with only a shade of embarrassment coloring his tone.

“Indeed I did,” He admitted. “That is why I apologize. I have no right to push what I believe on you…on…” He paused, opening his senses to be sure that none listened as they spoke and yet even so when he was satisfied it took a moment as he said.

“Our kind.”

Reluctantly he turned from the spectacle of light and sound, of movement and prancing mortal forms and his expression was tinged with self-reproach.

“I have lived long enough to know that my way is my way…I am sorry if I said something to offend you in our previous meeting. I simply wish to let you know that I am sorry.”

Well and truly it wounded his pride to say those words, more importantly it wounded his moral center. Truly did Sergei value the lives of mortal and immortal alike, he’d seen more than enough killing and done more than enough to never wish to engage in it again. And yet he had been wrong how he had talked to her, if she did not value life, then such was her choice, the same choice as many of their brothers and sisters.

Blood however didn’t always equal death to him. Sergei fed the need and it him. Never had it been his master; not since her lessons so long ago when she’d had him choose.

“Control or be controlled.” She had said, his love, his Cassandra.

“That you did,” she said calmly, though she did not feel that way. Again an apology, “Stop it,” she told him in a low tone. Her senses had open to take in the presence of prying ears, but there were none. She looked at him with a face so still it was looking upon a statue. “You spoke your mind. Do not apologise to me. You owe me nothing. I owe you nothing,” she replied the slightest sound of sadness played in her voice. She could not take his apologies. He had done nothing to her and yet he apologised. Those who had caused her harm, treated her like an animal, shamed her, used her, beat her and raped her had never even let the thought of an apology enter their minds. It made her feel strange to have him say he was sorry for mere words.

Her eyes went back to the stage, back to a retreat for her eyes.

“We have both lived long lives. Different lives. You know nothing of me. I know nothing of you. You said what you said. I will not argue with you on this. Just do not apologise,” she repeated, almost pleading. She could feel it growing, emotions, feelings she had been fighting for days now. He was doing it again, making her think and feel things she didn’t want to, things she could not bear to relive.

He regarded mortals with such caring, but she could not. It was mortals who enslaved her, who hurt her to her core. No, it was not every mortal and yes, her master was dead but she still felt the anger and pain. He would not understand this. He couldn’t. She killed out of jealousy sometimes, seeing happy lives, a life she never had. She killed for revenge, out of anger, out of hate and pain. She was trying to cleanse herself of hurts so deeply inflicted that they had twisted her very soul. She could not find a way to make it stop, to end the pain, to quiet the memories.

She was filled with the urge to run again, to leave Sergei in this little box with his piercing eyes and soft words, but her pride would not let her. She would not be seen weak again; she would not let her emotions win over her.

She felt the vibration through her leg, her cell phone was ringing. She answered; her voice steady and even. “Hello Gianni,” she said with mock enthusiasm, but her face showed her true feelings. “I’m at the theatre. Yes, I’m alone. No, I don’t want company. It really isn’t your type of thing,” she tried to persuade him. “Besides, it’s already started.” He offered to pick her up, but she was not inclined for his company. “No, thank you. I will see myself home. I must insist… fine, I will meet you at the hotel.” She hung up and turned off her phone.

She heard some woman in a neighbouring box comment on the style of dance how different it was, how untamed. Faith listened; the woman had no idea what she was talking about. She did not grasp the meaning of the dance. She obviously had failed to read her program, but Faith needed to piece of paper to tell her what was going on.

She spoke in her native tongue, soft words, almost inaudible. They meant, “Dance on. Tell your story…help me forget mine.” A fleeting smile of saddest crossed her lips as she watched the poor girl singing to her love.

Sergei’s nod was slight and simple, his eyes moving to the stage once more even as it came.

“I suppose you’re right.” He said easily, voice light against the sounds coming from below. Had they both been mortals perhaps their conversation would have been loss amid the other sounds of the theater, but as it was he knew she would hear him and so he continued to speak low and calm. “Perhaps I didn’t owe you anything.” He granted. “Still that doesn’t change the fact that a part of me felt that I should apologize, so I did.”

He listen then, to the words that flowed from between her lips and they caught him unaware so much that he turned to face her once again, only to turn back as he realized she was watching the performance once more.

Sergei considered her voice and her tone then. Something about it seemed very sad indeed to him and yet he nodded.

“Alright, if that is your wish.” He conceded, his fingers taking the moment then to interlace in their place upon his lap.

They both grew quite then for a few long moments, long moments that stretched forward and longer still until sound of a cell phone broke the silence with its vibration, audible to his ear even from where he sat.

Then there was the sound of Faith’s voice, a conversation that Sergei politely chose to ignore or so much as he could ignore anything said within his considerable auditory range. However Sergei could hardly avoid glancing about and it was that which caught the woman’s feelings bare and annoyed on her face.

Sergei tried his best to remain silent. Even as he gave the performance his full attention, he felt the words hanging restless in his mind. And yet while he was sure he heard words from the other immortal, they were unfamiliar to his ears and yet seemed to give his lips faux permission toward their endeavor as the blond vampire said lightly himself.

“You do not like this…Gianni very much, do you?”

She took a sidelong glance at Sergei as he spoke, conceding to her that moment. It was a tone so low that mortal ears would scarce be able to distinguish it from the performance below, but Faith heard him clearly. “There is no perhaps. You owe me nothing,” she emphasised. “You have made your apology. I accept it, if it would only make you stop speaking of it,” she said firmly, “though, I repeat…I do not deserve it.” Talk of apologies and the feeling that one was owed made her uncomfortable, and a little angry, but not at Sergei. She was angered by the fact that those who had reason to apologise, more reason than Sergei could possibly fathom, had never done so, and yet he felt compelled to.

Faith kept in mind that Sergei was a strange character, different in so many respects and a quandary to her.

“I do,” she said softly bringing home her final words on the topic.

She could sense is every move beside her and her eyes moved in his direction once or twice as they sat in mutual silence. When her eyes did settle on the stage once more she smiled, the portrayal was superb, and so accurate to the original performance. She thought they might have changed a few things to snag the audience, but they hadn’t they had stayed true to it in all respects, at least thus far.

She did not consider whether or not Sergei had heard her conversation, with immortal ears and close proximity it was hard not to. She supposed the night could have been worse; she might have been seated beside Gianni, fending of his roaming hands. The man was aristocratic by birth, but little of culture lay within him. She could put up with him, but for how much longer she was not sure, already images of his cold body being found in his home swam through her mind. He was Diya al din reborn in her eyes, so many of them were.

[i]You do not like this…Gianni very much, do you?[/]

The words caught her mind like a trap and Faith hesitated a moment before giving her answer. Her eyes never left the stage; they were swimming in the ocean of colour and grace as she responded. “No. I don’t,” she admitted. “How could I? He is after all a man, who by definition should not be trusted and therefore liked.” Her tone showed her disdain for the man and his sex, a sex that Sergei happened to be a part of.

As her eyes watched, her mind travelled back and before she knew it, words were spilling from her mouth like a fountain. “I have known many men like him; selfish scabs of human existence, who only know of ownership and possession. They think that because they were born to privilege that it entitles them to anything and everything they desire. They take, and take and take, till there is nothing left but the hollow vessels of their victims.” Face after face flashed before her eyes, going back through time, but it was the second last of these that shocked her to equate with such feelings…Armand’s. Diya al din was no surprise, but her Armand? Was this truly how she saw him when all was stripped away and she was able to admit to herself the truth? In her heart, as much as she tried to convince herself of love for him, of missing him, was it that she missed company more than the man? Was it that inside she still feared and hated the creature that made her?

She was going to be sick. If she’d had a mortal body, she would have felt the bile rise up into her throat. She needed air.

She rose from her seat so quickly that had mortal eyes seen her, they would have though they were playing tricks on them. She walked into the hall, her steps quick while trying to remain composed as she headed for the door to the roof. With immortal speed she took them and moments later stood on the roof of the building panting.

