'cuz i know her heart is tied to mine

Art of Peter x Me By : @minnowsimulator

The crunch beneath Vi's boots was the only sound beyond the wind blowing, her oil lamp dangling from her leather belt being the sole source of warm light in the dark night. She huffed in frustration, “When will you learn?”, she can almost hear the vampire say, “When will you learn this search is hopeless?”, she shook her head to push those thoughts aside, to push that sultry voice away from her mind as she kept walking with purpose through the thick snow.

At every step, every crack of a fallen tree branch she stepped on, she was on guard, her head snapping towards the direction of whatever noise she heard. Her only comfort being a dagger she was caressing with her gloved hand subconsciously, she traced with her thumb the engraving in it. Caitlyn Kiramman, her nemesis, her torment.

The dagger was silver, an expensive little thing, but the church she served was everything but stingy when it came to its best vampire hunter. Caitlyn's life wouldn’t be the first nor last she'll end with that dagger, and she took pride in that fact; however, Caitlyn was different from the rest. Her death would be art. She normally only remembered the faces of the vampire she struck, their fangs she ripped from their gums as a trophy to prove her victory to the church congregation.

But Caitlyn Kiramman? Oh no, she had been the source of her madness for years, and yet she was always slipping away through her fingers like the piercing cold wind, taunting her with how easy it was to escape her grip.

“Come out already! I don't have the whole night, y'know?” She shouted to no avail in exasperation, knowing it was a lost battle to get her coming out of her hiding spot. She always hid so well, however Vi always felt her gaze on her, or perhaps the insomnia really had gotten to her head. Perhaps Caitlyn felt too shy tonight to come out, the thought alone made her chuckle to herself. How pathetic of her to think about this woman so often, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't stop.

Another failed hunt, Vi thought to herself, that was until among the tall naked trees she found a trail of fresh blood. She gasped, not out of horror—no, far from it, but from sheer excitement at the thought it would lead to her.

She eagerly followed the scent of blood like a starved wolf finally finding an injured lamb, but she knew that a Kiramman was far from it. When the trail came to an end she was met with a humble peasant– or what remained of him, scattered around the snow into pieces. Poor bastard, didn't have a fighting chance, Vi thought grimly, suddenly self-conscious her obsession blinded her for a moment of why she was fighting against this... This beast.

The silence of the forest felt heavier now, suffocating in a way that the wind never could. Vi stood over the remains of the man, as she built a makeshift wooden cross out of scrounged sticks among the snow. The holy symbol looked stark and jagged against the soft, white landscape. She lingered for a moment, eyes tracing the brutal edges of the wounds.

Not her.

The realization settled in her gut like a stone. This wasn't the elegant, precise kill of a Kiramman. This was something feral, something mindless. It was a mess of torn flesh and wasted life, lacking the grace that Vi had come to associate with the woman who haunted her dreams. A flicker of irritation or perhaps a strange, hollow sort of disappointment washed over her. She had been so sure the scent of blood would lead her to the one person who could make her heart race for all the wrong reasons.

"Dammit," she muttered, the cold already starting to seep through her leather duster, biting at her skin—but the chill in her chest was worse.

She turned away from the carnage, her mind already drifting back to the village. The hunt was a bust, a false lead that had cost her time and a bit of her sanity. She needed something warm, something familiar. The heavy heat of a brothel worker. The burn of a shot of whiskey. The sweet sound of her sister's laugh.

As she trekked back toward the outskirts of the village, her boots heavy in the deep snow, the image of her flickering in the back of her mind. She wondered if she was still out there somewhere, watching the same moon, perhaps feeling the same restless pull of the night. She wondered if she was laughing at her, or… If she was just as lonely in her immortality as she was in her humanity.

By the time she reached the warmth of her small, humble house, her muscles were aching and her lungs felt tight from the winter air. She pushed the door open, the sudden burst of heat making her wince.

"I'm home," she called out, her voice sounding raspier than usual. She kicked off her boots, the heavy leather thudding against the wooden floor. She didn’t head straight for the hearth, though. Instead, she wandered toward the window, looking out at the dark, snowy expanse of the forest.

She dipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the hilt of the dagger, Caitlyn. She pulled it out just an inch, the moonlight catching the polished metal.

"Next time, Cupcake," she whispered to the empty room, a small, lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of her scarred lip. "Next time, don't leave me waiting."

She heard the little girl before she saw her, the sound of her bare feet against the wooden floors loud across the small home. She practically collided against Vi's legs, hugging them tight with a grin.

"Vi! You're back!"

"Woah! Easy there, babygirl!" Vi laughed, the sound genuine and deep—a sound that wouldn’t be heard by anyone else.

She caught Powder, her strong arms holding the girl securely as she let out a huff while she held her up and spun her around the house just the way she knew she liked.

