“Wake up, monster.”

 

“Good morning to you too, Katherine. Don’t worry, I don’t sleep.”

 

“All of God’s creatures sleep, Hellspawn. Further proof you are not one of them.”

 

Amelie picked her face up off the table. She had what could only be described as the world’s worst pillow face. She, obviously, did not care. 

 

“There are plenty of fish that don’t sleep, inquisitor. Are you going to prosecute them next? If so, can I stay and watch?”

 

Katherine sat down, somewhat hesitantly. She had not immediately recognized the lines on Amelie’s face for what they were and feared that this might be the start of some horrible transformation, an ability they and the church had no knowledge of. She tried to stay composed by focusing on the parchment, which she unfurled and lay on the table in front of her, and then several beside it. She talked while she lay out her implements.

 

“You chose to be like this, foul creature. The creatures of the ocean and land and air were created by divine hand.”

 

“Wrong.”

 

Katherine paused. She glared at Amelie. It didn’t carry the punch that Amelie’s “could probably not only kill you but any insect in a fifty foot radius as well”-brand of glare did, but she was still impressed. 

 

“What do you mean, you heretical fiend?”

 

Amelie rolled her eyes and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. 

 

“I don’t mean to belittle God, Katherine. Calm yourself. I mean that I did not truly choose to be like this.”

 

“You spoke last time of the choice you were given, of the foul pact that was offered, which you accepted.”

 

Amelie nodded.

 

“You must understand the circumstances I was under, Inquisitor. I was not in my right mind, and if I recall correctly, God forgives those who make mistakes if they show penance.”

 

“God forgives. The inquisition does not.”

 

Katherine repeated the well-rehearsed line with a deadpan expression, but something about the way Amelie had recounted her story made her pause momentarily. Not out of pity, but a sense of… something. She struggled with a theological question. Could, hypothetically, a demon feel guilt? If so, could it show penance? An interesting question to ask the Lord Inquisitor on her next report. 

 

“I’m aware, Katherine. I’m aware.”

 

Katherine unscrewed the ink bottle without looking at Amelie and dipped her pen. 

 

“You said, last time, that she killed you?”

 

“That I did.”

 

“Elaborate.”

 

---

 

She was beautiful, as I told you last time, but I can not stress enough just how closely she approached what I can only describe as divine perfection. You might sneer or curse or call me heretic, but you would have only gasped and thanked the Lord Himself for blessing your day with such a vision if she’d appeared before you. Up to that point in my life, she had been truly unmatched in beauty. If a creature of such incomprehensible and incomparable magnificence appeared before you, you too would have said yes to anything she offered.

 

At the time I believed her to be an angel, of sorts. Too beautiful to be a normal human, certainly. So she offered me the gift. I did not know what she meant, drunk off wine and adrenaline as I was, but I know that I would regret it for the rest of my days if I did not say yes. 

She stepped forward, and plunged her teeth into my neck. If you have ever been a subject to blood-letting, you will know the bite of the needle, which is short and sharp. The feeling after, of something foreign and unnatural in your body, and the distinct feeling of losing something of yourself. It was this feeling amplified a thousandfold. The initial sting was deeply painful, and I thought then and there that I might find myself eaten alive. After only half a second, if that, the pain subsided, leaving only the distinct feeling that a foreign object was lodged in my neck but that, too, gave way to the hellish experience of the draining of my blood.

Because that is exactly what she was doing. She drained me and, with my wine-addled mind already unstable, I very quickly lost my balance and fell. She made no effort to catch me, only wiped a crimson smear from her ruby lips. She looked at me and I’ve spent years remembering that moment, trying to decipher what exactly the look in her eyes meant. Did she pity me? Find me disgusting? Amusing? She had been unfathomable.

 

Everything had gone dark and when I came too, I was on my horse once again. I thought momentarily that I had simply hallucinated the entire thing, that it had been the strange fever dream of one who has drank too much. I considered turning around, going back to the inn to apologize to my friend, but a pain in my shoulder told me that not only had my encounter in the belltower been real, so had its wounds and consequences. I found then that I had not an ounce of strength left in me but to spur the horse on forwards, to my parents’ estate.

 

I do not remember the journey, or how I arrived, though, of course, I must have. The next few days were spent in a delirious haze. Whether sleep or consciousness was worse then, I can not tell you. In dreams I was chased by monstrous creatures wearing my own face, but in waking I hallucinated all manner of horrors, exacerbated only by the ever-present pain in my shoulder. My parents had many healers come to my bedside, and all said the same, that the fever should break at any moment, and that they did not understand why it didn’t.

 

On the third night, I woke from a dream. It had been filled with darkness and fear, but when I opened my eyes, the reality of the situation was not much better. My bed was soaked with cold sweat, but I was cold beyond that, and I thought for a moment I might have been hallucinating when I saw my balcony window open. She stood there, as beautiful and dangerous as ever.

 

“You are dying,” she said, though I could have told her as much. I felt my body fighting a losing battle. Yet the way she said it betrayed no regret or sadness. She had simply stated a fact.

 

“If you wish to truly overcome death, disease and old age, now you must begin the second leg of your journey upward, or continue on the one to eternal rest.”

