He shouldn’t be worrying about Sereia.

They were separated for a good while now, but her sudden disappearance and lack of visiting sent him reeling dread. Tobias had picked at his nails, annoyed that he had managed to kill the remaining bit of his thumb and pinkie.

Vampirism though hailed as a disease of supernatural quality, sucked. It was akin to a standard virus, and he could remember the dread on his mother’s face when he had begun to show signs of it. The virus would go and use other cells, projecting its own material so that the cell would create that instead of it. After a while, the body would break down and the virus would evolve, forming a new set of cells in place of the original ones.

One thing he didn’t get back was his hair, which had stayed the unnatural gray (though it had occasionally taken on a color such as yellow) for his age. He never understood why, but looking at how volatile his body was, he could guess. 

Another challenge was his blood. The virus had stripped it of iron and anything else needed for basic life. So began his ordeal of hemomania, a destructive impulse and desire for blood.

Anxiety began to steer his thoughts. It wasn't the first time that someone he cared for deserted him. Sereia felt no different. Tobias bit down on his nail, pulling the white edge off of it and leaving the rest to die with the trauma. He wouldn’t put it past her cult to murder her—but that only worsened his fear.

It was too early in the day for him to search for her. The sun would destroy his skin, and growth galore. He fell down onto his chair, finding himself like a cornered rat. 'Useless' was one of the nicer words he often described himself with.

Tobias finally came to a decision—a small test. 

He got up from the chair and waddled to his bedroom. Sereia left some of her things here for when she slept over. He was sure she had something that she had worn the last time, three weeks ago. 

His face broke into a frown when he realized how long she had been gone. 

He should’ve worried from the start, but he had been so wrapped up in his own work.

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Sereia was a hopeless romantic. Her pet name for Tobias was 'puppy' since he was clingy. He felt like a traitor and chastised himself.

He stopped near the dresser and began to tap his head against the wood. Sereia had tried to get him off the habit. She relented when tapping was better than holes in the wall.

Especially since his body was quick to die. It left patches of dead skin that would take a few hours to heal. That didn't take away from the ungodly sight. Sometimes, it would seem almost spongy and often put Sereia off her dinner. 

The memories crashed through his head, and the tapping turned into broken beatings.

If Sereia was dead,

“Heaven and Earth forbid,” muttered Tobias when the thought became possible.

She should respond to a simple evocation. There wasn’t anything special about her, mostly, and so her soul would be no different than any other human’s soul. 

He pulled open the drawer and dug around for one of her old shirts.

By his luck, he found one that she had worn the last time she was there. By his misfortune, it was already washed. Hopefully, it would be enough to create resonance.

He had spent a century practicing necromancy. Now, most of his books were just calculations. Each time a taglock became more generalized, the ritual would lose resonance. 

Still, he knew Sereia well—and intimately. Vampirism rendered him sterile so they had no qualms about going at it. He had an emotional connection to her. It was as good a taglock as any for his needs. Shirt in hand, he returned to his study. 

The dread began to set in, a dry clump at the back of his throat. He always confronted the question of whether there was a limit to how much a person should know. He had always posed it to others rather than himself. 

It felt like a prison now that he thought about it. He wondered if it would be better to remain ignorant. His fingers ran over the seams of her shirt, ignoring the raw feeling that came from the action.

What if she was?

"Fuck," he sighed before shoving the shirt into a drawer at his desk.

The question was one he refused to answer for now.