#ghost kai

Walking the wending cobblestone streets, you looked for someone who might be able to feed you.  Scrabbling claws of hunger scraped at your belly, and your throat burned.  A wave of dizziness overtook you and, stretching out a hand, you leaned against the rough, fog-slicked brick of a nearby building.  After allowing a moment to let the feeling crest and ebb, you shook your head to clear it, setting your jaw and forcing yourself to keep walking.  You couldn’t afford to lose consciousness.  It was all over, if you did.  

Suddenly, providence shone upon you.  A tall, stolidly-built man sauntered in your direction.  

“Bonne nuit, chère ,” he said, his voice warm as silk.  “You lost, p’tit?”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the ground.  “Non, monsieur.  I’m just looking for something to eat.”

“Ah, you hungry, chérie?  I can help you with that, me.”  He wrapped his hand around your arm, his palm burning your through your cloak and sleeve, as he guided you away from the sidewalk.  “You jus’ come on down here with ol’ Henri Baptiste, he show you where you can find something nice and hot to fill your belly, eh?”

A tentative feeling of relief washed over you as you allowed him to lead you away.  Henri would take care of you.  Henri would feed you. You followed him down street after street, as he led you further into the heart of the old city.  

Suddenly, he wheeled you into an adjacent alley, slamming your back against the cold brick of an abandoned building.  “Before this Henri give you somethin’ to eat, you gon’ give me something in return, oui?”

You kept your head down, staring at his feet in their fine leather shoes.  Shoes at odds with his build, and accent.  Idly, you wondered, and without thinking, you said it out loud.  “Where did you get those shoes?  They’re so fine.”

“Never you mind how Henri find what he wants, you just concentrate on working for your dinner.”  He lifted his hands to unclasp your cloak, letting it fall to the ground.  “Oh… chère…” he groaned, greedy eyes roving over the fine skin above the bodice of your maroon silk gown.  He lifted the back of his hand to your chest, gently tracing your collarbones with his fingertips, as his eyes burned holes through the layers of gown, chemise, and corset.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading.  “Please, monsieur.  Don’t.”

His hands moved down to clasp your shoulders in a punishing grip. “Well, what do we have here?  Cette p’tite mudlark is a bona fide mam’selle! What’s wrong, chère?  Run away from your parents, ‘cause you don’t wanna marry some spent old man?  Lucky for you Henri come along.  I can take care of you in ways you ain’t never imagined, eh?”

“Monsieur,” you started again, as he lifted his hands to start removing the pins from the chignon on top of your head, curls falling around your shoulders as more and more pins clattered to the ground.  “I’m asking you to stop.”

He chuckled to himself, his voice as rough as his hands.  “When Henri’s done with you, you won’t ever want him to stop.  You gon’ be beggin’ sweet as sugarcane, ma p’tit.”  His hands reached toward the hem of your gown, and he clasped the silk in his hands,  slowly gathering it upward.

Your voice was desperate, now.  “Monsieur Baptiste, as a gentleman–”

“Gentleman?  Now whatever gave you that idea, amoureuse?”  Henri leaned forward to bring his mouth to your neck.  “Just one taste, eh?  One taste, and you’ll sing…”

You shuddered, and then your body relaxed.  A soft sigh breezed past your lips as you brought your hands to his shoulders.  

“That’s it, chère!  I knew you wanted what this Henri’s got!”

“Thank you,” you said sincerely, as you closed your eyes, and nuzzled just under his jaw.  He groaned as you opened your mouth.

You were so hungry.  

“Well, well well, what have we here?” a new voice said, from just beside you.  Your stomach clenched in dread.

Henri swiftly lifted his head toward the intruder, aggression colouring his coarse features.  

A handsome gentleman leaned against the wall beside you both, arms crossed, facing you with an amused expression.  His jet black hair, parted on the side, flopped over his forehead, though it was close-cropped above his ears.  His dark, hooded eyes looked almost black in the light from the gas lamps, and his full, pouting mouth was drawn up on one side, in a cutting smirk.

He was wearing evening dress, his snowy shirtfront, and waistcoat gleaming in contrast to the black of his cutaway jacket, and slim-fitting trousers.

Henri’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step back.  “She mean somethin’ to you, m’sieur?”

“Not at all!” the man said, reaching up to run a loosening finger under his high, starched collar.  “But I think you’ll find, that you’re about to be very, very grateful to me.”  

Henri turned to you, and stumbled back, as all the blood drained from his face.  

You knew what he saw.  Sharp, too-white teeth gleaming in the gaslight, pupils narrowed to slits, but glowing, as if lit with an inner fire.  A bass growl rumbled in your chest, as you swiftly reached toward him, but his scream was faster than your clawed hands, and as it rang through the alley, you flinched at the volume.  

Eyes narrowed, you let him escape, watched him fall over his own feet as he desperately tried to run away, sobbing, and snotting like a sniveling child, a trail of liquid following him.  Closing your eyes in frustration, you muttered, “Not again!”

***

You walked away swiftly, while swirling your cape back over your shoulders, and reclasping it at your throat.  

The handsome man pushed off of the wall, his long legs making it easy to catch up, and fall into step with you.  “Oh, dear.  Did I ruin another meal?”

“Monsieur Kim. Leave me,” you said listlessly.

“I can’t do that,” he said comfortably.  “Thanks to you.”

Stopping abruptly, you turned to face him.  “I told you that I was sorry!  You have no idea how much!”

He loomed above you, a smile on his mouth, but not in his eyes.  “You’re sorry?  Sorry…” he mused.  “I’m sorry, too.  Sorry that your sorry is not adequate.  Sorry that I’m apparently stuck with you until the world ends.  Sorry over the loss of all the things that I’ll never be able to do!”  His voice was bitter.  

“Imbecile!” you exploded.  “You’re so short-sighted, that you can’t even see what you’re doing!”  Your voice lowered, and you hissed, “Do you think that you can starve me to death?  I assure you, that is not the case; I wish it were!  Ma foi! How I wish that were so!  This beast–”

A boyish scream rent the cool night air.  Your head snapped toward the sound and, abandoning him, you ran toward where you had heard it.  As you approached, you heard the sound of scuffling and, upon turning the corner, you saw a sight that froze the already chilled blood in your veins.  

Three coarsely-dressed men stood over the prone figure of a Creole youth, blood staining the white silk of his waistcoat.  Upon hearing the patter of your steps, the men turned, but relaxed when they spotted you.  One of them started for you, and the boy reached out to grab him by the ankle, saying simply, “Non!”  

Your vision was sharp, especially in the dark, and you saw that his face was beaten and bloody, lips swollen and cracked, blood matting his glossy black curls, and seeping into his large grey eyes.  Livid bruises were already forming on his fine brown skin, but still, despite being almost broken, he held tight to the man’s ankle, trying with his last strength to keep the man from reaching you.  “Mademoiselle!  Run!” he called.  He couldn’t have been older than 15.

Shaking off the boy’s hand, the man turned, and delivered a rough kick to the boy’s temple.  The boy fell back against the cobblestones, dazed.

Monsieur Kim swore behind you.

“Let him go!” you demanded, voice crackling with authority.  

The men slowly started to you, spreading out in an effort to cut of any routes of escape.  The tallest, his hair a true dirty blond said, “Well, lookee what we got here, boys!  One of them fine Cre-ole ladies we heard tell so much about.  Ain’t she purty?”

“Purtiest thing I’ve seen all day, Bill,” a slightly shorter redhead said.  

“Look at how she’s dressed,” the shortest man said, his hair so fair as to practically be white.  “Betcha we could get a lot of money for that there dress.  Cape looks mighty fine, too.”

A cough caught everyone’s attention.  The boy had turned over, and was trying to crawl toward you.  “Run!” he rasped, his voice barely audible.  “Run!”

A pang shook your heart, as you witnessed the ruin of his face, contorted in fear for you.  

“Restez-vous, cher,” you called to him.  

Tears pooled in his eyes as he continued to drag his body toward you.  

“You’re not from here, are you?” you inquired of the men.

“Naw, we ain’t no Ca-juns, if that’s what you mean,” the redhead said, eyeing the few pearl pins still securing the top of your chignon.  “Hey, Dickie, how much you think those hair-pins will go for?”

“Don’ know,” the tall blonde said.  “But those, ‘long with what we get off the boy will go far toward gettin’ us out West.”

“Messieurs, by your own admission, you are not from this city, so perhaps, the remission of your manners can be forgiven, but please note…here Creole do not cower!  You are under the impression that you have cornered two people with whom you can do what you like, but I assure you that is not the case.”  

Drawing yourself up to your full height, you looked down your nose at them, despite the fact that you were a good six inches shorter than the shortest one.  “My father is a diplomat, and he would have no qualms throwing you in the dankest prison that he could find, should you continue.  However,” here you softened your voice, “if you turn around and leave now, you can go your way unmolested.”

“Y’hear that, Johnny?” Bill drawled lazily.  “If we leave now, we can leave un-mo-lested!”

“I heard, Bill.  Problem is, cher-ree, we ain’t got no money.  And you, and this boy here, both got enough on your backs to get us halfway to San Fran-cisco. Speaking of backs, you’d look real purty on yours.”

