Alaric didn't give up.

He crossed ports.
asked some sailors.
This was followed by rumors whispered in taverns where names too old were never uttered.

He was told of a forgotten territory.
Of a mansion under a veiled moon.
From a lineage thought to be extinct.

The closer he got,
the heavier the silences became.

It was in a damp alleyway, on the outskirts of a cemetery, that he met him.

A man too pale.
Too light-eyed.
With a voice that's too quiet.

- You're looking for the one sleeping under the stone.

Alaric understood without understanding.

The vampire smiled.

- It doesn't die, scholar. It awakens.

The world cracked.

The truth was revealed:
Victoria had not succumbed to the disease.
She had been marked.
Chosen.
Transformed.

Victoria de Sangremare.
Lunevoile.
Forgotten lineage.

- And you," asked the creature, "what would you be willing to do to find her?

Alaric didn't reply.

He simply held out the rose.

Red again.
Intact.

The answer was already given.

The bite was swift.
Blood, burning.
The endless night.

When he opened his eyes,
the world had changed.

And he with it.

Waiting

He couldn't find her.

Not yet.

He wandered.
Between ruins and cold stones.
Between rumors and ancient pacts.

He learned to control his thirst.
Listening to the shadows.
Walking without a reflection.

But it didn't feed on blood.

He thrived on expectation.

In his dark room,
on too large a bed,
he kept the rose close to his heart.

It didn't fade.
Or maybe he didn't want to see that she was drying out.

He whispered her name.
Sometimes.
In a low voice.

And on moonless nights,
he thought he heard a violin.