She shook her head against her thoughts. He was confusing her. This was his fault…he had made her see that. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t!

Sergei felt his heart break and weep for the woman beside him as she spoke. First of the mortal Gianni, Sergei remembered him now that he thought back to his time in the gallery, the man had been rather unpleasant, but the anger and pain that he could almost taste in the woman’s words made things seem that much worst in his eyes. And yet as she continued on and the whole of the male gender became her target, Sergei felt deeper sorrow still.

The vampire knew easily that he could never truly understand. Never truly know to what tortures and depths of agony that the woman’s soul had slipped and yet had she simply sworn off his gender as compatriots and lovers, Sergei would perhaps have been less concerned. After all in his considerable life he’d met other such women, but none had seemed to simply retreat from the world as Faith’s words seemed to imply of her.

And yet despite all the anger and sadness that was now apparent, Sergei had kept his distance, both physically and metaphysically. His mind simply read her emotions, even as his eyes did the same. Faith’s expression was troubled and then, simply nothing as she became a blur of motion getting to her feet and a moment later disappeared through the door and into the hallway.

Sergei was unsure of what to do next, perhaps he should let her go, like last time and yet a part of him, same as with the apology simply could not let go and with a much more restrained pace, the Norseman rose to his considerable height and walked into the hallway.

Fait was already gone by the time he got there, but she was easy enough to track. By scent or by skill, he knew exactly where she was. He hurried steps had left deep imprints in the theater’s fine carpets and those depressions rather quickly led to stairs which he followed until he reached the door ajar at the end.

Opening it carefully, his stride was graceful as he followed her into the night, ambiguously blue eyes shimmering despite the lack of light, or perhaps more likely because of it.

Outside, in the cool night air, the vampire took a slow breath before he spoke.

“Ms. Faith…” He paused, unsure of his words. “Please, we can be civil to one another, at least for this night…I understand that well you are not fond of my gender, nor me myself personally, but please. I believe we can at least make it through a single performance together.”

That said, he was silent, waiting on her reply.

The cool night air caressed her face as she tried to make sense of her emotions. She closed her eyes against the assault of her mind, trying to discern her thoughts. Armand had saved her…he had never hurt her…he had protected her. These things were true, but was her love for him truth? Was what she had felt for Armand been nothing more than the dependence of a weaker being on a stronger one, one that could easily have ended her life, one that did not wish her to leave him? Had she confused that with love, since she had never known the feeling?

No, it could not be. It just couldn’t. Could it?

Yes it is. Her conscience spoke to her. You know it is. You just never wanted to face the truth…you are utterly incapable of feeling love. He didn’t love you as much as you think. He just didn’t want to be alone and you were better than nothing.

Her fists clenched against the thought as anger rose in her blood. Was she just a predator created out of pain, who knew nothing more than how to inflict it? She had lived with the idea that she had loved at least once as a sign that she was not completely devoid of such emotions, but now it seemed that she was. The ability to love died in her when she was still young, before fear and anger took its place. “I truly am an animal…” she said into the meandering wind as it roamed across the roof tops.

She sensed him then ascending the stairs, and she waited. His pace was slow, cautious. Yes he should be cautious, he was in the company of a beast was he not? Fangs and claws and mindless aggression, wasn’t that the way of beasts…her way?

“Fine,” she said as her eyes turned crimson in the moonlight, as she seem to accept what she was and that she was completely incapable of changing it.

She laughed a deep throaty laugh that pierced the quiet of the dark. “You thought I was being something other than civilised? Then you were mistaken. I was being as civilised as one like me can be.” She still backed him, talking to the night more than the man, then she turned.

“You are right I am not fond of you or your gender,” she said coldly trying to mask all the feelings that still battled in her mind. “Especially you.” She stood erect, her hands still balled into tight fists. She could smell her blood as her nails cut into her palms, but she ignored it. Her instincts wanted her to lash out, to make him share her anger and pain, but instead her hands suffered her wrath.

“You believe that?” she asked with another mocking laugh. “I do not. I do not believe the lamb and the lion can share the same space and one not be devoured.” The metaphor applied both ways, for in mind she was like a lamb, vulnerable and confused but in body she was like a lion, ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Sergei seemed the opposite of her on both points.

“Why would you want to share my company for an evening? Why would endure my presence for another night? Do you want to prove yourself more pious? To somehow fulfil some need to be benevolent to the savage beast whose company you’re in and try to tame it? Am I an amusement to you?” she asked harshly as her eyes flickering with her own pain. These words were her own thoughts on herself.

“Go…enjoy your night. I will not stand in your way and I will not be your intermission’s entrainment. This animal refuses to be led around the ring by the trainer, so you better catch the next performance.”

Sergei looked upon this woman and was not sure what he should say, no not what he should, but rather what he could. It was apparent now that her rigid control, had broken, that the restrained if cold being he had “enjoyed” moments ago was gone and perhaps forgotten.

Faith’s eyes shown an angry red, even with the lack of light and his own eyes seemed swept to them, locking. It was much like staring into a vortex or a flame’s heart. And there was so much heat, so much rage and hatred that had he been a weaker being, he might have stepped back or even fled. However Sergei had lived long and fought longer still, way before this life of his, before his expanded existence caused him to seek solace in more intellectually pursuits. Deep down a part of him was afraid, but a larger part, much larger was unyielding and so was the Norseman.

“I have no idea what you speak of.” He said simply. “No idea why you speak in riddles and force me to figure you out, but whatever the reason, I would let you know that I am not the lion you fear so readily. Do you really think that I’ve concocted some grand scheme simply to hurt you?”

His fists clenched then and Sergei’s expressive eyes darkened even as they narrowed with the hardness of expression that turned his face into something much more authoritarian than the mild mannered persona he was usually blessed with.

“I’ve no hatred for you or yours. And hardly am I one for games of any sort. Do you know what I am, what I really am?”

His gaze met hers then, his eyes flowed over her and his nostrils flared at the scent of blood as he glanced at her injured palms.

“When I was born I was destined to fight and to kill. I was a raider’s son and such was I born to wield sword and spear. I’ve killed beasts and I’ve killed men, I’ve even killed women and their children. Maybe once I was the monster you think I am, but no longer. I’ve fought long and hard to change what I was, the past still however will never change.”

His expression was sad then.

“But to answer your question, yes. Yes I think I could share your company for the evening. And your presence…is hardly better or worst than that of anyone else. I am hardly pious or benevolent . And I have always been more beast than trainer of them, all wolf shirts are.”

He turned then, put his back to her.

“And if I sought entertainment I would simply leave you here, however come with me. I believe there are some things for us to entertain together. However come or don’t, I don’t care. You are your own person. Mortal or Immortal, we are all people, all human.”

Then just like that, he began walking away.

Faith stared at Sergei with a coldness and anger that mixed so well with her sadness and self-loathing that no one emotion could be discerned. If it had not been for him, she wouldn’t feel this way, she would have continued to live with the idea that at least once she had been human in some way, felt something like all others…love. Sergei had taken that illusion from her. His words, his eyes and his presence caused her mind to meander down a path it didn’t wish to, to the point where she was compelled to continue. Now she was left with the harsh reality of it. She was faced with who she was inside, at least the part Tahirah would allow her. She was trying to protect herself and so her anger raged inside. She wanted to protect the gentle girl she had once been, the hurt child who wanted something she never found and began to believe it did not exist.

Her eyes met his and she held his gaze. She could not back down now, she couldn’t, her mind was too fragile to stand more of his words. It was barely within her control to keep her eyes locked on the blue abyss of his eyes but she did it.

“You do not know? I think you do.” She said coldly. “Who ever said you were the lion?” Faith interjected, her voice as cold as an iceberg. “Concocted some plan? I truly do not know, but then again men have never needed to plan to inflict pain…for some it comes as easily and as effortlessly as a breath.”