Your gorge rose as the men jeered.  It always came down to that, didn’t it? Closing your eyes, as if in pain, you said, “I’m asking you, one last time, to kindly leave us alone, and–”

“We ain’t going nowhere…and neither are the two of you!” Dickie said, his voice smug.  “Come on, get her, boys, and let’s get this show on the road.  I’m hungry.”  You heard the men slowly start for you, the boy whimper pitifully.

“I hate being interrupted,” you said mildly.  “What’s your name, mon chevalier?”

“Etienne Arceneaux,” the boy whispered, despair colouring his voice.

“Monsieur Arceneaux,” you said softly.  “Fermez vos yeux.  Close your eyes, mon cher.”

A rough hand grabbed you by the hair, snapping your neck back.  You smiled, then opened your eyes.  “Thank you.”

***

Sighing, you stretched, allowing the last body to fall, boneless, to the ground.  Feeding wasn’t so much a pleasure as relief, surcease from the biting cold, feral hunger, and maddening thirst that wracked your body whenever it had been too long.  Turning, you saw Etienne on his knees, eyes still closed, murmuring something too softly for even you to hear.  

As you walked closer, the words became clearer, and you smiled. “Je vous salue, Marie pleine de grâce; le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni….”

“Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs, maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort.  Amen,” you finished with him.’’  “Ouvrez vos yeux, mon petit frère.”

He shook his head violently, still murmuring the Hail Mary.  

You placed a hand on his cheek, thankful that it was now warm enough not to startle him.  “I’ll not hurt you, Etienne.  I wouldn’t hurt you, for the world.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and looked at you. You smiled reassuringly, and pulled out your rosary from your bodice, dangling the crucifix in front of his eyes. Etienne looked momentarily reassure, then, looking past, he saw the bodies of the three men, and his pupils enlarged until only a small sliver of stormy grey surrounded them.  “Mademoiselle, how…what…?”

“Forget them.  They have gone to their reward.”  Putting his arm around your shoulders, you stood, lifting him easily.  “Where do you live?”  He looked at you warily.  “Come now, mon frère.  Did I not say the Hail Mary, as well? Don’t be afraid.  I will take you home.”

Tentatively, he gave you his address and, with one arm around his waist, and the other firmly grasping his wrist over your shoulder, you slowly walked him home.  

***

“You didn’t kill the boy.”

“Etienne.  His name is Etienne.”

“You didn’t kill Etienne.  Why not?”

“Why would I?”

Monsieur Kim was silent as he walked beside you.  “He might tell what you are.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

Looking off into the light of the approaching dawn, you smiled.  “I know.”

“You killed me.”

Sighing deeply, you pulled your hood over your head.  “I’ve told you, that was not purposeful.  I had no more control over my actions than a ravening wolf.  If I could undo it–if there were some way to go back in time, and exchange my life for yours, I would.”

***

Six months prior.  

You were reading in your room, when your lady’s maid, Cosette, came to tell you that your father had requested you in the parlour.  His voice echoed through the hallway as you approached, and upon opening the parlour door, you saw him speaking to a small group of men, whose backs were turned toward you.  

Upon hearing the soft tap of your footsteps, he looked up, his face brightening.  “Ah, here she is now.  Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce my daughter.”

The men turned, and your heart leapt into your throat.  Three of them were your father’s age, but the fourth… The fourth was young, and almost blindingly handsome.

You could barely hear your father as he made introductions.  “These men are diplomats from the Korean peninsula,” your he explained, mistaking your silence for puzzlement, “And this,” your father started, indicating the young man, “is Ambassador–”

The young man interrupted, holding up a hand, as he turned to your father, saying, “Sir?  If I may?”  Turning back to you, he said, “My name is Monsieur Kim Jongin,” and bowed low, the movement almost inhumanly graceful.  As he stood, an impish light appeared his eyes, and he said, “Ah, forgive me.  I believe that you introduce yourselves like this…” Taking a step forward, he took you by the hand, and bowed again, this time, placing a warm, chaste kiss on your fingertips, as he looked up at you, eyes twinkling. Lowering your hand, and stepping back, he smiled.

Turning to the men, your father said, “My daughter is something of a polyglot.  She already speaks English, French, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but has been casting about for a new language to learn.  

“Is that so?” Monsieur Kim replied, his eyes never leaving yours.  “Mademoiselle, it would be my pleasure to aid you in your endeavours, should you so wish.”

Finally finding your voice, you answered, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of stealing you from your duties, monsieur!”

“Nonsense!” One of the other men said, stepping forward to clap Jongin on the shoulder.  “They sent too many of us, as it is, and this one has been working tirelessly to strengthen our nations’ friendship for almost a decade!”  He turned to Monsieur Kim.  “You can take a bit of time to thank our host for his kindness, by teaching his daughter if, of course, that’s amenable to her father.”

Your father glanced between you, and smiled knowingly.  “Certainly.”

***

The next several months were idyllic, as Monsieur Kim came to your house almost every day to teach you, delighting in the linguistic acumen of his new pupil.  You mostly stayed in the parlour, with your Cosette quietly sewing in the corner, but occasionally, he would take you for a walk around the gardens, teaching you the words for everything you saw, as your old governess followed behind, keeping a watchful eye.  One particularly exciting afternoon, he took you for a ride around the city in his new automobile, and you shrieked with delight, holding on to your hat, as the metal beast flew along at 40 breathtaking miles per hour.

***

Your father’s birthday approached, as did the yearly party that your mother threw in celebration. A knock on the door sounded, as Cosette did your hair in preparation for the event.

“Entrez-vous,” you called.

Your mother entered, smiling as she saw you.  “You look lovely, ma petite. The peach silk really brings out the roses in your cheeks.”

“Oui, Maman, you were right,” you murmured, returning her warm smile.

She laid a hand on the maid’s arm, saying, “I’ll finish her hair, Cosette, chère .”

Catching your eye in the mirror, as Cosette left the room, your mother blew you a kiss, and began to artfully arrange and pin your curls.  “So…”

“So…?”

“Monsieur Boudreaux is going to attend tonight.”

You groaned.  “Maman!  You promised!”

“What?  I’m not asking you to entertain him, I’m merely informing you of his whereabouts for the evening.”

“Maman,” you started warningly.

“What is so wrong with the man?  He’s handsome, powerful, his family is above reproach…”

“He’s old, Maman!”

“Thirty is hardly doddering, chère .”

You were silent for a moment.  Then, “I just don’t trust him. The way he looks at me…” You shuddered. “He looks like he could eat me alive.”

Your mother looked at you sideways, her expression sly.  “And…your reticence doesn’t have anything to do with a certain handsome young envoy?”

“Monsieur. Kim is…is…”

“Is…is…” your mother teased.  “Yes?”

Your face flushed as you lowered your eyes to your dressing table, and fiddled with a silver backed comb.  “Monsieur Kim, is…wonderful.”

“As I thought.”  She tucked one last mother of pearl comb into your coiffure, and patted it, standing back to give it it a critical perusal.  Nodding, she returned, resting her hands on your shoulders, and meeting your eyes in the mirror, with a knowing smile.

“Bon.  I suppose an ambassador is as good a choice as any.”                                            

***

Your eyes scanned the crowd as you slowly descended the curving staircase. Unfortunately, an unwelcome pair of eyes was scanning for you, and when you reached the bottom, Monsieur Boudreaux was waiting.  

Your mother was right.  He was handsome enough; lean, with broad shoulders, long legs, and fine, elegant hands.  His face was lupine, with prominent cheekbones, and thick golden eyebrows and lashes framing impossibly black eyes.  His hair was moonlight silver, and he wore the thick mass combed back from his forehead.  Despite all of this, he still made your flesh crawl.

“Enchanté, chère ,” he murmured, bowing, his too-red mouth hovering over your gloved hand.  

“Charmed, Monsieur,” you answered, your voice flat.

“Please allow me to congratulate you on behalf of your father, for another year of superlative work in our country’s service.”

“I’ll relay your sentiments.”

“Your father is a great man, and a truly gifted diplomat–”

“Yes, certainly, thank you; would you kindly excuse me, Monsieur Boudreaux?  I fear I have a pressing matter to which I must attend,”

His expression cooled noticeably, but he bowed his head in agreement.  “I hope to speak to you further tonight, chère fille.”

“Indeed,” you responded neutrally, inclining your head, and then turning and walking toward what had caught your eye.  

Monsieur Kim smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling as he watched you approach. Sketching a slight bow at your arrival, he held out his arm for you to take, as he guided you away from the curiously horrid Monsieur Boudreaux.

Inclining his head toward yours, to keep the conversation private, he said, “For a diplomat’s daughter, you’re not very politic.”

Delicately shuddering, you shook your head.  “I’ll have you know that I was weaned on Machiavelli, Tallyrand, and Franklin, but that man–” you closed your eyes in distaste, “that man makes my flesh crawl.  He looks at me as if he wants to see into my very soul!”

“Well, don’t think of him,” Monsieur Kim murmured warmly, his intimate tone making you blush.  “I’m here, now.  Look only at me.”  