 

She was not wrong. My parents, bless their souls, had been so kind as to have a priest read me my rites. As a precaution, of course. If I were to die, my soul would be saved. But she truly offered an alternative, and every man and woman is plagued by doubt, even in the face of damnation. Perhaps death and its insecurities did not have to come for me, not yet. 

 

I stumbled out of bed and made my way to her on hands and knees and begged again, for a second time, for her to take it away. She smiled in a way that would have brought me kneeling had I not already been prostrate. It’s a smile I’ve often seen cats around the house brandish when they’ve a mouse in their claws, or perhaps the kind of grin a drowning sailor might see approaching him just below the surface of the water. It was the smile of predation, and even in my state of illness I felt fear. But due to my answers to the affirmative, it was already too late.

 

She kneeled in front of me and offered her own slender neck to me. A part of me knew that what I was doing was wrong, then. That was, I believe, the point of no return, where I could have turned away and slipped into blessed, holy sleep. But my fear of the future, of death, led me to take the actions I took. 

 

I fed from her as she’d fed from me, and as I drank I felt my veins fill with an icy cold that has not left me since. It felt like an eternity, every time I swallowed feeling my strength come back to me, the pain in my shoulder subside. When she finally pulled me away, the world had become a different creature altogether.

 

The air was filled with a thousand scents. I could smell the housemaids that had refreshed my bedchambers hours before, the stables outside. I could smell the birds roosting in the rafters of the attic, and I could smell the blood on my lips. 

 

Every colour was more vivid than it had previously been. Where previously the night had been darkness interspersed with blues, now there were thousands of new hues. The shadows held no more secrets from me, and I could see the history of every brick and plank as if it was written on them. 

 

I looked at the woman and found her even more beautiful than I had before. She was exquisite and I felt a pang of what I can only describe as resentment. Who could, after all, not look at a being of such beauty and wish that it was you? I can not describe to you what your senses can not perceive, but trust me when I tell you that to my sharpened senses, her visage was to my sight as extreme sweetness would be to your tastes. She was painful to look at. I hated her, in that moment, and I could not have told you why.

 

She took me by the arm and led me to the mirror by my dresser, one I’d kept covered for some time now. My servants ensured a well-kept appearance, and I did not enjoy the sight of my reflection much at the time. But when she pulled down the cloth, the creature in front of me was new and different entirely. I had become the perfect version of myself, she told me. Indeed, my skin was smoother than it had ever been, though with a ghostly paleness that seemed to betray a deep sickness. My already blue eyes had acquired an ice-like quality, and my shoulder-length hair had acquired a silken texture. I touched my skin, and the sensation was completely new, like velvet or silk stretched over marble. This is how the gods feel, she told me. 

 

I disagreed. The recent feeding had healed my wounds and opened my eyes to the true reality of this situation. I was indeed, now, one of the undying. I felt this as true as you feel that you are alive. And I was forever unchanging. Looking in that mirror made it entirely clear that I would need change, and it would forever be out of reach, now. In fear and rage, I smashed the mirror, much to the woman’s chagrin and surprise. She tried to restrain me but in my panic she could not contain me. I withdrew from her, whimpering, realising the extent of my actions. When she asked me, all I could tell her is that I desired to be anything but this. She misunderstood, of course, and simply told me she was disappointed, and left through the window she’d come in through. 

 

I crawled back into bed, though that last delirious night would be the last time I’d ever slept. Rest would not come. I touched my face, its strong jawline. My arms were, due to this transformation, hairless, a small comfort. My fingers were more slender than they had been, and had a deeply attractive quality to them. But they were not mine, too large and as if made for fighting. I buried myself under the blankets and wished for it all to be taken away. 

 

---

 

“You sold your soul to the devil,” Katherine said without pity.

 

“I sold my old age. I believe my soul is still firmly in here with me.”

 

“Nevertheless, you made a deal with the dark forces. All consequences are yours to bear.”

 

For the first time Amelie showed a hint of emotion beyond exasperation. She snarled in her chair, and Katherine recoiled in fear. The shackles held Amelie in place, and her skin sizzled where it touched the silver restraints, smoke rising to the ceiling. She didn’t seem to notice.

 

“I bore my consequences! I bore them for a dozen lifetimes, and I bear them still, Inquisitor!”

 

She calmed down and relaxed.

 

“I apologize.”

 

“What are you apologizing for?” Katherine seemed genuinely curious.

 

“You are not my enemy, Inquisitor, even if you think otherwise. This is simply a… sore subject, for me. Forgive my outburst.”

 

“God forgives, vampire…”

 

“...the inquisition does not. I remember. Surely you can forgive someone remembering their old pain. I believe my co-operation warrants at least that much.”

 

“Very well, creature. No offense was taken;”

 

“Thank you, Katherine. Anyway.”

 

“Anyway.”

 

“That is how I died. I believe I’ve answered your question?”

 

“You have, vampire. Thank you. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

 

“I look forward to it, Katherine. It’s frightfully dull in here. Besides, out of all my jailors, you are by far the most pleasant company.”

 

Katherine swallowed but said nothing and quickly scurried out of the room with her papers.