She watched the change in his face, watched he darkened into another man before her eyes. Fine, let his anger rise, let his wrath be unfurled, she could handle it.

She continued to stare at him in silent defiance. Did she know who he was? No. Did she care? Hardly. Though it would solve her problem, to unravel the riddle, the maze, the enigma that he posed to her.

She listened in silence, taking in his confession like a priest. His words seemed to confirm her fate in her mind. He had been a monster before he became the man he was now, peaceful, helping and caring after the mortal kind. Faith was the opposite. She had been born innocent and it had been stripped from her…now she was the monster. She saw the sadness in his eyes, those blue oceans that seemed destined to drown her.

He turned his back and Faith stood her ground in silence. She thanked God for his mercy, that Sergei’s eyes could not see the flicker of anguish as he called her human. She no longer knew what that meant, she did not think herself part of that race anymore. She was full animal, no mortal part of her remained. She had buried it long ago and she would not unearth it or the pain that accompanied it…her…her true name…Tahirah.

Again, his words evoked a reaction in her that she could not fight…so she followed.

As she took a step her hands relaxed their tense assault and her palms cheered with relief as sharp nails left them. The marks would be quick to heal, but the blood was still on her hands. She looked at them, there was so much blood on her hands…and it was just her own, it was all those whose lives she took, whose light she had snuffed out to cover her own feelings.

She said nothing to Sergei…nothing. She followed for one reason and one reason alone…he called her human, he saw fit to call her human.

Sergei felt deep in the base of himself a sharp and terrible sadness. First it was something he refused himself, something he fought with all the ferocity he could call his own, that despicable black resin of ages gone called self-pity. However, quickly it was a completely different kind of sorrow that bottomed out in him and it was then that Sergei was sure that he’d never looked upon a more damaged soul than this own. Or at least not one so damaged that he had any hope.

Still despite what his eyes told him, Sergei’s heart said something very different. It was his heart that pointed out that she had not harmed the mortal women he’d been forced to use to save their lives. This held up even as his mind wanted to blame fear of him or some other such source for the behavior. And yet there was no fear of him that Sergei could feel, no, only rage and hatred coming from the woman known as Faith. That on its own was enough for sadness and yet also by the same token was it not a reason for hope? She was angry, but not a killer, not a monster that slaughtered without regard for life. And it was this more than anything else that made the woman human, made Sergei call her such.

Taking a slow and stilling breath, Sergei spoke once again as he opened the door and descended the stairs back down into the theater. He couldn’t help himself when held the door for her; however he was silent still as he walked on from there.

When finally they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, the man’s expression softened, a bit of his rage, his annoyance, and his frustration all slipped away as he spoke again, more carefully this time.

“Faith I shall not hurt you, not of mind, not of body, not of spirit. If cruelty comes as quick and easy as a breath, then I promise no breath shall past my lips until it is time for me to speak.”

And with that said, the ancient vampire gave up his charade of mortal man. His breath stopped totally and completely, his chest rising and falling only as he started to speak.

“And if you are lion to my lamb, then let it be my worry if I am to be devoured.” He turned then and his ambiguous blue eyes searched her then. “Not all prey is as easy as you might think…and besides I’ve more time playing the wolf than the lamb.”

Sergei’s expression softened once more then and this time as he spoke it was with the same gentleness he had been of possession of before.

“Faith, I can say I no nothing of what you have seen, done or truly lived through.” He gave a quieting gesture then, no knowing if she was gone to interrupt him at the obvious, but wanting to guard against it none the less.

“However, there is something that I do know about you Faith. I know that whatever you see yourself as, that you have hardly seen a true animal, a monster, and the truly despicable. That is not to say that you have not seen evil men, been at their mercy, but truly you are not so harsh and as you like to think with your grand similes and poetic nature. Indeed you are not one to be given a single path by fate and destiny. Indeed all of us have so very many paths that we may walk, may understand. You are not locked into one anymore than the other. And yet you are locked in that it is you that will choose your path. You are only a beast if you wish it, only less than human if in your heart that is your wish…”

Faith followed, no silence more deafening that the one that was between them. She felt it still, the sadness and the anger at feeling it. Weak. Tears are weakness. Fear. Fear is weakness. Nothing but brutal strength, the attack, the kill, revenge…nothing but these are strength. You have been weak all your life Tahirah…now I will make you strong. I will make you stronger than you ever thought possible.

Hearing her name in her head, her name spoken by the lips of Armand, it was so clear it was as if he stood beside her. She remembered that day so clearly, the last day she had used her name, the day she became someone else, the day she accepted his teachings with eagerness, with hate and with fear. She had never wanted there to be another night where she hid in the dark crying in fear of a man…of anyone. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to free. She wanted to cleanse herself of the past, to wash it away in the blood of her torturers. Armand gladly fueled that fire till it was a burning inferno and from that day, till that very moment as she walked after Sergei, had never gone out.

Her mind could not process her reasons for following him. Could not understand what it was she was seeking to find by going after the man who had caused the upheaval in her soul in the first place. She had lived oblivious to the conflict, it was so deeply buried, but he brought it to light and she could not stand the scrutiny. Despite this, or because of it, she did not indulge the thought to turn on her heals and disappear into the night, to leave Demaitre entirely if she had to in order to escape the dreadful emotions inside her.

She heard his breath, slow and calming. It seemed so loud to her ears. She stood and watched as he opened the door, the sound of music and singing, inaudible to human ears, but perfectly heard by immortal, reached her. Then, to her surprise he held the door for her. It should not have shocked her, indeed whatever she thought of Sergei he did the opposite of what she expected. She stopped, looked at his face for a moment, then her head went straight once more and she walked through the door. She did not look as she passed him.

She took the steps slowly, each one bringing the words of the songs being sung more clearly to hear ears and with more ferocity. She was hearing a million things and her mind differentiated them but did not process them, then Sergei spoke and like a thunder clap on a still night, his voice broke through the noise and her mind took him in.

His face was less dark, and she sensed no anger in him as he spoke to her. She looked at his face; hers still and emotionless, the battle was internal, beyond sight. She heard breath leave his body and his chest still. Like a corpse that walked he continued on. She folded her hands into soft fists, hiding the blood that covered them from mortal view.

She could bring herself to speak, she could not predict what words would leave her mouth if she dared let her lips part. Silence was golden, silence was surety, and silence was safe. She looked at him with eyes that said he did not know of what he spoke. He did not know what in anger she could do, had done.

Her lips quivered as if to speak. Her eyes glistened as they filled with red. She bit her lip, closed her eyes and rolled them to the back of her head to hold back the tears. She opened them again soon after, and this time she did speak.

“Why are you saying this to me?” she said softly. “You do not know of what you speak. I had a choice and I made it. I chose to be this.” Her eyes met his for a second, but it was like an eternity within those blue orbs. Then she walked past him.

Sergei made no move to follow her, instead he simple stood as he had, stood as a statue stands and as unbreathing, unmoving as he was, a statue was exactly what he could have been. Pale skin could just as easily have been marble. His expressive eyes could have been made of some new sapphire and yet as words came from his lips he seemed to live again.

“If this was your choice,” He began, pausing, unsure of his words. Then he continued, boldness touching him, telling him not to back off. If he did she might very well leave, she might leave and that was the last thing he wanted at the moment. No. This was no longer about them sharing a box, an evening, but rather something that Sergei was as a part of him, a part of his duty.

In truth this was even a part of him as a being, after all could he stand by and watch another’s suffering, even self induced suffering with a jaded lack of interest? In the core of his being the answer was clear, no, no he could not.

“If this is your choice, then why is there such sadness and misery in your eyes?” There it was; the root of things he saw when he looked at her; said and laid bare for them both to see.