***

He stayed by your side all night, though you were sure that you were scandalizing the entire company by only dancing with him.  As he swirled you by greedy mamans, and jealous debutantes, you heard the whispers. “Do they have an understanding?  Will there be an announcement?  If she’s not careful, she’ll be ruined!”

Ignoring them all, you tightened your hand in his, dizzied by the press of skin held back only by your gloves.  Eventually, however, the heat, and the press of bodies began to wear on you and Monsieur Kim, noticing your rising colour, asked if you’d like to take a cooling walk in the garden.  You acquiesced.  

Despite his suggestion, he pulled you to sit on the first stone bench you came across, squeezing your hands with his own. The bright moonlight gleamed on his ebony hair, on the single lock that had fallen from the shining darkness, to rest on his forehead.  

Your hands itched to brush it off of his face, to cup his cheek with your hand, and brush it gently with your thumb.  Closing your eyes, you tried to push away these indecent thoughts, but then Monsieur Kim was talking, redirecting your attention.  

“Mademoiselle…”

“Oui, Monsieur Kim?”

“Please…call me Jongin.”

Your heart began to pound, the beat so intense, you wondered if he could hear it.  Did he know what it would imply, to address him by his first name?  You sighed.  The likelihood was low. You willed your nerves to calm.  

“You may continue to call me Mademoiselle,” you teased, smiling up at him, at his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.  

He returned your smile, but his was knowing, his eyes full of an emotion that you couldn’t translate.  Slipping off of the bench, he knelt on one knee in front of you, taking your hands in his.  “Mademoiselle…I was hoping–if you would do me the honour–of following in your culture’s footsteps, and giving you the name Madame K–”

“Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît, but Monsieur Lee has called for you, Monsieur Kim.”

You both turned to see a smooth-faced servant, his expression bland, as his eyes stayed steadily on the ground.

Jongin’s–your heart thrilled at the name!–Jongin’s jaw tightened in irritation, but when he spoke, his voice was pleasant.  “Is it important?”

“There appears to have been an urgent missive from Korea. I believe he mentioned something about Japan?”

Jongin’s eyes narrowed.  During his months of tutelage, he had been teaching you, not only the language of Korea, but also its history, and current political climate.  You knew that tensions with Japan were rising, and you laid a hand on his arm.

“Monsieur Kim,” he turned to you, his eyes torn, “Jonginah…”  His expression softened, hope lighting his face.  “Go.  I’ll be here when you return and, despite the fact that I will anticipate your full confession upon your return, I can already tell you that my answer will be in the affirmative.”

A wide smile put nearly all of his pearly teeth on display and, for a–moment–he was no longer the debonair ambassador, but a sweet boy, and your heart throbbed at the change.  You always wanted to protect that smile.

He swiftly stood and bowed over your outstretched hand, saying, “I will make this as quick as possible.”  Then, turning, he started to follow the servant back into the party.

You watched him go, a besotted smile on your face.  Mind consumed by thoughts of Jongin, you weren’t able to react quickly enough to fight the hand that held a chemical soaked rag to your nose, until it was too late.

***

burning  throat burning  weak   roll over, push  too weak  rest.

rushing noises, pounding noises, knocking noises, light too bright, so close, seeing is loud  cold  burning inside, cold outside

footsteps above  

pain, red pain, black pain, clawing pain, curl in and clutch pain, still hurts, hurts so much–  

“Jagiyah?”  

comfort  safety relief  go closer

strength around, strength lifting   warm  fire inside again, pain worse, clutch at something strong, solid…

“Shhhh, gwenchana…  Ara..ara…”.

comfort warmth safety  nuzzle closer, wrap around closer  want to be surrounded

stroked, petted   whimper  want to get closer

pulled closer  ripping, gnawing inside, everything burns

“Nae sarang…  Gwenchana, jagiya…”  

need more

“Shhh, shhh,”

pulled closer  smells warm and thick honey sweet

tuck in, scoot, root closer wonderful scent  nuzzle, steady, comforting heat on cold skin, crycry, pain claws up, bite down

hot relief spreads, burns away pain, sears away thirst, warms limbs  raise your hands pull comfort closer  

drinking  drinking  drinking comfort, peace, relief  soft groans just latch on tighter, relax, relax, stroked with velvet from the inside out

nothing but tongue, and teeth, and mouth, no sound, dark sweet scent, all is taste  falling, falling

dark

He felt more tired, than anything else, if he was honest. An overwhelming urge to…to…to do something, he thought. Maybe to do nothing.

He wasn’t sure which urge scared him more.

He was adjusting. He thought. The nights were the hardest. Ghosts don’t have to sleep, as it turned out, so he ended up taking night watch with Zane (and therefore, Pixal). The nindroid had rigged his holograph function to let Pixal take full control and actually join them out on the deck, provided Kai was alright not having eye contact from Zane.

He didn’t mind. It was someone else who couldn’t just grab things like the others.

Pixal understood the frustration of wanting to interact with the world and being denied at every turn.

“Kai? Are you alright?” Zane’s voice derailed his train of thought.

He gave the nindroid a tense smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Pixal’s echoey tone sounded in concern. “Are you certain, Kai? We need to exercise caution; your physiology is entirely unknown.”

Kai shrugged, floating off the ground to level with the two tallest members of their team. “I think so? I mean…” He sighed, a lonesome echoey sound. “I’m not really sure, you know? I…” He shook his head. “It’s like you said.” He stared into his reflection off the side of the Bounty.

With a conciliatory air, he turned back to the stranger, who had made no attempts to leave, saying, “I apologize for my ward’s impertinence, monsieur; you can assign her lack of manners to my charge.”

“She robbed me of my gustation, sir.”

“What were you eating?”

The stranger shrugged.  “Just some girl.”

Monsieur Boudreaux nodded, and spread his hands apologetically.  “Eh, bien, you see, she’s rather sensitive to that sort of thing.”  He looked around, consideringly.  “However…the night is young.  I’m sure that you’ll quickly be able to find something to eat, if you leave now.”

The man smiled. “Just so.  However, I’m not inclined to let this discourtesy stand.  My grievance is with her, not you.  Give her to me, and I’ll be on my way.”

Monsieur Boudreaux shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting about his mouth.  “I’ve already named her my ward…therefore you are fully aware that I cannot do that.”

Smiling again, the stranger answered, “Perhaps, sir.  But now my blood is up, and your little ward didn’t provide me with enough of a fight to cool my ire.”

Nodding again, Monsieur Boudreaux looked at the ground.  With a powerful spring, he was suddenly upon the man, his large hand wrapped around the shorter man’s throat.  Eyes wide, he asked, in an eerily calm voice, “Is this enough fight for you, monsieur” before digging his claws into the man’s neck, and ripping out part of his spine, through his throat.

The man’s blood pattered in an arc across the square, across your face, and you started in dreadful revulsion, but couldn’t draw in enough breath to scream.  This was so much more brutal, so much more visceral than your way.

Monsieur Kim was still crouched next to you, his expression grim, as you both watched Monsieur Boudreaux calmly drag the stranger’s body, by his ruined neck, over to you.  As he approached, you saw in mounting horror that the man was still alive, his head flopping grotesquely, his jaw working as if he were trying to speak.

You tried to drag yourself away, but your arms merely skittered across the cobblestones.  

Monsieur Kim rose suddenly, putting his body between you, and the approaching Monsieur Boudreaux.  “What is the meaning of this, sir?”

“Step aside, or I will walk right through you, miserable spectre,” Monsieur Boudreaux pronounced, his tone dismissive.  

Monsieur Kim set his jaw.  “Stop!  Can you not see that you’re terrifying her?”

“This, fantôme, is the only way to save her!”

After taking a moment to search Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes, Monsieur Kim stepped aside.  

Monsieur Boudreaux crouched in front of you, wrapping his other hand around the stake, and abruptly pulling it out and throwing it away.

Your body jerked at its removal, and blood started to spurt from the wound in earnest, pouring down your shoulders to pool beneath you on the ground. Fiery pain roared through your breast, and your vision began to darken.  

Monsieur Boudreaux took the man, and unceremoniously shoved his throat into your mouth.  Convulsively, you swallowed, but then tried to turn your head.  Monsieur Boudreaux stroked your hair, crooning, “Non, non, ma petite, this is what you need to become well.  A human would be better, but this will have to do.”

You closed your mouth, refusing to drink, turning your head from the ruin of the man who had attacked you.  

Tutting, Monsieur Boudreaux remonstrated, “Ma chère, I’ve no desire to force you, but I will.”  

Looking up, you caught Monsieur Kim’s eye.  He nodded once, grimly.  You shook your head.  

“Do it,” he said, his voice low.  

You closed your eyes, and clenched your teeth, fighting against the almost overwhelming desire to grab the man by the hair, bury your face into his neck, and drink until he was no more than dry bones.  Then you heard it.  

“Please.  Please, mademoiselle.  Please drink.  Please.  Don’t leave me.”

Opening your eyes, your gaze met Monsieur Kim’s, and he was on his knees beside you, his expression stricken.  

Closing your eyes from the gruesome sight before you, you turned, opened your mouth, and drank.

