The nocturnal chill settled over Tear Lake like an ethereal blanket. The air was tinged with an otherworldly calm. Adamastor rose from his makeshift seat. His eyes fixated on the moonlit reflections quivering in the water.
Next to him, a tablecloth was spread over the grass, a picnic—an incongruous but intentional scene. A meat pie filled with succulent chicken still emanated warmth, and a bottle of red wine stood uncorked. A couple of hazelnut muffins—Ursula's favourite—were tucked to the side.
The heavens seemed to be participating in this farewell; two moons aligned in a celestial ballet, and the stars shimmered as though winking knowingly at him. It was, by any measure, a perfect night for a goodbye. Except there was no one to bid farewell to.
A pang of solitude washed over Adamastor, magnifying the loneliness that often accompanies immortality. He'd begun his journey alone, abandoned by an unknown Master who'd turned him. He'd awoken confused and starving, compelled by a newfound thirst for blood, and had been left to navigate the existence of being a vampire spawn alone. To be never fully human or vampire.
It seemed fitting—though agonizingly so—that he would depart this chapter of his existence in the same solitary manner.
"Why did I think she would come?" Adamastor mused to himself, his voice tinged with both sorrow and resignation.
He gazed once more at the lake, its surface like a silvered mirror reflecting the celestial beauty above and, perhaps, his own fractured soul. Despite the ache of loneliness, he found a strange comfort in the serenity of the night.
It was a beautiful night to exist, even if that existence was a complicated tapestry of darkness and light, of joy and pain, of solitude and yearning. And at that moment, amid the heartbreaking beauty of it all, Adamastor felt a grudging peace settle over him. He was ready.
"Chicken?"
Adamastor's eyes met the unsettling yet captivating green of Kirara's as she ogled the meat pie. A thin thread of saliva dangled from her lip. Her orange hair seemed to capture the light of both moons, illuminating her like two silver halos.
"Chicken?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Her eyes snapped up to his. "Yes!" Her voice was jubilant, filled with the curiosity and wonder of a child-like. She plopped down beside the picnic basket and eagerly grabbed the small plate he offered. "This smells so tasty! I could sniff it out from all the way at the house."
A wistful smile crossed Adamastor's lips as he sat beside her, his gaze lingering on the ripples of the lake. "At least someone can enjoy it."
"You don't eat?"
He shook his head, his eyes darkening. "I can't. Makes me sick."
A cloud of innocent sympathy floated into her eyes. "That's so sad. When I try to talk about Papa to Mama, it makes me sick, too." She took a generous bite of the pie, her face contorting for a moment. "Ugh, hairball. That's gross."
"Hairball aside," Adamastor's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, "who's this Papa you speak of?"
Chewing and swallowing, she grinned widely. "Papa found me when I was a tiny kitten! Took me to Mama, and ever since, it's the three of us. Perfect!" She forked another piece of the pie onto her plate. "I should tell Papa to take Mama here for some alone time. You know, Mama and Papa stuff."
Adamastor felt his lips curl into a smile, charmed by her unfiltered musings. Conversing with Kirara was like navigating a labyrinth of child-like simplicity, and he'd long since abandoned any effort to plumb its hidden depths.
Setting down her fork, she fixed him with a serious gaze. "Is it tough?"
His eyes met hers, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Feeling different. I feel too big. Like I'm missing something. My fur. It's like I'm always naked." Her face crumpled slightly, her eyes mirroring the dimming sky. "It's hard when you can't do stuff you used to, like cleaning myself. I hate water, but I still have to wash, and it's all wrong. It's like I'm not Kirara anymore."
Adamastor looked deep into her eyes, touched by her attempt to articulate her struggle. For a split second, his own transformations, his own losses and gains, loomed in his thoughts.
"It sucks," he admitted, a trace of vulnerability crossing his features. "I'm never warm anymore, I can't taste food, and I miss the simple pleasure of eating something I've cooked. I even miss dreaming and the occasional drunken haze."