“You are rather good at keeping it from your face, but your eyes give it away readily. After all I’ve seen of those that choose a life of blood shed and death, and yet I’ve never seen one that chooses this life with such gentle eyes.”

Sergei folded heavy arms before his chest then, studying her back as she continued moving away. What he’d said, it was the absolute truth. He’d met monsters, been a monster. But never was a monster gentle, and even as he watched, knowing that the woman pushed aside all that she could, fought against her gentle nature. Still it simply would not die. In time perhaps it would, perhaps the bloom of hope would fall never to return. But now was not that time and Sergei was not the one man to let it.

It was true, she had made this choice. She had chosen to become the thing she was now. Was it not Armand’s words that he could give her vengeance against her master that had brought her to this point? He had given her a choice, to drink of him and avenge herself or die. She chose revenge, she chose to become one of them and Armand led her into that life. When he died, she could have changed but she didn’t. She only knew one way to be…strong. This was what he had taught her, this was strength and she could not be weak again.

She kept walking, knowing her words might finally have deterred him from what ever ideals he seemed to have about her. Her footsteps were soft as her heals stabbed into the carpet beneath her. Her face was once again a mask, a painting of what she desired the world to see, a beautiful porcelain sculpture of painted elegance and control.

She stopped at his words, but failed to turn to look at him. Her eyes looked over the room before her as she listened. Sadness and misery, he saw that? She didn’t want anyone to see that. Gentle eyes? She turned at that, her head moving so slowly it was as if it were separate from her. Her eyes settled on him with his folded arms and tall stature.

She smiled a sad smile. “Do not pay attention to my eyes. They have a life of their own.” She stared at him in silence for a moment. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you say these things to me…gentle eyes?” She could not understand this man and his duty. “I was fine before I met you,” she said slowly, her words forming with such ease. “I thought I was fine, that I knew what I knew and that was all. Now you make me question. I do not like that. Questions need answers, and I…” she hesitated, “I cannot go to where the answers lie.” She made her confession, as much as she could there, maybe as much as she could admit to him. She did not know.

“Now if you will excuse me. I need to wash the blood from my hands,” she told him in a tone so low none but them could hear it. She turned with that, walking her slender frame over to the washroom. They were empty, when she arrived; perfect for the sight of her washing rich blood from her hands would have caused questions. She didn’t need or want anymore questions. She washed her hands clean and then the sink, leaving no trace behind.

She settled herself, putting loose strands of hair behind her ears and then with several deep cleansing breaths that did nothing more than to calm her, she walked back out.

She saw Sergei and her voice travelled to him across a room, yet none heard it. “You made one mistake earlier. You said I had a heart. I do not think you’re right. If it would please you to entertain that thought then go ahead but I will not pretend to believe it.” She paused and then spoke again. “What is it you want of me?” she asked sincerely.

She could not get past that thought, that there must be something he was getting out of this. It didn’t even matter, she just wanted to know why he was doing this.

Sergei was silent for a long moment. But more than silent he was as still as ever. To call him stoic would be an understatement of the highest caliber, in fact Sergei seemed at a loss for words and yet there couldn’t be a further thing from the truth. The Norseman’s mind swarmed with thoughts, and more than a few questions. The least of which was about the demeanor of the woman before him, indeed she seemed such a puzzle, an enigma.

When she returned, eyes studied her and they were slightly tired eyes, confused and yet edged with a sense of determination that made it clear that Sergei was no so easily cowed. Nor was he going anywhere.

“Perhaps, that is true of your eyes.” He granted, speaking of her statement of her eyes. “And yet as the mortals are fond of saying, the eyes are the windows of the soul. While not perhaps the magical notion that they believe them to be, mortals are correct in that it is more difficult to train one’s eyes than to train one’s expression.”

His eyes slid shut then and his breath can soft and slow as he leaned his head more fully on the wall behind him as he sighed.

“Why indeed?” Sergei asked aloud, the same fatigue that had been evident in his eyes, now shifting tendrils into his voice.

The vampire seemed to think a moment, then with a shrug his arms uncrossed from his chest and he gave a soft smile.

“I say these things because they are true. Perhaps it is because it is expected of me to cherish life in all its forms and perhaps it is because I cannot bear to see another in pain without reason. And that is what your pain is, senseless.”

His expression hardened then and he let out another sigh as he said.

“As for what I want from you, I want nothing. It is the duty of me and mine to keep the peace…and I believe that is accountable even to peace of mind. We help those that we can, and honor those that we cannot. That is what it means to be Amman.”

Uncrossing his arms, the big man moved away from the wall, and stood so that he faced her more fully and glancing at Faith he said.

“I want nothing more than to bring an end to the suffering that you cause yourself, even those that do not think as I think do not punish themselves so thoroughly. Those that seek dominance and power are a small minority among us indeed and yet you cling tightly to such things, even as they make you miserable. So my question to you, Ms. Faith…Why?”

She looked at him with soft, confused brown eyes. What did he want? Why was he trying to hard? What was his angle? There had to be something. She was going mad trying to figure it out. a room away from each other, staring back like gunmen at a showdown, but gone were the weapons and harsh looks, but what remained were the still faces and expectancy. Each studied the other puzzled.

His eyes seemed almost sad, but for reason Faith could not determine. It could not be for her she was sure. Was he tired? Tired of these relentless back and forth debate they were sharing. He wanted to see something in her that she could not. She had long forgotten to see the good in others, and worse yet, in herself.

Was it true about her eyes? No…more than likely not. “That they are,” she admitted but would admit to no more than that.

He leaned against the wall but Faith didn’t stir from her spot, she just watched him, silently, patiently and with some desperation. He was determined to make himself more and more the mystery to her, she was sure of it and it left her torn.

He uncrossed his arms and smiled at her. Faith again was puzzled. He liked to smile it seemed, and it was not entirely a bad one. She wanted to believe him, some part of her truly did, but had she not fooled herself into thinking something once only to have the truth come clear and crush her? Had she not fooled herself about Armand? How could she trust herself to hope what he said was true?

“Senseless?” She said softly, her eyes unwavering. He called her pain senseless, how good of him, but it did not feel senseless to her the one in whom the pain dwelled. Then with a breath, the smiling face disappeared for one sterner.

“You do it for something then. You do it to fulfill duty.” Finally she understood him. “Well said Amman. Help those you can and honour us you cannot. He stood with feet firmly planted across from her, his face more clearly turned to hers. “I am sorry to disappoint you so Amman, but I know no, nor understand, any other emotion. Can you understand that?” she questioned.

Her eyes never left his face as she spoke again, to answer his question…why? “I have asked myself that. The answer is simple and complex at the same time.” She slowly began to walk towards him, speaking to him as she went. Her lips barely moved but she spoke nonetheless. “I cling to what I know. I cling to the only times I was no subjugated, humiliated and weak. I cling to what I know as strength. I pay the price for what I cling to, and what a price it is. The price is not important. Misery is nothing new to me, but I will never be weak again. I promised myself, swore it by the first time I drank and became immortal.”

She stood right in front of him now, mere inches from him, her intense brown eyes were studying his face as she spoke. “You can never understand. Understanding comes with knowing, knowing me. I hardly understand myself, but since I met you…heard your words…things have come to the surface that I did not wish to…you have made me think of things I never wanted to again. Your voice has haunted me since that night and I wish you would take it away.” Her eyes and moved from Sergei’s face to his chest by the time she uttered her last words and blood tears began to fill in her eyes. She looked up suddenly, “This is what your words do...they make me weak.” She turned her back to him quickly. "It's humiliating," she said under her breath.

Sergei knew the urge that over came him was a foolish one, indeed it was one that might very well mean his death if he went through with it and yet how could he resist, how could he fail to notice the pain, the suffering, the anger, and hatred? More than that how could he ignore it? Perhaps all it was a sense of duty that made him go after what he saw and yet perhaps it was something more, something that came from much deeper within in. Perhaps it was this, this feeling that made him, human, that made him more than a monster, more than a beast. There were beasts the world over wearing the skin of men, awful creatures much worst than even the grimmest of immortals and yet also were there men who gave their lives, livelihoods for something more than themselves.