***

You opened your eyes to an unfamiliar room.  Sitting up, you looked around to see Monsieur Kim sitting in a chair in the corner.  

His attention snapped to you as soon as you sat up, and he stood and walked over, sitting beside you and reaching for your hands, before realization came over his face, and he subsided.

“Where am I?” you queried.

He grimaced.  “You’re in Monsieur Boudreaux’s home.  He carried you here, after…the incident.”

Eyes widening in shock, you threw back the covers, and stood, only to waver, and fall back to the bed.  A familiar pain that you hadn’t felt in months clawed its way up your stomach, and seized your throat, and you groaned.

“Mademoiselle!” Monsieur Kim exclaimed.  “Are you still unwell?  Please, sit still for a moment, and compose yourself.”

“Monsieur Kim,” you panted, eyes glazed with pain as you looked up at him.  “Do you hate me this much?  Why didn’t you let this wretched existence end when there was a chance?”

His face paled, and his expression was nothing short of horrified. He shook his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his face became stern, almost angry.  “Mademoiselle, you will not say anything like that ever again, do you hear?  I forbid it!”

“Forbid?” You laughed mirthlessly.  “I detest what I am!  You detest what I am. You asked me not to leave you alone, but what else is keeping you here?  It only makes sense that upon my demise, you will be set free!”

“I refuse to hear any more of this nonsense!”

You turned away.  “Then leave.”

“I cannot do that.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because you’re still hurt.”

“I’ll be fine!” you growled bitterly.  “That’s just it.  No matter what happens, I’m always fine!  So, go!”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I wish to be alone.”

“I care not.”

“Why won’t you leave me to be miserable in peace?!”

“Because I still love you!”

You stopped breathing, your eyes wide, as you stared at each other.

The door opened, and in strode Monsieur Boudreaux.  “Finally, you’re awake!”

“Finally?!” you echoed, still dumbfounded over Monsieur Kim’s confession.  Dazedly, you inquired, “How long have I been here?”

“A number of days,” Monsieur Kim answered.  

Face blanching, you struggled once more to rise.  “My parents! How can I ever explain?  I–”

“Calm yourself, chérie,” Monsieur Boudreaux crooned.  “I spoke to that lady’s maid of yours, and she has concocted a story about your being sick in your room, all this time, with the congestive fever.  She has remained in your room, to ostensibly tend to you.”

“You spoke to Cosette?”

“I told him that she knows,” Monsieur Kim said.

“A jewel, that one,” Monsieur Boudreaux mused.  

A sudden cramping in your gut doubled you over, and you cried out, clawing at the coverlet.  It was growing difficult to think, much less speak.

Monsieur Boudreaux tsked.  “This is why finding a human would have been better.  Alas, we did not have the time.  It has been a number of days since you have been able to eat, however, and if you don’t do it soon, your body will do it for you.”

Monsieur Kim looked up in alarm.

Laughing softly at his expression, Monsieur Boudreaux nodded.  “That is the way of it.  If we do not feed while we can, the mind shuts down, we become no better than beasts, and we eat the first thing we come across. However, no one should know that better than you, hein, mon ami?”

Monsieur Kim’s face reddened, and he growled, “You are altogether vile, Boudreaux!”

“Yet, I am here, and you are not,” Monsieur Boudreaux taunted.  “At least…not in any way that truly matters.”

Panting, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin, you tried to rise. “Be silent, monsieur!” you grated as you pushed yourself once more off of the bed.

“Do not overtax yourself,” he crooned.  “I have something for you.”

A sigh of relief ghosted past your lips, and you sank back bonelessly to the bed.  

He left the room, but was back in a moment, with something in his arms. When he drew closer, and you saw what it was, both you and Monsieur Kim leapt back, unadulterated horror on your faces.  You pushed yourself into the furthest corner of the room, digging your claws into the plaster, in an effort to lock yourself in place.  “Monsieur,” you started, your voice hollow and breathless.  Unable to finish, for the combined abhorrence and pain that clogged your throat, you just wordlessly shook your head, in desperation.

“You are no gentleman!” Monsieur Kim thundered, placing his body in front of yours, so that you would not have to see what Boudreaux held in his arms. “You, sir, are a villain! Nothing more than a depraved fiend!”

You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the world.  The hunger, the yelling, the horror, the tempting scent.  For what Boudreaux held in his arms.  What he gently placed on the bed–

–was your precious little Angeline.

The noxious odour of the same chemical that had been used on you, all those months ago, rose up, choking you with its panic-inducing scent.  

“What have you done?” you whimpered, heart pounding against your ribs.  

“I?  I’ve merely brought you your much needed dinner.  Now, be a good dear, and have something to eat.” Boudreaux replied.

“Non.  Non.  Non, non, non, non, non!” you shrieked, your voice escalating in panic.  “Take her away!  Take her back!”

“I understand that you have developed a penchant for the child, but the fact remains that if you do not eat soon, you will go, forgive the lack of a better term, quite rabid.”

“That child is her charge!” Monsieur Kim shouted, his strong voice the only thing currently anchoring you to your sanity.  “How dare you suggest she commit such a revolting abomination!”

“This child is what is standing between her, and good health.  She is unconscious; she will feel no pain.” Boudreaux’s voice was dismissive.  

“Take her back!” you rasped, having even lost the energy to scream.

Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed.  “I will not!  You are so stubborn! Just like your arrière grand-mère!”

You shook your head at the non sequitur.

Monsieur Kim took over for you.  “What the devil are you talking about, Boudreaux?”

“You knew…my…” you coughed, the sweet scent of Angeline’s blood flowing in her veins, making you swallow convulsively.

“Knew her?” he asked, his voice quiet.  “I loved her!”

Your eyes shot to his.  

His face was red, and his breathing was elevated. Running a finger under his collar, he turned, and raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.  

The distraction of his distress gave you a precious modicum of control, and you rose with effort.  

Monsieur Kim came to stand beside you, and though you couldn’t lean on him, you were grateful for the comfort of his mere presence.  “Explain this!” you demanded.

Boudreaux was quiet for a moment.  When he turned to you, his eyes were sad as he looked between you, and Monsieur Kim. “Oui, I knew her.”

“Did you own her?” Your voice was biting.

A sharp crack reverberated around the room, and your cheek stung.  You hadn’t even seen him approach.  Turning slowly, you met Boudreaux’s eyes, but his intense gaze didn’t falter under your own.  

Monsieur Kim stepped between you, and shoved.  Boudreaux’s body went flying across the room, and you gasped in surprise.  “Jonginah!”  He turned to you, his eyes dark, as he brought his hand to your reddened cheek.  When he went to touch it, however, it passed through, and he looked infinitely sad.  

Boudreaux lay in a crumpled heap in the corner, staring up at the ceiling, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. Sighing, he shook his head.  “Own her?” He laughed ruefully. “Geneviève was une femme de couleur librée, as you well know.”

You looked past Jongin to where Boudreaux was still lying.  “I know she died early.  Did you…?”

His smile was bitter.  “After her husband, your arrière grand-père, died, I became her protecteur and, whatever you may think, we loved each other.  I wanted to spirit her away from this accursed place–with its unholy, abominable laws–take her North.  I wanted,” his jaw worked as he cried soundlessly.  “I wanted to marry her! I loved her, ma foi, how I did love her!  Mais, alas!”  He shook his head.  “One day, I was out riding, and my horse spooked and threw me.  I fell, and hit my head, and by the time they were able to bring me home, I was already dying.  Unbeknownst to me, my grandfather was…one of us.  We just always thought that he was possessed of a particularly hale constitution.  Of course, he couldn’t bear the thought of the death of his grandson, and so…” Boudreaux languidly waved a hand, then fell silent.

“And so?” Jongin prompted, turning his head slightly to Boudreaux, though his eyes never left your face.

Boudreaux sighed.  “And so.  He had never approved of plaçage, and so he left me to wake up…with Geneviève.”

You gasped, and Jongin turned back to you.  

“You know, ma chère.  You know what it’s like to awaken.  You know nothing except hunger.  You are nothing but hunger.  And so…”

“You killed her,” you whispered.

“‘You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’ ” Boudreaux finally turned to you, a mirthless smile grotesquely stretching his face, as tears ran down his cheeks.  “Eh, bien, you know what that’s like, n’est-ce pas?”

Jongin’s eyes were tragic, as they ran over your face.  

Overwhelmed, you shook your head.  Rushing forward, you snatched up Angeline into your arms, and then ran down the stairs, and out of that accursed house.

***

Upon reaching your home, and climbing the stairs, you collapsed against your door.  Cosette opened it,  gasping upon seeing you with Angeline in your arms.  “Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle! She whispered, shaking you.

You didn’t have the strength to respond.  

Cosette dragged you both into the room, but before she could close the door, Jongin was there.  She covered her mouth just in time to muffle her scream.

“Cosette!  It is imperative that you listen to everything that I have to say!” he said.

She nodded, her eyes wide, as she tried not to panic.  

Jongin explained everything, and by the time he was done, Cosette had fallen to her knees beside you, gently trying to wrest Angeline from your arms.  

You growled, and she shrank back.  