She met his gaze, nodding emphatically. "It sucks."
"I didn't think this was a party."
Adamastor and Kirara were startled by the sudden intrusion. Turning, they found Ursula standing at the edge of the tablecloth, a bemused expression gracing her features.
"Ursula?" Adamastor rose awkwardly, his hands fumbling to steady himself. "I wasn't expecting you… here, please." He gestured for her to sit in the spot he'd just vacated on the tablecloth spread out on the ground.
"I gotta go. There's no more meat pie," Kirara announced abruptly, standing up, the dish still half-full in her hands. "You two should do Mama and Papa stuff now. Goodnight!"
Adamastor gave her a warm, appreciative smile. "Goodnight, Kirara. I genuinely enjoyed our time."
"I'd give you a hug, but..." Kirara glanced down at her hands holding the dish. Instead, she leaned in and pecked his cheek. "See you tomorrow!" With that, she scampered away, leaving the pair in solitude.
"Who's that charming creature?" Ursula inquired, her eyes flitting to the basket as though hoping to uncover something edible.
"That's Kirara—Nord's cat, or she used to be," Adamastor explained, taking a seat opposite her.
"Miss Morningstar never ceases to astonish me," Ursula remarked, still half-exploring the basket.
"There are muffins inside," he offered, reaching for one and extending it towards her.
She accepted the baked treat, her eyes settling on his. "I had serious reservations about coming here. I thought, what if this is his ultimate act of revenge?"
Adamastor looked at her, searching her face. "And what made you change your mind?"
She broke off a piece of the muffin, rolling it between her fingertips before speaking. "I thought, what if he simply wants to bid farewell properly? Who am I to deny a dying man that grace?"
He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Pity? Is that what brought you here?"
Ursula met his gaze squarely, her eyes brimming with a complex tapestry of emotions. "No, Adamastor. Friendship."
Adamastor's smile widened, a warmth spreading across his face that belied the chill in his undead veins. Carefully, he withdrew a key from inside his blazer and handed it to Ursula, who looked at him with a mix of puzzlement and disbelief.
"Inside my room, you'll find everything—bank details, assets, and a purse with nine hundred tokens. The Morningstar will have a vacancy starting today." His voice was tinged with nervousness, cautious not to tread on her feelings. "You're more than capable of running an inn and a salon. Perdita is excellent in the kitchen. You both would do well."
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Ursula's eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape. "What... are you saying?"
"I'm saying you deserve a good life, Ursula. Perhaps I should have done this sooner, but better late than never. The Morningstar could be a fresh start for you." He paused, glancing away at the shimmering surface of the lake. "I can go peacefully, knowing you'll be all right. And Lucero will not oppose his finest girl in having a new chance in life."
"Not Lucero, but," her eyes narrowed, "Mme Bougie would be livid, you know."
He chuckled. "I think you can handle Mme Bougie."
"Where was all this charm when we first met?" Ursula smiled, breaking the tension.
"I don't know... I guess I forgot." His voice trailed off, heavy with the unspoken words that clung to the air between them. "Just think about it, Ursula. Nord would likely be more than willing to have you. Please consider it."
"Well, I'm not getting any younger," she quipped, the playfulness in her voice not quite masking her hesitance.
"Age is just a number. You still have so much time ahead of you," he assured her.
As they sat in companionable silence, eyes fixed on the darkened waters of the lake, an ethereal melody began to rise, caressing the night air. Droplets of radiant light floated above the lake, merging and bending until they took on the form of three young nymphs. Bathed in an otherworldly glow, they sang in hushed tones—whispers of ancient poems and forgotten songs that seemed to be known only by spirits.
Adamastor felt a shiver run through him, but for once, it wasn't born of the cold emptiness that plagued his undead existence. It was awe. Ursula felt it, too; her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"Oh, wow," she murmured.