And that last was perhaps what best described what possessed Sergei to do what he did next. Indeed it was something that was foolish at its core and yet so primal and powerful that it was almost electric. Yet surely it warmed his heart and his veins.

Taking the distance her turn had put between them, Sergei suddenly stood firm and tall, and with the simplest of gestures large arms wrapped about the woman’s shoulders and upper arms in a soft embrace.

The embrace was sudden, unexpected, and yet surely the words that spilled from the Norseman’s lips were even more unexpected.

“I am sorry. I realize that a man touching you must cause you some distress, yet I will continue, because I want nothing from you but your comfort.”

Sergei considered that his mind could have imposed or at least tried imposing calm upon her, the same that he might try with a mortal woman and yet whatever came of this, Sergei could not. If she harmed him, it was perhaps his due, for he knew the risks he was taking even as he did and yet also he could feel the woman’s misery most clearly. And that misery cried out for comfort, for an end.

“I meant and I mean you no harm,” He continued then. “Even with my words did I mean you no distress, but even so…you are wrong. You are wrong because you think a lack of emotion is strength. It is not, nor shall it ever be. Hiding behind your fury is cowardice, living any life but the one you wish is cowardice and your eyes told me something else Faith, they tell me that you are no coward.”

She remained with her back to him, the humiliation of her situation seeping deep inside her. She had to hold it back, to cry now would be even more of degradation to his memory, to his teachings, and worst yet an embarrassment to the proud vampire whose desire to not seem weak ruled her every waking moment. Why had this happened? What plan was this for them to meet? Had it not been for Sergei, yes she would have died, she was sure of that now but she wouldn’t be filled with such feelings, such all consuming feelings that beat against the walls of the prison she had built for them with a vengeance demanding release.

She expected him to say something or walk away and let her be, but of course Sergei did none of the above, instead he did something entirely different and completely shocking.

Had she need of breath it would have stuck in her chest as she felt his arms wrap around her in a gentle embrace. Her body froze, her eyes widened and she was almost paralyzed with a mixture of surprise and fear…but more surprise. Was it that Faith was finally beginning to believe, in whatever small measure, that she had nothing to fear from Sergei?

Her eyes quivered with emotion at his actions and his words. Her hands remained loosely by her sides as he held her, a strange battle brewing inside her. Faith wanted him to let go, to not touch her but somewhere Tahirah cried out against Faith, she wanted this, she wanted the contact with another being after so long of being alone. She closed her eyes to hold it in as tears were sure to come now. Why had he done such a thing after all she’d said to him, all she’d done and implied? Why was he being so kind, so caring and understanding? It was like being abducted by aliens from some sci-fi movie where everyone looked like themselves but were really some pod replica. Men she knew did not hold her like this with such gentle comfort and security, indeed they always tried to invade and dominate her space.

As his words sunk in deeper her body began to shake, a physical reaction to an internal war. As the shaking grew, she lost control of her ability to hold back her tears as they suddenly surged upon her like a flood. Her next move was unexpected, even by her, such a thing Faith would never have done but the much gentler Tahirah did it without thought.

She turned before anyone could see the rich red of her tears and planted her face against Sergei’s chest and wept, her shoulders shaking with every silent sob that left her. “I know…” she said between sobs. “I know…you mean…me no harm. I do not know why I believe you but I do.” She could no longer speak; her tears were coming too quickly to allow speech, so instead she used her mind to communicate.

I am a coward then, for I do not know what future I desire if any. She had considered it more than once, to open the curtains of her room by the day’s light and end her suffering, but such a death she did not desire, in fact feared…a death where none would be left who remembered her or even cared about her passing. I have only known one and I have lived it for over a thousand years. I don’t understand how you see this world, this life. How you see emotion as so highly prized. Look at me, emotion is crippling me now into behaviour I would never otherwise indulge. How can this be strength? Tell me whatever secret you hold just make it stop. I want it to stop. Her words were sincere pleas from her softer side, the side who had not seen the light of sun or moon since the day Armand took her mortal life.

Perhaps her reaction was unexpected, perhaps her words as well, indeed everything that had or was happening between them was unexpected and yet Sergei simply held her as she shook and as she wept. His large hand was a slow soothing presence at her back and his eyes closed as he hear her voice so very keenly indeed within his mind. Sergei hadn’t been reading her mind, but he could tell he had been feeling her emotions, almost as if his mind tested the waters of hers rather simply jumping in. But when the waters surged, spoke directly to him, Sergei’s expression softened once more and his hand continued to try lending comfort even as his arms did likewise. He spoke to her then, as she’d spoke to him, his mental voice as gentle as could be.

It is not emotion that has crippled you. He whispered. It is the lack there of, always bottling away your feelings that make you act as you do. Can you dam a fjord and be angry at the waters for rushing forward to escape their prison? Can you shut your door against the storm winds and feel fury for their clamor at your locks? This is simply your reward for crippling yourself, for you were crippled long before you eve shed a tear, truly because you did not shed a tear.

Sergei’s expression turned sad then.

The woman’s questions made him hurt, not for the questions in and of themselves, but truly because he wondered what had be fallen her to wound and stunt her so thoroughly and viciously. For that was exactly what she was, stunted an mutilated.

It wasn’t a mutilation of the flesh which could be ignored or dealt with, instead it was mutilation of the spirit, torture the depths of which Sergei had often seen and yet never truly understood…how could any being do this to another…how? Even he and his brothers had not been so cruel, even before Sergei realized exactly what it was that they’d all do for so very long.

Pillagers and plunders had not so often left quite this level of destruction in their path.

I’m sorry Faith. He said then. There is no way to stop what you feel, indeed hiding it as you did. Even that did not stop its, think back, you know I speak the truth. Just know that your power is in accepting what you feel, knowing your own heart. And as my sire once said to me: Serving no master but your own ambitions…I believe in a future for you, but you must believe in it. You must want it.

What was she doing, crying in front of this man? What was she doing at all? To tell him what she had, to let her feelings be known even in a small measure. Her shoulder still shock, her body seeming to be unwilling to relent its attack, wanting full release from the pain she had held in so long. This was but a beginning, the full flood still remained barred behind her will. If this was what happened from simple statement and confessions, what would become of her if she laid herself bare and looked back on the life she’d led, the pains she suffered? Could she handle it? Would her tears ever stop?

He still held her even after she turned and her sorrow took her. He was being so kind and she knew it was his duty to do this, to try to stem her tears and lift her spirits. She knew and was thankful; somewhere inside she was thankful that he felt such duty. Then there he was in her mind, speaking softly, comfortingly as his duty would have him.

However whatever comfort his words held, their truth was more painful to admit. She was the cause of her own pain. They had hurt her long ago, torn her down, beat her and crushed her will, but when they stopped, when they were gone, she had continued. No she had not inflicted physical harm to herself but the very things she held to, the very things that had kept her alive was what were killing whatever soul still remained within. You do not understand…it is too much to face alone. she admitted. The feelings she had buried so long were too strong to be handled alone, she could not face them, she would not face them. And what happens once that fjord is released? What happens to the plain below when the waters come crashing down upon them? What then? They are consumed, utterly washed away to nothingness…that is what happens. It cannot withstand the force of what they have been protected from so long.

She felt it then, though so subtle that she might have mistaken it for her own hurt, but it was not her own, it was different. It was from Sergei. Her eyes opened against his chest, his clothes red with her tears, tears that still fell. Why did hurt him?

You apologise again when you have done nothing wrong. She shook her head resisting his words. Every time he left her with more fire in hear ears and mind. There has to be something… she interjected. Accepting? she questioned. Did he know what that meant? No truly he couldn’t. What heart? I have none…none that functions. My heart was turned to granite many centuries Amman. There is no recovering it…no knowing it. A future for her, what kind of future was that to be? A future void of any semblance of peace, for she could not see how peace could come by facing the darkest demons that lay inside her.