Then, swallowing, and summoning her courage, she crawled forward once more, crooning, “Mademoiselle, it is your own Cosette.  Sweet mademoiselle, give Cosette le bébé, hein?”  She stroked your shoulder, and slowly, slowly pulled Angeline from your arms.  Lifting her, she left the room.

She returned shortly, walking around Jongin to crouch next to you.  

“Why are you back so soon?” Jongin asked her.  “I’ve already told you that she needs something to eat!”

“I understood, m’sieur,” she said distantly.

You could hear them talking, but the sound came from far away.  You stared listlessly.

“Well then, go and fetch your mistress something before falls into an even worse state!”

“M’sieur… Leave, s’il vous plâit.”

“What?!  Why would I–?  Oh, no!  No!  Absolutely not!  Do you even know what you’re suggesting?! She can’t control herself when she’s like this!”

Cosette stood, raising determined eyes up to his.  “She is my mistress, and I am, and will ever be, her loyal Cosette.”  She advanced upon him, and he retreated instinctively.  With one last look up into his eyes, Cosette set her jaw, and closed the door.

***

You were walking through your house, but no one was home.  Every door was open, and late afternoon sunlight shone through all the windows, making the house glow with a golden light.  Wandering from room to room, you looked for someone, but you weren’t sure whom.  Upon reaching your room, you found a young woman sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, slowly rocking, and crocheting.  When you drew closer, you saw that what she was creating what appeared to be the blanket that you normally kept over your bed.

She looked up at you and, despite her countenance, you felt no surprise, only calm.  She had your face.  Her skin was darker, the rich colour of warm honey, and the curls that tumbled over her shoulders, and down her back were tighter, but other than that, she could have been you.

Tilting her head, she smiled. Mon bébé.  Do you like your coverlet?  She didn’t speak, but you knew her words, all the same.

You nodded.  

Come have a seat by me, ma chère.

Sitting beside her on the floor, you rested your head upon her lap, your cheek against the familiar soft cotton of your blanket.  

I’m glad that you can finally hear me, chère.  I’ve been calling you pour un longtemps.  She began to lovingly stroke your hair.  I can’t stay long, mon coeur.  

You nodded again, sadly.  I know.

Understand, you mustn’t be too cross with Bastien.  He wasn’t always as you know him.  When we were young, he was…beautiful.  So gentle…kind…unfailingly courteous, to everyone–slave and free.  He never even raised his voice to his horse, much less a person.  Her face was infinitely sad.  He used to recite poetry.  He would spend entire afternoons reading stories of love to me.  However, years alone have twisted him, made him into something he was never meant to be.  You’ll have to free him, mon ange.  

Raising your head, you looked at her askance.  

She reached out to gently caress your curls. Listen.  Remember.  A sire’s blood can heal the first victim of his ward.  

Then, why didn’t he do that for you?

Her eyes were sad.  He didn’t know.  And even if he had, he wasn’t a murderer, much less of his own dear grand-père.  Even if he had known, I never would have asked it of him.  

Why do you tell me this?

Find your Jongin.

Jonginah is dead.  I killed him.  You were bitter.  

Not dead, chère.  

He sleeps.

***

Upon arriving home, after seeing Etienne safely ensconced in the arms of his retainers, you slipped inside the servant’s entrance, and crept up the stairs to your bedchamber.  Monsieur Kim was right on your heels, and you quickly closed the door in his face. There was a scoff, then he walked through the door, raising an eyebrow at you.

Sitting at your vanity, you met his eyes in the mirror, as you reached behind yourself to undo the hooks and eyes of your gown.  “Sir?”

He averted his eyes, a slight blush suffusing the tops of his cheeks.  After a moment of further thought, he turned around completely, standing stock-still until you walked by him in your nightdress.  Climbing into bed, you turned on your side, facing away from him, and closing your eyes, desperate to achieve a few hours of sleep before you were awakened by Cosette.  

“You saved that boy’s life tonight.”

You sighed heavily. “Is it not enough that you endeavour to starve me to death, must you now also add sleep deprivation to your list of tortures?”

He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, the sound was right behind your head.  “I still don’t understand what happened.”

Huffing in frustration, you turned to see that Monsieur Kim was lying on his back beside you, his head on your other pillow.  “Be glad that you’re dead, otherwise, my papa would kill you for being in his daughter’s bed, and my maman would kill you for putting your shoes on her antique coverlet. Ma grand-mere’s maman crocheted this, you know.”

He slanted you an almost playful look.

You blinked.  It had to have been a trick of the light. Clearing your throat, you asked, “So, what about this night was so confusing to you?”

“I’ve watched you kill countless men.  You’re merciless–” here you started in protest, but he gave you a quelling look, and you subsided, “and yet, allowed that boy to live.  Not only that, but you tried to stop those men from hurting him. Why?”

“Apparently, monsieur, your powers of observation are in inverse proportion to your looks,” you said tartly.  “If you had taken but a moment to mark the low nature of those whom I’ve been eating, then you would have realized that I only eat the murderous, and the rapine. I am a monster, yes–I’ve come to terms with that–but if I have to continue in this accursed way, then I should at least do what I can to help clean the city of its filth.”

Monsieur Kim turned to you, his visage serious.  You tried not to think of how, had the circumstances been different, you both may have still lain just like this, but with soft words of love flowing between you, instead of the guarded expressions you now wore.  

“Clean the city of its filth,” he mused.  “Why do you not start with Boudreaux?”

You blinked, taken aback.  It had never even occurred to you to try to seek vengeance on the man who had made you a monster.  “I…haven’t thought…how could I? He’s like me–”

“Honour amoungst thieves?”

“I doubt I have the strength.  Besides, he already told me that he’s impossible to kill.”

“And you believed him?”

You were silent. Then, slowly, “I’m still unsure of what I am…  If I kill him, I kill hope for any answers to this cursed condition.”

“Surely, he can’t be the only one.”

“No, but how do you propose I find another?  Shall I put an ad in the paper?”

“Is that why you hesitate?  Or is there a secret affinity for him, hidden deep within your breast?”

Your eyes filled with tears.  “You think me so base?”

Monsieur Kim seemed discomfited by your tears.  “He…made you what you are. It would merely be natural–”

“Nothing about this entire affair is natural!” you ejaculated.  Turning with a huff, you pulled the covers over your head.

He was blessedly silent.

***

The next day, you dragged yourself down to brunch, still achingly weary, from both the previous night’s exertions, and the lack of sleep.  

Sitting at the table, you fortified yourself for another round of pretense. At first, you had called for your meals to be taken in your room, and it was easy enough to convince Cosette to eat them for you, blaming your lack of appetite on the loss of your paramour.  However, as you began to lose weight (due to Monsieur Kim’s interference with your hunting), and grow progressively paler, your parents insisted on your joining them for meals, so that they could keep an eye on you.

Food that you had once found delectable now nauseated you, and though you could consume it, you couldn’t keep it down for long, leading to a miserable post-meal ritual that you dreaded.  As you listlessly pushed about the food on your plate, the butler came with a card on a silver tray, for your father.

He took it and, glancing at you, nodded to the butler, saying, “Bring him in–tell him that we’re having brunch, and he’s welcome to join us.”

After a few moments, the cadence of a familiar tread reached your ears, and you froze in horror.

“Ah!  Monsieur Boudreaux!” your mother trilled, standing up from the table, wrapping her arm around his, and guiding him to sit across from you.  “What a wonderful surprise! How lovely to see you this morning. To what do we owe the occasion?”

“I was actually wondering if I may have the pleasure of speaking with your lovely daughter.”

For a fraction of a second, both of your parent’s faces dropped their genial veneer, before smoothing over once more, to polite anodyne.  “Why, Monsieur Boudreaux,” your mother started, “I fear that our daughter hasn’t been feeling quite herself as of late. Perhaps if you returned another day–”

“Mais non, c’est bien, Maman,” you murmured.  Standing abruptly, without looking at him, you said, “Monsieur Boudreaux, if you would be so kind as to accompany me into the parlour?”

You wheeled on him after closing the door, your fangs having already descended in preparation.

Monsieur Boudreaux held up his hand, and you froze, a guttural growl rumbling from your chest.

“I’m not here to antagonize you,” he said, his voice mild.  “Besides, you should be more careful. What if one of the servants were to hear you?”

Subsiding, you looked away, ashamed at your lack of self-control.  

“It’s my fault,” he said.  “I shouldn’t have left you without guidance for so long.  I’ve been remiss in my responsibility to you, and for that, I apologize sincerely.”

“Pretty words will gain you no favours, monsieur.  I neither desire, nor require your assistance.”

“Do you not?” he asked mildly. “Tell me, mademoiselle, have you not found it odd that there has been no hue and cry in the papers about the deaths of so many of your…meals?”

You could feel the blood draining from your face.  

Monsieur Boudreaux cocked his head as he saw your realization.  “Ma cher enfante, did you really think that you could just leave bodies lying about the city, and no one would notice?”  

