here on the balcony, she finds night air chill against her skin. nymeria welcomes it, a much different atmosphere from inside. bodies, all disguised in masks of all colors and design. it would be false, if she were to say that she hated events like these. when she was small, she would dream of them. sneak into maman's room. tucked back in closet would be wedding dress ( how plain it compares to the gowns she knows now ). she had only gathered enough bravery to place it upon herself, once or twice. spin and spin around room until she was dizzy and sick. her life was a vastly different thing, than young nymeria would ever allow herself to believe. god had destined her for something quieter. that was before he left her prayers unanswered, before she were to be damned because of his indifference. her hand slips from the stranger's arm, something her body decides to do hesitantly slow. one dance, that is all that had been shared between them. it should not have woken something in her, not like this. she tries to place it. the way his gaze was upon her the entire time. she knows those eyes. it will nymeria's undoing, if she can not place them. it is unsettling, his presence. @delarotix words have been nothing but kind, that voice. like she's heard it before from far off place, only reached in her dreams.

❝ you, you are so familiar to me. ❝ the words are spoken, hand placed against cool metal of railing. ❝ like i have known you. ❝ nymeria can not place the how, the why. it frustrates her, will be her undoing the longer she allows eyes to rest upon him. they wildly search him, for any detail that will recall how. ❝ have we met before ? ❝ the question escapes her, desperate for an answer. ❝ i can not shake this feeling, like you are someone that i should know. ❝

ㅤㅤ“ And where is your sense of whimsy, Mon Père? ”  The moniker slides from his tongue with a goading thread of disdain, the other’s former mortal self hanging from him like a lifetime of baggage, the kind that some daren’t relinquish for fear of losing sight of oneself - they may share an uncanny resemblance, but that’s where the similarity ends, an amalgam of cunning and playfulness present to Lestat’s excitable mien whereas Vincent seemed to hold more of a reserve, a clash of traits that made him a little easier to poke and prod at. Passing a few gravestones at the end of the path, a bucket is promptly placed down onto the cold ground, the mottled cruor within sloshing in a manner that was unbecoming, a combination of remnant fluids procured from a butcher who found it odd why anyone would want such discards but refused any offal  (  l’odeur est difficile à supporter si l’on n’est pas dans le bon état d’esprit  ).

you've been a long way away. thank you for coming back to me.

home. the word hangs heavy in her mouth. a house that garden had taken over. unfamiliar, haunted. yet, nymeria could still navigate to any room she desired. and even then, she has not explored outside of dining room and to where vincent would lead her to sleep. his name was another that felt heavy. there is love, desire. an unbelievable euphoria that exists. he is alive. half-century passed. she had never intended to give up hope. life as a caged bird had stolen her spirit, her faith. she is laid upon chase lounge in their library , head rested in his lap. it smells strongly of dust and old pages. nymeria feels safe here. but it does not undo years of being taught to only be seen and not heard. she lets @delarotix lead with words ( how she has missed his voice ). she holds onto them, cherishes them. despite the years of growing up together, of how love fell right into place between them, they were learning one another all over again. nymeria tries to learn, there is no reason to flinch at his movements. if he moves too fast, sometimes even too close. she learns about his garden, the way he talks as if it is more alive than a plant should be. it makes her uneasy, the way it has taken over their home. as if it watches her, unsure if it welcomes her to it's home now.

she is drawn from her pages when vincent speaks. her eyes soften as his words, gentle voice. ❝ you do not have to thank me, mon amour. ❝ expression lightens with a smile. it is small, but something in it still bright. ❝ i would have gone anywhere, if it meant finding you. ❝ her words are truth. when she made her escape ( her hands are stained with his blood, she is between something of both sob and laughter. she is free of her angel, her creator ) nymeria had not wished to return here, but something inside her was insistent. what was chance vincent would be here ? what chance was he alive ? she adjusts and sits up, dark hues taking in everything she can about him. it is silence that hangs in air for too long of a moment. she is lost in his eyes, how soft the bright blue of them. he is still her vincent. her lips press to his, gentle and hungry all the same.

they're here under the guise of hunting , mingling around crowd that has gathered. nym is holding tight to vincent , their fingers interlaced together. easy to get separated among the gathering of others , and that unsettles her. she has no problem being among crowd like this , but it's vincent she worries for. another year passed does not change much for either of them , a roll of days and months that bleed into the centuries they've been alive.

she sits at one end of dining table , he at the other. stretched out between them , with empty seats. it would have been used for family gatherings on holidays. how excited she had been to host them. but that was centuries ago , table and dinnerware covered in layer of dust. a present from her father , each plate faded color. now it was all that remained of him in her life. but it doesn't matter now , not as nym sends them to floor with crash of porcelain against wood. ❝ where were you then ? ❝ her words are harsh , unsure if she intends them to be. but it is anger that builds in her , the warmth in how it burns her inside. ❝ oh , of course. you were here , tending to your garden. ❝ he lived as a ghost in their home , never straying from it's walls. ❝ not once did you think to look for me. i waited for you , hoped that feeling in my chest meant you were still alive. but here you were , feeding off animals and drowning in your sorrows. ❝ it humors her , a laugh from her at the thought of living off whatever the garden had brought to him. dependent on plants to fill his hunger. ❝ i spent every moment at your bedside vincent. i never strayed from taking care of you. even when we were children , it was always me. ❝ even when her angel appeared , her prayers were only to save him. how she would give anything , and she had. ❝ you adored me ? beyond love ? ❝ she stands , pushing chair away from table. ❝ you hid away in this house and were a coward. ❝ it was stupid , foolish hope she had. each night , she filled with hope. that he would come to her , but never once had he tried.

❝ just for one , i was the one that needed help. and you never showed. ❝ she is finished with conversation. ❝ i tire of this , i need to feed. i'm sure your precious plant already has dinner waiting. what will it be ? more rats , or a pigeon or two ? ❝

she rests on the chaise , growing tired of all this. it seems like the entire night , they have gone around and around on the subject of their old home. already , she is bored of it. but yet , vincent continues on. the home were they wed , the home where the garden grew. all of it , time to let go. the entire world was theirs. even if fire had not happened , nym would have desire something new anyways. there was no place where they could stay like he would have wanted. too small , too full of those people who prayed to rid them of the evil devils that lived among them.

a heavy sigh , crossing the room to shelves half filled with books and whatever other items that were bought without care to try and make this a home. she reaches to the shelves she can , knocking off books and fragile items that fall broken to wood floor. she steps over the pile carefully , continuing to knock things off as she passes them.