A future is something for those with hope Amman. I cannot make myself have that. I want to… she began but stopped. Her tongue would not betray her this time. No, want she wanted would remain locked inside her head away from his thoughts and her own. It was foolish to hope, foolish to desire it but she did.

Sergei shook his head almost instantly to the negative. And his grasp on the woman became firmer, not so much of arm or of force, but simply it became more. A comfort that Sergei whished to reach as deeply as it could and his neck inclined forward as his chin rested softly upon the crown of her head and his voice replied as soft and soothing as he could manage once more.

That is not what happens. He argued. Though a dam breaks, though the waters are might and take a heavy toll, never is land consumed, utterly washed away to nothingness. Despite being sunken and every perhaps for a time indeed, the land is still there. Someday it shall be as it was, the proof of the water’s fury passed and the waters shall still be free to flow.

Again his embrace became more and for a moment he didn’t speak, instead he allowed the only sound to be those they shared, the pulling of breath, the course of blood in vein, indeed all those things that spoke of life, things that neither of them was fully done with even now in their undeath.

It is not too strong. He said then. It is not too strong for you, I can tell. And then again you are hardly alone…

And then his words changed again, perhaps with a bit of thoughfulness, after all Sergei could hardly fine any in his previous words. Had he spoken without thinking? Most definately! Did that make his words false? Hardly.

You have hope and a future Faith. If you did not have hope I've no doubt your existance would have ended long ago. After all you must understand, what does one life for without the hope of what could and might be. And this hope in turn proves the existance of this heart you deny so...granite or not, it is your heart and likewise can you decide its make and condition.

He released her then, his hands moving to her shoulders and holding her he pulled her away to meet his gaze more fully, to look into eyes soft and wide with the sorrow he felt for her and yet his eyes also held more than tenderness, but indeed that which was called faith.

Long ago, one much older than I told me of this life, how hard it would be... Sergei said then. She told me that it can be a lonely existance or a painful one. She told me that it can be ecstacy or pentance and she truly showed me them all. But above anything else she showed me that all of our choices affect how we exist in this world and yet we are never to old or long gone to make new choices. Indeed such is what it is to be immortal, the future can stretch wide indeed.

She could feel his response to her words, even though she did not look at his face to see it. The subtle feeling of his head shaking in protest was easily felt, and his hold on her grew stronger. Her arms still dangled lifelessly at her sides but for a moment, for the most fleeting of seconds they raised almost in an attempt to embrace him back but failed. His strong arms held comfort, even in the increase of his strength, a strength that did not bring fear into her heart as she was accustomed. His chin was on her head as he spoke to her, soft words filled with hope.

How could he believe so much that she could not see? How could he have such hope within him when inside she was empty, a chasm for the waste. But how long? How long must the plain wait hidden beneath the waves till it can once again be free? Years, centuries? How can anyone forget, even after the waters have subsided that the flood had occurred and that it had laid waste to all things before something new could be born of it?

His embrace grew stronger once more and her breath rushed into her lungs sharply with it. No words passed between them as she listened to the blood in his veins, blood she had tasted, the blood that had saved her. for a moment he was just a man and she was just a woman, standing sharing a moment. Some might have said what a cute couple they made or how much they must be in love, but they would all be wrong. None would guess that they hardly knew each other yet had been haunted by each other since their first meeting.

Yes it is. You have no idea how strong it is, she protested. How do you know what strength I have within me? You do not know me. She sniffled trying to hold back more tears as he spoke. What did he mean by that? That she was hardly alone? I am alone. I have no one. I want no one, she lied but she was sure he could sense the dishonesty in her statement. It was easy to say she wanted to know, it was easier than letting someone in because letting them in left her open to the pain they would bring. She’d had enough pain.

She could not look at him. She had wanted to end her existence but she was afraid, afraid to go into oblivion and no one would care. If she weren’t just a coward she might have ended it long ago. You speak with such confidence, about a thing you that know no emotion. You claim that it can change, that I can change it. How can I change it when I am unfamiliar with what it should be like, could be like? she questioned honestly. She had never known true happiness, peace, love or any such whimsical emotion, how could she make her heart feel what it did not know?

He released her then and she looked up at his face questioningly, a hint of despair in her eyes. His eyes were large and so blue, so very blue and so gentle in appearance. She had never seen such eyes, at least none directed at her before.

No one ever told me about this life, she admitted. All I was told was that I never had to feel weak again. That was all I wanted to know.[i] She laughed sadly in her mind. [i]He showed me nothing but how to hurt those who would hurt me. What is ecstasy? What does that feel like? What do any of these things that supposedly are so wonderful feel like? I don’t know! She pulled away from him then leaving the red mark on his clothes. She hugged herself, slender arms entwined around her body and held it close for protection.

She looked at him with glazed eyes. Where did you learn to feel? Who taught you? she looked at her feet and then back to his face, a revelation of pure honesty leaving her lips. I was taught very few things, but they were the things that were most important I was told. I was taught to do as I was told, never to cry, never to speak, always to fear and how to cope with pain. My master told me that, and for twenty years of my life he made sure I lived by them. When I forgot…he made sure I remembered in the most painful way he could imagine. These were the feelings I know how to deal with, the others lost on me.

She spoke then, in the voice that was so soft and light it was almost like smoke rising into the air. “Sergei you have been to kind to me. Possibly the kindest of any person I have met, so for your own sake listen to me. Do not waste your time with me. I don’t think anyone could put me back together,” she smiled sadly, “not even me.”

“No, you are not alone.” They were the first words out of Sergei’s lips and yet they were careful or at least was the tone of voice, if not the words. “I will be here so long as you need…well so long as you are in need.”

Taking a slow breath, Sergei’s eyes moved to her back, the sweep of her hair, the minute trimmers of her body. Had he not been an immortal, the little touches would have seemed so insignificant and yet he was what he was and they seemed to underline Faith’s misery. He looked at her for many moments at a lost of what to say.

Then when words finally came back to him they were less careful, perhaps touched with a slow and sweeping fear. A fear not of what Faith might do, not to him or truly not to others. Instead it was a fear of what she might do to herself. Sergei worried for her, what she felt and the depths of her agony.

She had been right, this was his fault and yet he knew in his heart of hearts, even if it was still in his chest, that this was what was best. Faith knew little of who and what she was, her words made that clear, but indeed in their core a person knows who they are, what the want. Indeed Sergei believed that he need only go further and he could show her this.

Moving toward her then he said lightly.

“If you do not know of things, even the world itself, what is has to offer…these things are not so hard to learn. Each and every one of us, define ecstasy, define what is good and proper and enjoyable differently, Faith. I was not taught to feel, but rather I do, it is something incurrent perhaps to the life I lived, the people I’ve met and loved along the way, but even without that I feel for I am an man as you are a woman. It is in our very nature to feel, for things, for people, for each other. The mind builds opinions without need for much input of any kind. That is why I ask you not to dwell on what you were taught. Those lessons mean less than dust to you now. Those that would torture a woman in her lessons are dead and turned to dust.

And if anything can be salvaged of what you said, you are no longer weak. Never again shall you be another man’s slave. So please do not be slave to his memory. Letting go of that…this is what shall put you back together Faith, that and talking to yourself, being honest with yourself. Doing truly what you want to do and not what another has told you is right. You are your own master…”

She wasn’t alone? He would be there? His words seemed to paralyse her again, but not with fear but with shock and maybe a tiny bit of relief or was it that strange emotion called hope? He was careful with his words, wary she guessed of her reaction. Ready to snap, was that what he thought? His duty forcing him to make sure she didn’t. He might be right; her mind had never been so assailed in many years.