Having no remonstration, you were silent, though you cursed yourself inwardly, for failing to clean up after your predations. “Monsieur.  If you are trying to arouse a sense of gratitude in my breast–”

“What I want from you is not gratitude, mademoiselle!” Monsieur Boudreaux thundered, losing control for the first time.  He began pacing the room like a caged tiger, raking a hand through his hair, causing it to stand at a rakish angle. “I have tried to give you time to come to terms with your new situation, I have given you space to become comfortable with what you are, but what do I find?”  He gestured to you, his movements jerky with frustration. “In my absence you have, what? Chosen to starve yourself? Tried to expose yourself by leaving evidence that even the dreariest dullard could interpret?”

“I assure you, I have no intentions of starving myself!  I found out quite early the impossibility of that, unless I want to lose myself and attack another innocent!  I just…have had trouble finding enough to eat, is all.”

“We are in a city of hundreds of thousands, and you cannot find enough to eat?”

“I am not a fiend; I will not eat just anyone.”

“Even so, there remain tens of thousands of blackguards from which to choose.”

“Just so. However, I have run into certain complications–”

“Such as?”

You raised your chin, and looked down your nose at him, despite your inferior height.  “They are none of your concern, monsieur.”

“None of my–” he cut himself off, and turned to the window, positively trembling in an obvious effort to control his temper.  After a moment, he turned back to you, now looking far more composed. With each statement, he stepped closer, until you were pressed against the door within the cage of his arms.  “You are my only concern. I wanted you. I waited for you, and I made you. You were made for me, and I’ll not let you go to ruin!”

His voice gentled. “Ma chère mademoiselle, you cannot remain unempathetic to my affections.   Only I know what you are going through, what you require. I can make this so much simpler for you, if you will merely give me your heart.”

Breathing heavily, you said, your voice steady, “Never.”

Monsieur Boudreaux pupils lengthened, and a quiet, high pitched noise like a sword being drawn out of its scabbard issued from his mouth as his fangs slid into place. “Very well,” he rasped “If you won’t change your mind, I will change it for you.”

Pulling your head to the side, his mouth descended toward your neck–

“Step back, scoundrel!”

You sagged in relief. Monsieur Kim.

His dark eyes flashed as he took in the scene before him, his jaw firm, his stance authoritative, as if he were about to strike Monsieur Boudreaux where the wretch stood.

Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed, as he raised his face from your neck.  Turning, he slanted a glance to the side, to see Monsieur Kim standing beside you, his form quivering with fury.  A slow smirk sliced through his expression, as he looked between the two of you. In a voice so scathing as to be downright caustic he said, “Ah, the wretched revenant.  Tell me, mademoiselle…is he why you haven’t been eating? Shall I rid you of him?”

“The only villain that I wish to be rid of is you, monsieur!” you ejaculated, pushing him away from you, with no inconsiderable effort.  

Monsieur Boudreaux closed his eyes and, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, visibly calmed himself, so that when his eyes reopened, he looked once more the gentleman.  Pinning you with a look, he said, “You can waste your time being tormented by this useless phantom, or you can come to me and finally become all I have made you to be. I will wait.  After all,” he smiled, his eyes hot and wicked, “We have time.”

You stepped aside, as he made for the door, and left.  As soon as the door closed behind him, you sank onto the nearest seat, your hand to your throat to quell the tumultuous beating of your terrified heart. For, as much as you hated to admit it, he did hold some dark allure over you that you felt grow only stronger when he dropped his human visage. Nausea rose, as you tried not to swoon when, from the corner of your eye, you saw Monsieur Kim crouching beside you.  

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.  

You shook your head, wordless for a moment.  Then, “Non. Non! I am, most unequivocally not alright!”

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the overstuffed back of the settee, a tear slipping from the side of your eye to slide down your cheek, and fall with a small -pat- onto the arm of the bench.

Suddenly, you heard a soft, tentative breath, and then, Monsieur Kim began to sing.  “Shigando jamshi gireul ireotteon got/ Haneulhan momjise geuman maeryodwen chaero/ geotjabeul su eopshi niga nae ane beonjeo/ neoroman gadeuki dameun shiya/ eongkin shiseone nal maedeupjieun chae/ neon muishikkaji chimbeomharyeo hae/ wiheomhadan geol almyeonseo/ han georeum deo nan dagaseo/ geojinmareun sseo almyeonseo geojinmareul sseo/ ppajin geora haetjiman sashil nal ppateurin neon gipeo/ kkeuchi eopshi boyeo seumyeodeureo joyeo/ ireobeoryeo da dwedollil sun eopseo/ cheoncheonhi deurikyeo euimi eomneun sum/ malhaejweo jigeum neol haega kkaegi jeon/ bonaejweo yeongweonhi naye pumeuro/ jamgil kkeot gata sum shwil ttaemada/ geunyang idaero/ neoye pumeuro ppajeoga/ kkeudeopshi/ kkeojil tteut adeukaejin neukkimi sungan nan neoman heorakdwae/ nan nege ppajeoga”

By the time he was finished, your frayed nerves had almost completely calmed at the rich, soft sound of his curiously calming voice.  “What was that?” you murmured, eyes still closed. “What did it mean?”

He was silent for a long time, and then he asked, “Have you come back to yourself?”

You nodded, slowly opening your eyes to see him directly in front of you, so close that you could have easily reached out to touch him, had you been able to touch him.

A sudden knock on the door jarred you both from your private moment, and you looked up to see your father enter.  When you glanced back, Monsieur Kim had vanished.

***

After the events of the previous night, an uneasy truce arose between you, and Monsieur Kim.  He no longer inhibited you from taking your meals, though he was otherwise cool. Despite his penchant for cutting remarks, however, he even began to aid you in your hunts–even going so far as to scout the streets for potential meals–and, incrementally but surely, the streets of your city began to become a bit safer, just as the blooms began to return to your cheeks.  

At times, he would even rouse you from your bed to inform you of some atrocity in the offing, and there soon were countless occasions where you had the pleasure of arresting the villains in flagrante delicto.  Permanently. The only downside was, not wanting to be beholden to Monsieur Boudreaux, you now had to personally take care of the disposal of your leftovers.

The alligators in the neighbouring swamps slowly began to fatten.

***

One particularly fateful night, you were disposing of the body of a rake who had taken into his possession a servant girl who could have been no older than 11, for the purposes of selling her to a house of ill-repute, to pay off his gambling debts.

“So, what are you going to do about the girl?”

You looked over your shoulder, to see the malnourished, curly-haired waif had followed you, even after having seen what you had done to the rapscallion who had been preparing to divest her of her innocence before you arrived.  Her feet were bare, and her chemise hung in tatters, off of her thin shoulders.

Striding over to her, you crouched to her level, taking off your cloak, and wrapping it about her shoulders.  Her bedraggled copper curls brushed your face, as she leaned forward to caress your cheek while you fastened the cape at her throat.  Wordlessly, you looked up into her wide brown eyes, eyes full of trust, despite the type of life she must have led. Setting your jaw, you made a decision.

Sweeping the girl into your arms, you strode off for home.  After a few moments, you heard a soft snore, and looked down to see that she had fallen asleep, her head lolling against your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Monsieur Kim queried.

“I’m taking her home.”

“And then what?”

“A bath, a meal, and bed.”

Monsieur Kim was silent.  Then, “You’re not going to return her to her parents?”

Scoffing, you shook your head.  “She will be given a position in my household.  Once in my employ, should she wish to visit her parents, she shall–with supervision–until I am satisfied that they aren’t the ones who sold her into that scoundrel’s grasp.  

He walked alongside you in silence.  After some time had passed, he cleared his throat.  “Do you remember that night?”

You said nothing, merely continued on your way, as you contemplated his query.  You knew precisely what he referenced, but you didn’t want to break your uneasy truce.  Finally, you nodded once, tersely.

“I was going to request your hand.  You were going to say yes. Perhaps we would have been happy.  However, since then, I have come to realize that we didn’t truly know each other, though I daresay that would have come in time. I hardly know what you thought of me, but to me, you were delicate, soft, clever, and altogether perfect.  I had such dreams of taking you to see the world, of your being by my side, supporting me in all of my political endeavours. I envisioned taking you home, and ensconcing you safely in my household, a brilliant jewel to rival all of the other precious things that my ancestors have collected throughout the centuries.”  He smiled ruefully.

“I wanted to treat you preciously.”  Monsieur Kim slanted a playful glance at you.  “You were going to bear me six sons.”

“Six?!” you scoffed, indignant.

“Indeed,” he responded, smiling almost as brightly as you remembered.  “Six brilliant sons to follow in my footsteps, and four strong daughters with your wit, and cleverness, to be presented at court.  I like to think that we would have been happy. Would you have been happy?”

The girl stirred, and you readjusted her in your arms, briefly wrapping a hand around her head to comfort her back to sleep.  When she was once again silent, you nodded your head. “Oui, Monsieur Kim,” you responded quietly, your voice regretful. “I would have been quite happy.”

His eyes were pained as he once again faced forward.  Swallowing with some difficulty, he shoved his hands into his pockets, as his thoughtful gaze fell to the cobblestones.

***

Cosette helped you bathe the child, whose name she told you drowsily, as you washed her hair, was Angeline.  You had had to confess your nature to Cosette, who had taken it surprisingly well.