For a moment, the world wasn’t about vampires, spilled blood, or the obsession that was slowly consuming her; it was just about this. About the family she had fought so hard to keep together.

She set Powder down with a gentle hand on her shoulder, watching as the girl scurried toward the hearth. Vi’s expression softened, her blue eyes losing their predatory sharpness and turning warm, almost maternal, as she watched her sister seek the heat.

"Don't go getting too close to the fire, Powder. You'll burn your hair and Father Silco'll have my head for not watching you," Vi teased, though there was an underlying current of protective tenderness in her voice.

She moved toward the hearth herself, shedding her heavy leather duster and tossing it over a chair. Beneath the jacket, her white blouse was slightly damp from the melting snow, clinging to the defined muscles of her torso.

She grabbed a rag and a basin of water, sitting on a low stool near the fire to clean the grime and dried muck from her hands and face. Her movements were methodical, but her mind was a traitor. Even as she felt the comforting presence of her sister, a part of her was still out there in the dark, tracing the curve of a neck she hadn’t yet tasted or a heart she hadn't yet stilled.

"You hungry, Powder?" Vi asked suddenly, trying to pull herself back to the present. She watched her sister, her heart clenching knowing what was coming. It had been a nightly ritual since that fateful night. She knew it pained Powder more than her, but she had to, she had no choice.

Powder frowned a little,her gaze not moving from the flames as she hugged her knees close, before she quietly replied in a mutter,

“I'm not hungry.”

Vi’s gaze softened further—she was at risk of crying if she wasn’t careful—a pang of guilt hitting her chest. She knew that look. It was the same look Powder has had since the night the world broke for them. That hesitant, self-sacrificing stare that made Vi want to fight the entire world just to keep her safe.

"Liar," Vi said softly, though there was no bite to the word. She ambled over to the hearth, crouching on the floor beside the girl. The firelight danced in the blue of Powder’s eyes, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. She reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Powder's ear. Her touch incredibly gentle for hands that were, only hours ago, gripping a weapon meant for killing.

"You're pale, even for you, kiddo. And your hands are shaking," Vi pointed out with a faint smile, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She knew the stakes. If the church found out, if Silco's protection ever wavered, Powder wouldn't just be a girl, she'd be a monster to be hunted. One she'd be expected to hunt.

She rolled up the sleeve of her white blouse, exposing the pale, muscular skin of her forearm. The veins were prominent there, pulsing with the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that existed solely to sustain the girl in her arms.

"Just a little bit, alright? You need your strength if you're gonna help me around the house tomorrow," Vi said, her voice dropping to a soothing, low hum. She nudged Powder's shoulder with her own. "Don't make me beg, kid. You know how much I hate doing that.”

Powder didn’t reply, instead she silently climbed up into Vi's lap– making the woman scoff before going for a bite. Vi let out a sharp, hissed breath as the fangs pierced her skin, her fingers curling into the wooden floorboards. It was a familiar sting, a throbbing heat that quickly gave way to a strange, lightheaded sensation as her life force began to flow out of her. She stared into the dancing flames of the hearth, her blue eyes glazed for a moment as the blood loss began to make her head swim.

"Easy... easy, you little leech," Vi murmured, though again, there was no real bite to her words.

She could feel the rhythmic, desperate tugging of Powder's throat, the way the girl's small body tensed with the sheer delight of the meal. Powder was always so careful when they’re out in the village, so cautious of her hunger. But here, in the dim light of their sanctuary, she was a glutton. Vi's hand moved to the back of Powder's head, her fingers tangling in the girl's hair, half to soothe and half to keep her from draining her completely dry.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. Every day, she went out into the world with a blade in her hand, hunting the very creatures that Powder was. She killed to satisfy the church, to honor the memory of her parents—and yet, here she was, the most successful hunter in the region acting as a living larder for a monster. If Silco or the other hunters saw the scars peppering her arms, hidden beneath her sleeves and the heavy leather of her duster, they wouldn't call her a hero. They'd call her a traitor.

As the feeding continued, Vi felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. She reached down with her free hand, gently grasping Powder's shoulder, giving her a firm but loving shake.

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Vi said, her voice a bit breathy as she coaxed the girl away. "You're gonna make me pass out right here in front of the fire, and then who's gonna make breakfast?"

She watched as Powder pulled away, her lips stained a telltale crimson, her eyes wide and shimmering with a satisfied, post-feed glow. Vi reached for a clean rag nearby, wiping the stray droplets of red from her wrist, her gaze lingering on the fresh punctures. They'd heal, as they always did, leaving behind just another layer of the secret she carried.

"Go on, wash your face," Vi said, leaning back against the hearth, feeling a bit woozy but content. "Before you look like you've been eating jam for dinner."