Those blue chasms, where had he gotten such eyes, such searching capsules of ocean? She wished she could ask, those eyes seemed to constantly try to capture her and lock her within them. It was hard to fight them, very hard.

Her arms still sought to comfort her, rubbing against her arms slightly as if there was a chill. She was watching him, she couldn’t help it, her eyes pleasing with him to just let it go…let her go and return to her miserable life, for it was utterly miserable. There was no joy in her existence, no passion, no love, just an empty wasteland.

Would she do it tomorrow? Would she pull back the curtains that led to her balcony at noon and bring this all to a fiery end? She hadn’t the guts to do it…or maybe she did, maybe that was why she was hear tonight, maybe that was why she was still standing there listening to everything Sergei was saying. Maybe she wanted someone to pull her back from the precipice she was walking.

He moved towards her and her hands grasped tighter at her arms so her feet wouldn’t move. “Not so hard? But hard enough,” she said softly. I was never given luxury to entertain any other emotion; it was safer to just stay with the ones I knew. They were…painful…but they kept me alive,” she admitted. They had made her hollow, empty and alone but they had kept her alive. She scoffed; it was not one of arrogance but of sadness. “I have never loved,” she admitted again, truth seeming to leap from every word of her mouth for some unknown reason. Had he mesmerised her, was that why she was telling him all this? “I have only felt hate and fear, nothing else. How will I learn? Who will teach me?” she asked still finding it hard to believe he would help.

She was not weak, but in her heart she still feared that she was, that if she let go what she used now to protect herself the weakness inside would show its face once more. She looked at him, with a blank expression. “I can’t be honest with myself…I can’t,” she said softly. “I want to be…” she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I have always lived by the rules of others. I’m not used to making my own. There is too much in my mind, to many things left unfinished…so many things I want to forget but won’t let me.”

There was something soft and delicate in Sergei’s eyes as he listened to her speak. Well and truly it was his duty to help her, but it was a duty that went beyond The Amman Coven and truly into a duty to be done if Sergei ever wished to think of himself as a man, as a human being ever again.

Long ago he had accepted what he was amongst the sheets and whispers of a woman he’d hardly known, a woman that had killed all of his wolf shirt brothers in defense of a people that she owed no loyalty to beyond her word of protection as long as they granted her peace. Indeed once a part of him had though her a fool for such a deal, especially as he learned of her power, began to taste it himself. And yet always she had been so very kind, to him, to prey, even to enemies. She had shown Sergei a kind of life that he could not have imagined let alone hoped to live and yet here he was many centuries removed and when he really looked at himself, truly was honest; indeed Sergei saw that he had grown so much like her, his departed sire.

It was strange that he thought of her now, especially given how often he tried to forget. That was until he met others that might know of her, have some inkling of who she’d been and yet Sergei already knew this woman could not possibly know anything of his lost beloved…yet still thoughts of her came, looking at this woman, thoughts of how she’d helped, truly molded him into what he was, though of course it was his choice to be molded…always had it been his choice.

His gaze met hers once again and he nodded at her words.

“Perhaps, it is hard, but safe is not always healthy.” He replied. Moving toward her, he embraced her again, his arms this time following the path of her own, simply holding her.

“If you will let me, I shall teach you. Tonight, be my guest at my home. Once upon a time my people held guest to the height of respect, it was believed that the gods themselves sometimes walked the earth disguised at travelers and that for this reason alone the guest should be sacred for a guest could truly be a god and yet if not should still duly treated as one.”

His expression softened then.

“And it is in that spirit that I offer you my home…Faith. My home shall be yours, your wish mine. This is what once was and is again in Oden’s follower’s heart. This shall be your first lesson, to be served rather than serve, to accept kindness. I don’t know what I can teach you, if it will be enough for you to put aside what haunts you, but I would make this offer and ask that you accept.”

Her hands still clung to her arms, trying to build an invisible barrier between her and Sergei, a barrier from her emotions. No one had ever made her feel this way, made her think so much about the past and look to the future. Faith lived in the now, at least she tried to. The future was unpredictable, she had no desires or wishes for it even though she knew it would come, and the past she wished only to forget.

Those soft blue eyes…they were kind. Kindness was not something she was used to, and even to see it in his eyes was like watching a play unfolding. He was more than he appeared to be, she had been right in thinking so the first time they met, he was… a gentleman. Faith didn’t think she had ever truly met one till this moment, till Sergei and his electric blue eyes.

She almost wished she had met him before now, she would have laughed at the thought that came next…what if it had been him in stead of Armand, what would she have been then? She shook away the thought for it was a foolish one. Armand was her sire; he had made her, protected her and died because of her. She owed him her allegiance if nothing else; she owed him that, to not disgrace his memory because of soft words and blue eyes. But she couldn’t help it, even as she looked into Sergei’s eyes she saw things she never had in Armands, a warmth and a kind gentleness that he had never possessed, not even with her.

Safe wasn’t always healthy…perhaps not, but it worked.

He embraced her again and her throat tightened slightly at his touch. Everything about him was soft and she didn’t understand how. She had never been soft, well once she had been but that was gone now. She had been soft with him, with the small boy who she watched over under the mastery of Diya al din. He was a slave like her, but younger and scared. She took care of him, she protected him…she tried to, but in the end she failed and he died. She watched him die.

Her head dropped but rose when he told her he would teach her. Her eyes looked at him questioningly, in disbelief of what he was saying. “You’d teach me?” she questioned. He would teach her? Her mind went blurry at his offer to be a guest in his home. Her brow furrowed at his suggestion. No, she could not…that was her first thought. However, the more he talked, the more he explained how highly respected his people saw travellers and guests her mind opened to the idea though only in a small measure.

“You came from a good people,” she said softly. Her people, the people she had been raised around were not so kind. They deemed travellers and nothing more than a chance to fatten their pockets, and many died at their hands because of this practice. That was the type of ‘hospitality’ she knew.

His face was soft and she almost wanted to accept his offer.

She looked at him, her eyes soft and sad. He was promising a lot, her wish was his, his home hers. Did he know what he was saying? Had he really considered it? He was offering her, probably the most unstable female he would ever meet, a place in his home. He was insane, he had to be.

“If it pleases the heart of Oden’s follower, for he is a good God it seems and produces such kind people, then I will learn this lesson,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on his. Had she really just accepted his offer? Yes, she had. She didn’t think he could wipe away her pains, her demons but would it really hurt so much to try? It could, she knew very well that it could hurt very much, but could she continue her life if she didn’t at least try?

“I accept,” she said softly. “I accept.”

His smile as well as his nod was again soft in composition. And perhaps everything of Sergei might have seemed that way to Faith, but indeed that was hardly the case. In his age in the blood, Sergei’s skin was akin to marble in both touch and color. An analogy that was only strengthened by muscle beneath skin, muscle that had once upon a time be than of a professional warrior, a raider, and it was in this sense that his whisper came.

“To me they were a good people,” He admitted. “But to others still we were barbarians, beasts of legend to be reviled and feared.”

Refusing to release his careful embrace, he shrugged against her then.

“That is the duality of life, Faith. Odin is a good god, but also is he the father of combat, father of the brave that find their end upon the battlefield, those chosen by the Valkyries. There are different sides to every person Faith, every people, and well truly I am glad to show you this of mine.”

He smiled then and nodded his own acceptance of her acceptance.

“Then you are my guest, Faith. May the Norns themselves take note of this between us.” He said softly, nearly inaudible, like a prayer and indeed it was.

Sergei released her then, released her and stepped away, his expression still soft around its edges but his eyes were suddenly attentive as he reached out his hand to her.

“My car will be waiting outside. When you are ready we may go. And if there is anything that you require…you shall have it if it is mine to give.”

The words might have sounded a bit stiff, formal, but again that was because they were. Such was tradition, old standing and as binding as stone. Sergei’s people might be gone and yet their ways, his ways, they lived onward still. And the vampire stood silently then, ready to fulfill his promises.