“Eh bien,” she had said, carelessly shrugging one shoulder. “I have been your servant since we were children.  Despite this rather unsavoury change in diet, I’ve noticed no fiendish developments in your person, and therefore,” here, she had raised her eyes to yours, her wide hazel eyes glowing fervently, “I will stay with you, mademoiselle until the end. Until the end, I am your own faithful servant.” You had both clasped hands then, though you could not speak, emotion robbing you of your voice.

Between the two of you, you were able to create a story for the housekeeper, to convince her to hire Angeline as a new kitchen maid. Despite your prior misgivings, it had turned out that Angeline had been stolen from her parents, though they were quite pleased to know that she had been able to become a domestic in such a great household. Finding out that her mother was a seamstress, you began sending extra work her way, and found another household for which Angeline’s father could ply his trade as a factotum. You couldn’t save the world, but you could at least help one small family.

Every day, Monsieur Kim looked at you differently.  You tried to ignore it, fearing that it was merely your imagination, but soon the cool glances and cutting smirks, began to soften and warm.  He once more began regaling you with tales of his childhood, teaching you about his language, and culture, and even, at times, singing sweetly to you, when the things seen on your nightly hunts became too much for you to bear.  

You were imminently grateful.  Though he had started out as your torment, without him, you surely would have broken down and gone, either to Monsieur Boudreaux, or mad.  

One day, you wandered into the kitchen gardens to find Monsieur Kim, and Angeline merrily chattering away.  Stopping in shock, you turned, so as not to interrupt them, or accidentally eavesdrop, but Angeline caught sight of you, and tripped over lightly, childishly wrapping her arms around your waist, as she was apt to do when you were alone.  

Returning the embrace, you looked down at her.  “You can see Monsieur Kim, cherie ?”

“Oui, mademoiselle! Since the night he found me, and told me not to worry, that you would be coming to save me.”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked over to him, noticing his discomfiture.  “He said that, did he?”

Angeline nodded emphatically.  “Oui! He told me to just try to distract my old master long enough for you to arrive; that once you came, everything would be alright.”

Crouching to her level, you reached out a hand to gently caress her cheek.  “Angeline, I suddenly have such a craving for chocolates. Would you be a dear, and go pick up a box for me?”  Handing her a few notes from your reticule, you gave the back of her head an affectionate caress before she skipped off to the confectionary.  

“You don’t eat chocolates,” Monsieur Kim remarked drily.

You shrugged elegantly. “Eh, bien, I suppose that she will just have to eat them for me.”

“You’re spoiling her.”

“Apparently, so are you.”

He averted his eyes. Then, quietly, “I love children.”

You nodded sadly, “As do I.”  Then, shaking yourself of your melancholy, you approached him.  “So, Angeline can see you, as well?”

He nodded.  “It seems as if children, and people like you can see me, with no effort on my part, but to everyone else, I have to actively endeavour to be seen.  I can do it, but it takes a lot out of me, and I can only do it for so often, or so long, before I have to rest.”

“Fascinating,” you responded.

He gave you a look. “Not quite,” he murmured.  

A soft growling noise rent the peace of the late afternoon, and you halted in shocked horror.

Monsieur Kim stared at you, and then burst into delighted laughter, holding his stomach, and releasing peal after peal of mirth.  

With a huff, you pushed forward, leaving him behind in his joy, but he was quick to catch up with you.

“It would seem as if a certain mademoiselle is hungry,” he chuckled, beaming down at you, his eyes bright and teasing.

“Oui, eh bien, that was not me,” you said loftily.

“No?  Is your garden infested with diminutive bears, perhaps? Lilliputian lions?”

Your cheeks burned in mortification.  “A gentleman would not notice such things as…garden bears,” you remonstrated.

“Indeed,” he rejoined, “but I’ve crossed beyond the veil.  I fear that I’m quite beyond all constraints of gentlemanly behaviour.”

“Then why do you always avert your gaze when it’s time for my habilitation?”

He flushed to the tips of his ears.  “Mademoiselle!”

Walking backwards, you tilted your head flirtatiously.  “Why, Monsieur Kim!” you exclaimed teasingly. “I do believe that you are blushing!”

Monsieur Kim chuckled softly, and closed his eyes, lowering his head in admission.  

When he opened his eyes, however, Monsieur Kim was gone.  

A sloe-eyed rake looked up at you, his head tilted sideways as he bit his lip, slowly giving you a once-over.  

Involuntarily, you swallowed.  

He slowly stalked toward you, his gait as smooth and rolling as a panther, and you squeaked. Lifting your skirts, you turned tail and ran, to the teasing sounds of more of Monsieur Kim’s mirthful laughter.

***

That night, you were stalking through the shadows, when you came across something that you had never thought you’d see.  

Someone like you, feeding from a fainting dark-haired girl.  

Wordlessly, you ran to him, grabbing him by the back of his jacket, and throwing him as hard as you could against a nearby wall.  Turning, you growled to the girl, “Go home to your maman, petit biquet.”

Before you could turn, he was on you, and you were soon embroiled in a fierce fight for your very life. Fangs and claws flashed as you fought like a wildcat, but he was ever so much stronger. You could feel yourself weakening from the multiple gashes and lacerations that you had been dealt, while meanwhile, he remained relatively unscathed.  From the corner of your eye, you could see Monsieur Kim disappear, but you had to concentrate on your opponent, or else–

A sharp pain pierced your chest, and you looked down to see a wooden stake buried there. Faltering, you stumbled backwards, your legs giving way beneath you, as you fell to the ground.  

The stranger crouched over you, his cold, pale blue eyes glittering under a mop of soft chestnut curls.  If it weren’t for the murderous glint in his eye, he would have been handsome.

You wrapped a hand around the stake, and tried to pull it out, but the pain was too great, and a wave of blackness rolled over you.  Your eyelids fluttered as you valiantly struggled to remain conscious.

“Who are you?” he grated, his voice rough, but cultured, his accent of the North.  

You couldn’t have answered if you tried.  The pain was too great.

He looked down at you consideringly, as if examining a specimen.  “Why did you interrupt me?”

You merely gazed at him wordlessly, coughing wretchedly as blood began to pool in your lung. When you opened your mouth to take a desperate breath, but coughed again, you felt it, warm and thick, running down your chin to join the stain at your breast.  

The stranger looked away, as if bored. “You robbed me of my dinner.”  Turning back, he gripped you tightly by the chin, lifting your face, and turning it this way, and that, as if examining a horse.  “What should I do to you, hm?”

“Leave her, if you value your life.”

You closed your eyes, as the last voice you would have wanted to hear rang through the night.  

Monsieur Boudreaux.

Song translation:   Even time was lost in this place Completely captivated by your light movements I couldn’t stop you spreading inside of me My eyes are only filled with you

The mixed up looks tie me up You try to take over even my subconsciousness I know it’s dangerous But I’m taking another step

In the faintly shining sky Draw me out thicker (draw me out more) For a long time in your memories (in your memories) Engrave me deeper (engrave deeper)

Yeah, lies are bitter, even though I know, lies are bitter I said I fell for you but you made me fall so deep I can see endlessly, you come inside and suffocate me I lost everything, can’t turn it back

I’m drinking in meaningless breaths Tell me before the sun wakes up Send yourself forever into my arms Feels like I’m locked up every time I breathe

Just like this, fall, fall, fall for you Into your arms, fall, fall, I’m falling Endlessly

Feels so far away Only you are allowed for me in this moment Fall, fall, into you I’m falling

A snort escaped her mouth, and her face wrinkled in dismay.  “Mademoiselle, s’il vous plait!  Such a headache I have!”

“Cosette!  Cosette!  My own little dear Cosette!  You’re alive!” you cried, holding her to your breast, and squeezing her tightly.  

“Bien sur, mademoiselle,” she murmured sleepily, with a jaw-cracking yawn.  

“But how?  What happened?  In that state…I was as a wild beast!”

She shook her head, wriggling out of your grasp to to slump back on the bed, slowly but determinedly climbing under your covers.  “Mais oui, mademoiselle,” she agreed listlessly, snuggling under your counterpane, her bronze curls splayed in a riotous tumble over your pillowslip, “but I couldn’t allow you to lose yourself to the dark.  I knew if you killed me, you would never forgive yourself.”  Her voice was soft and sleepy, and it was clear that she was fading quickly.

“Mais, Cosette, how did you stop me?”

“Eh bien, I punched you in the face.  Quite hard, you see.”

Silence.

“Ah.”

***

You managed to ready yourself on your own, leaving Cosette in your bed, your breakfast on the table beside her, so that she could eat as soon as she awoke.  Fortunately, you hadn’t been required to take breakfast with your parents in months–ever since Jongin had stopped hindering you in your nightly jaunts.  Your parents were ecstatic to see you up and about, looking so healthy, and though they were a bit scandalized that you were allowing Cosette to sleep in your bed, they were so grateful to her for “taking care of you”–(your face froze at the unerring truth of that statement) that they allowed you this peculiar flight of fancy. And so with a hug, and a smile, you told them that you were going to take a constitutional in the garden, and left them to their morning chatter.

Once there, you sat on the stone bench, and whispered.  “Jonginah!  Jonginah!”