Powder scurried off, leaving Vi lost in her thoughts.

"Vi! I'm clean!"

Powder shouted from the bathroom before she ran to the bedroom, hopping on the worn bed, covered in soft sheep wool, as she jumped around the bed like an overly excited kitten. She made her, or rather, Vi's old stuffed bunny, jump with her. As her and her little companion waited for Vi.

"Viii–! you're so slow!"

Powder whined in annoyance, snapping Vi out of her thoughts. As Powder was bit at such a tender age, the years passed. Vi grew up, but Powder? She never did, and because of that, she never outgrew sleeping with her big sister. And it hurt Vi, knowing it was because of her mistake that Powder would have never gotten the chance to find her independence.

Vi shook her head, a wry, tired smile tugging at her lips. She pushed herself up from the floor, wincing slightly as her head spun from the bloodloss. "Yeah, yeah, keep it down, you're gonna wake up the whole damn village," she grumbled, but she could never really be mad at Powder. It was her fault she was like this, her burden to carry.

She followed the sounds of chaos into the bedroom. The room was small and cluttered, filled with Powder's drawings and the remnants of the childhood they both should have had. Vi stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the girl bounce on the bed with that stuffed bunny.

The guilt hit her again, a familiar, dull ache that never quite went away. Every time she looked at Powder, she saw the girl she was supposed to protect. She saw the frozen moment at the lake, the screams, the cold, the blood. She had been too slow, too distracted, and now Powder was stuck in this half life, forever a child. Forever dependent on Vi's blood and Vi's protection.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Vi sighed, moving towards the bed. She clambered in beside her sister, the mattress creaking under her weight. She pulled the heavy wool blankets over them both, her large frame providing a shield of warmth for the small girl.

Powder immediately curled up against her, seeking out the warmth of Vi's body—she didn’t have any of her own anymore, she needed as much as she could get. Vi wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, resting her chin on top of the girl's head.

"You're a menace," Vi whispered, her voice thick with affection. "One of these days I'm gonna leave you at the tavern and walk home alone."

She knew she never would. She'd sooner let the world burn than let anything happen to the little thing in her arms. But as she closed her eyes, the image of Caitlyn Kiramman flickered through her mind again.

The pale skin, the sharp, intelligent eyes, the way she looked as she disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

Vi squeezed Powder a little tighter, a silent promise that no matter what happened, no matter who she hunted or what she became, she’d always come back here. Always.

The bedroom was filled with the only sound of their soft snores, the dying fireplace, and the wind outside.

Until something else, no, someone else joined the symphony.

It was a loud screeching that startled the sisters awake. Someone banging against the door with a desperate need. Vi rushed off the bed, grabbing quickly her silver dagger. Whatever beast was on the other side of the door, it was something unholy.

When she went for the handle, Powder grasped her wrist, wordlessly shaking her head. But Vi only gave her a reassuring squeeze before opening the wooden door to reveal:

A vampire spawn. Just like Powder. But this one was taller than even Vi, lankier, with a flash of dark purple visible.

Her heart stopped for a beat. Dead in her chest.

She had little time to process anything else as another shape pounced on the vampire spawn—sharp teeth splitting open a half-dead throat, inky blackness painting the other’s teeth. Vi didn’t know what to do besides just… Stare. One hand clutched Powder’s shoulder, keeping her close, while the other kept the hilt of her dagger in an iron grip.

She shuffled back with Powder as the two tussled on the ground like wild animals, untethered from the laws that governed normal, human fights. Slashes to the face and the sides that would’ve left a living creature debilitated by pain—they mattered infinitely less compared to digging claws and fangs into each other.

The spawn kicked the other form off and away, staggering on all fours and nearly leaping at Vi and Powder—

But the spawn was tackled mid-air, and it was with a cold shiver up her spine that she realised who this other person was. The mere thought that she recognised the sound of Caitlyn Kirramin’s hiss made her stomach churn. It left her paralyzed as the object of her obsession tousled with the spawn almost… Protectively?

She was glad to not ruminate on that for any substantial amount of time, instead distracted by Caitlyn snarling as the spawn skittered away into the night, dark prints left in the snow that’d be reduced to nothing come morning.

Caitlyn—despite all the gashes carved into her smooth flesh—didn’t seem to mind all the blood she was spilling. Instead, she seemed far more concerned with standing up, dusting herself off, and turning to curtsey towards her and Powder.

"I can't come in."

Caitlyn stated calmly, uncaring of the dark ichor she had spilled, her own and the spawn's. She added, as an afterthought, in a much weaker murmur, as if the loss just caught up to her, "I... Need your permission to enter."

She finished, before collapsing unconscious at their doorstep.