It had been said there was no taking it back now. She had accepted his offer, she would be his guest. Faith thought of what that meant, being a guest in Sergei’s home. She had never really been a guest before, she’d lived with Armand but that was more cohabitation, she had her ways and had his and they happened to be similar, namely because he instructed her in everything she did.

Sergei may have appeared closer to a finely crafted piece of marble art than a man, but to Faith the kindness he showed her outweighed every other thing about him.

She looked at his face as he spoke. “I cannot say my people were good, for I do not remember my real people. My master took me into his home when I was but a child, his people are the only people I remember and they were far from good,” she said softly but honestly.

He still held her, and she still remained still fighting the desire to pull away. She had no reason to fear him, but it was not fear of him she was worried about, it was herself. Faith did not trust herself, Sergei was making an offer that would put her in close quarters with him and she did not know how she would handle that. Here she was fine, there were mortals around every corner, but in his home, when it would just be the two of them…what then? She was beginning to doubt that was a good idea and they hadn’t even left the Last Curtain yet.

“Whatever he might be…I thank him,” she said softly. Her eyes still remained on his face as he spoke. He was glad to show this side of him? Faith was glad to see such a side could be possessed by a man, for truly she doubted that it did. Kindness, duty and respect where things she had felt were gone forever, if they ever existed but Sergei had been proving her wrong from the moment they met.

He smiled at her, but Faith could not smile back. She wanted to but just couldn’t.

His words were soft as he spoke of the promise between them, for that was what it was. He had promised to teach her and she had promised to be his guest, whatever that meant she would be sure to do her best. When he released her, her throat relaxed, indeed everything about her relaxed instantly. She might have felt sorry to have such reactions towards a man who had done nothing but shown her kindness, but she couldn’t help it.

He reached out to her and Faith hesitantly looked at it and then to his face before her hand reached slowly for his. She nodded her head as he told her the car would be waiting. “There is one thing,” she said softly, “I want to see the end,” she continued looking up at him. “The end of the play…I want to see it.” He wouldn’t understand what it meant to her, why she wanted to see the end, but nonetheless it was what she wanted.

Sergei nodded then. And it was a gesture not so much born of understanding, for indeed he did not understand. But it was a gesture tinged with acceptance. Sergei knew that he could not understand this woman’s life, could not understand her struggles, all that she had seen and done. This he could accept. Had accepted. Just as he had accepted his own differences from her. She had been a slave. He had been a warrior. She was a woman and he a man. Differences were inherent in every being of the earth, a different part written by the old scribes of legend and indeed the Norns were creative mistresses. And yet accepting is sometimes the hardest, but is always the best of courses.

He nodded once again.

“I must admit,” He said, pausing for only a breath. “I must admit that I wanted to see then end as well…”

Another smile. And like the last it wasn’t about them sharing a smile, about him expecting a similar emotion in her. Sergei smiled simply because it was in his nature to do so, because he was amused or happy, or sometimes simply because it was a peace keeping or making gesture. At the moment the former rather than the later was true and genuine happiness touched eyes of a blue not quite flame heart, not quite ocean depth, and illuminated them in a subtle play of emotion.

Sergei walked forward then, he moved toward the door of their box, the thought ‘their’ a bit suspect in his mind even as he thought it and the Norseman opened and held the door for the other.

“After you.” He said simply then.

She looked at him, her body feeling numb and more like a statue cold and lifeless than something animate. He nodded his understanding, and she returned it with a smaller nod of her own. It was good, it was good that he understood or at least would not deny her the pleasure of watching the end of the play. The end had always been her favourite.

They were so different standing there, dark hair apposing blonde, pale skin versus tanned, male with female, and yet they were the same, the feel of their skin was the same, smooth like polished glass and the same temperature. Her fingers closed around his hand but she barely registered it.

He wished to see the end as well, that was good. It was good ending, a very good one and she hoped he would enjoy it. They had spent most of the time away from the colour and sounds and story, but the end was what truly mattered. How it all come to a close.

He smiled at her and she watched his eyes light up. It was faint, barely there, but it was playing at the corner of her mouth, a smile. It wasn’t like his, no emotion was not so clearly visible or felt but something was there, small in measure but not to be discounted. It was not her nature to smile, she rarely did it genuinely, but Sergei could be assured in this, that though small and seemingly insignificant the smile she gave him was genuine.

He walked forward and her with him to their box. Her mind couldn’t help but considered the irony of the night. She had come to get a taste of home, to wipe her mind of Sergei; his face, his voice, his words and the things he brought to the surface in her, and now there she stood with him. What plan was this that they should meet her? By whose design and the very thing she was running from found her? Was this some kind of sign? Was someone trying to tell her it was time, it was time to heal?

For the moment she couldn’t say for sure, but one thing was clear, he had gotten to her in a way no one else had before, whether for good or ill she would soon discover. She passed through door and found her seat. They were right on time.

The curtain rose for the final act. They poor girl lay imprisoned, her soul broken and her heart shattered. She wept and danced a sad tortured dance before falling to the floor in tears. She had been cast into prison for her love and now she would be left to her death. Then the sound of a male voice, strong and sure the clash of steel and the turning of a lock. There stood her love; he had come to save her. They danced to their joy and embraced. The curtain fell with them in each other’s arms with a host of dancers celebrating their reunion and their love.

Faith watched in silence. This was what she had loved about it; that in the end the girl was free to live. She always watched this from the perspective that it was a good dream, but would never be reality for her. She spoke in her own tongue, “Always the same.” Her eyes looked to Sergei as the audience applauded the performers. What had he thought? For Faith it was always such a wonderful dream, a thing to keep in her heart as a child and young woman, a hope that one day like the poor girl she would be freed from her prison. She was still waiting.

As they entered the box and the last of the play began Sergei found himself instantly drawn to Cassandra’s words. Once upon a time she had laughed at him when he asked her about a story she’d once told. Strangely enough it had simply been beginning and end. Then he’d called it a riddle for indeed his sire had been gifted with talent for the cryptic and wyrd. Even truly urðr.

She had said simply when he asked of the story.

“The journey is merely for improving one’s self, for change. The end, ah that is what matters. The conclusion. Make no doubt; the conclusion is the most important part in every story, mine yours, every story that shall ever be written under the sun or moon…”

Even then, sitting in the box it was as if Sergei could hear his sire’s words and see the perpetual amusement of her expression as she took in the world with unseeing eyes. Indeed she had left an impression on him…made him different, but never what he did not want to be.

The curtains were up then and Sergei watched the imprisoned woman with keen interest. They poor girl lay imprisoned, broken and harried. She wept and danced a sad dance of barely contained agony before falling to the ground crying. Her acting was so keen it had the Norseman’s heart with her, afraid at least in spirit for what would become of her. She had been cast into prison for her love and now she would be left to die, outcast into the perpetual cruelty and darkness of the cell.

Then the sound of a male voice, followed by the sounds of combat, surprisingly well done, considering Sergei had been privy to the real thing many times. In times past and even present. Blades didn’t often clash in real life, but when they did…the sound was what it was.

Then the saving “hero” appeared; he had come to save her. They danced and embraced. The curtain fell with them in each other’s arms with other dancers celebrating their ending.

“Most important indeed…” Sergei found himself whispering, thinking of his own ending. Cassandra’s exit of the great stage would forever be with him and yet how would his ending come? Would he be happy for the rest? Would he fight? Indeed it might take his mind to a place most feared and yet for his people, life and death had always been one and the same. A man lived how he died and died how he lived.

Now as the curtains closed and the lighting slowly changed, it was time to live again, time to see what the journey would bring and if it was an ending Sergei could be proud of.

Turning eyes to Faith, he met her gaze passively.

“Are you prepared, my guest?” The words were formal, the smiling expression behind them less so. Indeed now was the time to see what life had left to offer.