Adamastor glanced at her, his eyes locking onto hers. In that instant, he appeared less like the fearsome vampire she had once dreaded and more like a man teetering on the edge of some grand revelation. His expression was imbued with a kind of grace as if he were soaking in the last drops of earthly beauty before an eternal farewell.
"Is this the part where you tell me that those nymphs are here to escort you to the afterlife?" Ursula quipped, though her voice was tinged with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.
"No," Adamastor chuckled, "I will walk out of Ravendrift with friends."
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As Kirara burst into the manor, her half-full dish clutched in her hand like a stolen treasure, she prayed she could make it to her room unnoticed. But luck was not on her side tonight.
"Kitten!"
The deep, unmistakable voice of Baal reverberated through the corridor, halting her in her tracks.
"Papa…" Kirara muttered, doing her best to hide the plate behind her back as she turned to face him.
With practised grace, Baal circled around her, his eyes sharp and penetrating. "My report, please," he commanded.
Fidgeting under his scrutiny, Kirara deftly twisted her body, keeping her back curved and the dish out of his line of sight. "The lady came. I kept him company until then."
Baal paused, his eyes narrowing. "Did she look nice?"
"Yes, very nice," Kirara beamed, "She smelled good, too."
Baal's eyes flickered with a blend of relief and suspicion. "And what are you hiding—and not sharing?"
Caught red-handed, Kirara's shoulders slumped. "Come on, I was the one out in the cold. I deserve it!"
"Chicken?" Baal's eyebrows lifted slightly as he guessed her secret.
Defeated, she unveiled the dish from behind her back. "Yes," she muttered, her face contorted into a look of pure misery.
"Is it good?"
"Yes…"
"Did you have fun?"
"Yes…"
Baal sighed, shaking his head. "No eating in the room. Go finish it in the kitchen."
As if someone had flipped a switch, Kirara's ears perked up. She was about to scamper off when a thought struck her. She paused, turning back to look at Baal. "Don't you want some?"
Baal's eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought he'd say yes. But instead, he shook his head. "No, I want to go to bed."
Baal ascended the staircase, each step heavier than the last, as if weighted by the evening's events. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, casting a sliver of soft light onto the hallway carpet. He pushed it open gently and stepped inside.
Nord was asleep in their bed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her nose was tinged red, a telltale sign of tears shed in solitude. He sighed, his chest tightening at the sight. With the care of a man handling something infinitely fragile, he began to disrobe, folding his clothes neatly on the rack to avoid any unnecessary noise.
Padding silently across the room, he slid into bed beside her, moving as if through molasses, agonizingly slow to avoid disturbing her slumber. Yet, despite his best efforts, Nord stirred. Her eyes flickered open, meeting his.
"How's it going?" she whispered, her voice tinged with worry.
"He's not alone. She showed up," Baal answered, relief lacing his words.
"Thank you," Nord said softly, but her voice cracked on the last syllable.
Baal pulled her close to him, encircling her in the protective cocoon of his arms. "Don't cry," he murmured, "He's leaving on his own terms. He's finding his peace."
"I know," she sniffled, laying her head on his chest.
He planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head, letting his lips linger for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. "Nini," he whispered.
"Nini," she echoed, her voice barely audible. But as she snuggled into him, her eyes widened and fresh tears gathered at the corners.
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
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The air in the kitchen was infused with an unusual warmth. The wooden table, typically barren at this hour, was now a canvas of culinary artwork. Baal had taken the liberty to prepare crepes with Perdita's help, their edges perfectly crisped, and a steaming pan of scrambled eggs graced the centre of the table. An array of drinks—orange juice, coffee, and tea—completed the ensemble. Everyone was gathered—truly gathered—for breakfast. The room was alive, each voice blending into a comforting cacophony of morning chatter.
Adamastor hovered near the doorway, unsure of his place in this tableau. Just as he was about to retreat, Nord glanced up and caught his eye. With a nudge of her head, she pushed an empty chair away from the table in silent invitation.
"Come, Adamastor. Join us," Nord beckoned, a soft smile tracing her lips.
He hesitated, eyes darting around the room. Finnea, perched at one end of the table, was lost in her thoughts as usual, spearing a crepe as if she were alone. Kirara and Bram occupied themselves with a lively game, flicking bits of scrambled egg at each other amid giggles and shouts. Perdita finally broke from their culinary duties and carried a chalice toward Adamastor. The room went momentarily quiet. The chalice was filled to the brim with a dark, thick liquid—blood.
"Today, you eat with us," Perdita announced, placing the chalice before Adamastor with a certain reverence. She then settled into her own chair beside Merlin and him, who raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Adamastor looked down at the chalice. This would be a monumental sip, a departure from years of secretive drinking. For a fleeting moment, he considered refusing, but then the aroma reached him. It was unmistakably Nord's. His eyes shot toward her. Nord caught his gaze and smiled.
"It would've been a waste to just throw it away," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "So, I hope you enjoy yourself."
Adamastor lifted the chalice, its weight heavier than mere liquid. As the blood passed his lips, a cascade of flavours and sensations washed over him. It was the perfect last meal.
The clatter of dishes and silverware ceased, replaced by the sighs of contentment and the lazy stretch of limbs. It was time to move on, and the room gradually emptied, leaving behind a comforting echo of what had been a rare communion.
The sense of occasion was palpable as Baal, invisible to Adamastor's eyes, tied Mulan to the cart. The mule, known for its sluggish pace, mocking the very notion of time, seemed perfectly suited for the solemn journey that lay ahead. Had Baal himself taken a seat on the cart, Adamastor would have been met with the disconcerting sight of a mule seemingly guiding itself.
Baal gestured to the old wizard. "Merlin, it's your seat today."
This was the final culminating of fifty years of servitude to Ravendrift and the Morningstar estate for Adamastor. The sign loomed before them as the cart came to a gentle stop at the edge of town, a sentinel in the waning light. "You are now leaving Ravendrift," it read, its words etched deeply into weathered wood.
Merlin, who had been guiding Mulan, pulled on the reins and glanced at Adamastor, his eyes as unreadable as an age-old manuscript.
"Well, this is goodbye, my boy, I guess," Adamastor's voice wavered, tinged with both anticipation and apprehension, "See you soon!"
Nord shifted, her hands gripping the edge of the cart. "Would you like me to walk with you?"
Adamastor raised a palm in polite refusal. "Please stay. This is something I have to do alone."
The discomfort that crossed Nord's face was palpable. But before she could speak, Adamastor gently lifted her chin with his knobbed hand. "Hey, I want you to watch me leave as a free man."
He disembarked, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. Each step towards the sign amplified his trepidation. A heartbeat he no longer had seemed to pound in his ears. His eyes widened as he approached the sign, fear gripping him. What if his time ran out before he even crossed the boundary? He could feel the destructive force of the Allatori magic gnawing at him, bit by bit. But he needed to cross that threshold; he needed to know the taste of freedom, however fleeting.
When he was merely inches away from the sign, he pivoted to face Nord and Merlin. With a warmfelt shout that rang through the air like a clarion call, he declared, "A free man!" His arms flung wide open as if to embrace his newfound liberty—and then he vanished like crumbles of sand washed away by the wind.
What should've been a dissipating ash was instead a cascade of shimmering particles glinting like stardust in the daylight. The ethereal mist wafted toward Nord and Baal, who stood there, bewildered.
"I thought it would be ash," Nord mused, her voice tinged with awe. "Shouldn't it be ash?"
"It's supposed to be ash. What is this? Glitter?" Baal's eyes narrowed, puzzlement lining his features.
Merlin met their gazes squarely, his face a tapestry of unspoken emotions. He snapped the reins, urging Mulan forward. "Let's go home," was all he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
As the cart trundled back toward Morningstar estate, the last traces of the sun dipped below the horizon. Fall had arrived, bringing with it the promise and decay of a new season. Adamastor was gone, but the iridescent mist that had once been him seemed to linger in the air.