He appeared before you, his expression worried.  

“Come sit by me,” you invited.  

He did so, but his face didn’t change.  “What happened last night?”

You smiled, shaking your head.  “Cosette is fine!  She’s upstairs snoring away the morning, as we speak!”

“Truly?”

Nodding your head, you slipped a bit closer to him.  

“But how?”

You waved a hand, then unthinkingly patted your jaw.  “She’s a lot hardier than one would expect.”

He smiled then, but his eyes were sad, and he looked away.  “That’s wonderful.”

You leaned even closer.  “Jonginah…”

He turned to you then, registering your proximity.  His pupils dilated, and his voice deepened. “Yes?”

“I saw my arrière grand-mère last night!”

He was speechless.

You nodded, leaning just a bit closer.  “Jonginah…do you know what she told me?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to your mouth.  “I…couldn’t imagine.”

“You’re alive!”

Jongin didn’t react.  

Tilting your head, you considered him in confusion.  “Did you hear what I said?”

He finally brought his eyes back up to yours.  “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle.  I was…distracted.  Please, go on.”

Beaming, you repeated the glorious phrase that had been burning through your mind all morning.  “I said…you’re alive!”

He froze.  “I’m…sorry?”

“You’re alive, mon amoureux.  Somewhere.  We just have to find where.”

“I’m afraid that I don’t…understand…”

“Well, according to Grandmere Genevieve, the only way I could see you like this is if you were still alive.  She says that ghosts do not walk the earth.  A sire can cause the spirit of his ward’s first victim to wander, but only if he keeps the victim alive!”

“But…how?”

“You…don’t really want to know that part…”

“I most certainly do!  I insist!”

You grimaced.  “Well…to create a…revenant, the victim must be brought to the brink of death.  Then, instead of being allowed to die, the sire just…” you coughed delicately, a blush suffusing your cheeks.

“Just what, mademoiselle?”

“Gives you a drop of his blood, every day.  Just enough to keep you alive, but not enough to either heal you–if you have enough blood of your own–or turn you–if you don’t.”

“I’m alive.”

“You’re alive, ma cherie!”

“I’m alive?!”  His eyes filled with tears.  

Your voice gentled.  “You…are…alive!  Gloriously, wholly, completely alive!”

“What happens when you find me?”

You sat back, and swallowed.  “I just have to…incapacitate Boudreaux, and…make you swallow his blood until your body takes over, and you drink the rest.”

“And will I be truly alive, then?”

You looked away.  “Honnêtement, mon coeur, it all depends on how far along your body has healed.  If you have enough blood in your body, then you will be as ever you were.  If you don’t…”

“If I don’t?”

Swallowing, you turned away from him completely.  “If you don’t…you will become as I am.”

He was quiet.  Then he stood abruptly.  “I need time to think about this.”

Nodding silently, you bowed your head.  “Jonginah…were you…being quite honest when you…when you said you still loved me?”

An agonized groan broke forth from his lips.  “Mademoiselle, if possible, I love you now more than ever I did on that night I endeavoured to make you my own dear little wife.”

“Ah, I see.  So, you love me…you just don’t want to be like me.”

Sweet birdsong in the distance was the only sound in the garden.  You stood, still not turning to him.  “I understand your meaning completely, sir. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”  Back straight, you left him there.   You never turned.  You didn’t want him to see your tears.

***

Wearily climbing the stairs to your room, you opened the door to find that Cosette had eaten, and gone back to sleep.  Sighing, you took off your dress, and in your chemise, climbed into bed beside her, grateful for the comforting sound of her soft snores.  Sometimes, when you were little, and she had had a nightmare, she would come downstairs, and sneak into your bed.  The warm scent of her hair brought back those simpler times, and tears filled your eyes when you thought about what you had lost.  Curling up behind her, you wrapped an arm about her waist, and buried your face into her soft curls.  Then, with the quiet sounds of her snores as a background, you silently cried yourself to sleep.

***

When you awoke, it was dusk, and Cosette was gone. A solitary, insistent hunger pang pierced your stomach, and with a groan, you rose to dress.  Once you left the house, you walked though the usual streets, but you weren’t hunting, not really.  Your thoughts were jumbled, but your emotions had thankfully gone numb, and so aimlessly, you wandered.  

A hand came out of nowhere and wrapped around your mouth, while a strong arm wrapped around your waist.  You were pulled back into the shadow of an old abandoned building, the windows black and broken, testament to the fire that had gutted it.  Your attacker shoved you against the wall, quickly following to cage you between his arms.

Hot breath blew across your face as he muttered something, you didn’t really notice or care what.  Then his body was pressing against yours, his face in your neck, the stubble sharp and prickling against your delicate skin.  You stared, dead-eyed into the dark.  

Suddenly, his body flew back to fall with a sharp crack against the ground, several feet away.  Then Jongin was there, reaching for your face, cursing in anger when his hands merely brushed through your skin.  

“Mademoiselle?  Mademoiselle!  Look at me, mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle, please,” he pled.

You closed your eyes.  

A husky whisper, quiet as thought brushed past your ear.  “Jagiyah…”

You swallowed.  

“Ouri jagiyah…nae aegiyah…”

Tears slipped from your closed eyelids.

“Come back to me, nae jagi…”

Then you were sobbing, collapsing in the filthy street as your knees gave way.  

He couldn’t touch you.  But Jongin was there, through the entire storm of your tears.  He was there, whispering to you, comforting you, his words desperate as he tried to make up for his lack of corporeality.  

When your tears were spent, and he had coaxed you to have something to eat, he asked, “There.  Do you feel better now?”

You nodded shyly.  

“Excellent.  Then, let’s take you home. We have much to discuss, but I want you inside, where it’s safe.”

Your heart thrilled, as you bowed your head and nodded, a blush dancing across your cheeks.  Neither of you mentioned the fact that you could probably protect yourself from the majority of all threats the night had to offer.  

***

Safely ensconced in the soft lamplight of your room, you changed into your nightdress, and climbed into bed, pulling your knees to your chest.  

Jongin settled cross legged at the foot of your bed, a mischievous smile on his face.

You tried to look serious, but there was a light air, reminiscent of childhood, when you used to have sleepovers with your compatriots.  You opened your mouth to start, but he held up a hand.

“Please, let me.”  Sighing deeply, he looked down at your little feet, peeking from under the ruffled hem of your nightdress, and smiled to himself. “I love you.  I want to be with you, I care not how.  I merely…” he sighed again, and ruffled his hair.  “It may seem silly, but…having children was–is–eminently important to me.  I’m the uncle of a beautiful niece and nephew, and I can’t imagine a life without them in it–can’t imagine my life without…” he swallowed.  

The lighthearted air of the room sobered, and your eyes were drawn to his hands, which were nervously plucking at the hem of his trousers. “I understand.  Believe me, mon cher, I do.  Being an only child, I wanted nothing more than to fill my household with love, and laughter, and chubby, sweet-cheeked babies.  However…I guess that is not to be my fate.”

“Well, that’s one of the things that I’ve been thinking about, you see.  If I…if I am not human at the end of this enterprise, we can still both have what we want.”

Your eyes filled with tears.  “How?”

“There are children–just like little Angeline–all over the world, who have had the misfortune to find themselves orphaned.  Do they not also deserve parents who love them?  They might not be our blood, but could you find it in your heart to love them, as you would have loved the children that I wanted to give you?  And if I do…turn…think how many of them we can save!  An immortality of love…”  Pausing, he looked at you.  “Do you think me mad?”

Shaking your head, you smiled through your tears.  “Jonginah, if I could, I would just…just…kiss you!”  You clapped your hands over your mouth, eyes widening as you blushed to the tips of your ears.

He tilted his head, smiling at you sideways.  “If I can once again become master of my own body, then that’s the first thing that I would like to do.  Now,” he started, looking off to the side in serious contemplation, “we need to think.   How are we going to find my body?”

You fidgeted uncomfortably.  “I know a way.”

Jongin looked up at you from under his brows.  When you didn’t clarify, he raised them.

Standing, you walked to your dresser, and opened your keepsake box.  “Do you remember that night that you took me to the opera?”

He nodded, smiling as he reminisced.  “You cried.  I remember wanting to keep you from ever feeling the need to cry again, except from joy.”

You smiled, and held out your hand.  “You gave me your kerchief.  I…kept it…”  Your voice trailed off as you blushed.  

Jongin put a hand over his chest, as if in sweet pain.  “My own darling, sentimental dear heart!”  But how is that to help us?”

“It still smells of you, mon amoureux.  I can…find you…by your scent…”

He looked bemused, but nodded.  “Well then, that’s one less worry.  Now we must come to the real heart of the matter.”

“Have we not already?” you said, looking up in surprise.

“I fear not, mademoiselle.  For one of the utmost concerns in my mind in the undertaking of this endeavour is this.  How are you to obtain Boudreaux’s blood?  He is the stronger, by far. I couldn’t bear to think of you perishing by his hand, or even worse, falling into his monstrous clutches.”

“Eh bien…do you remember when I was attacked?” you asked slowly.

“How could I forget?  That was one of the most terrifying nights of my life.  I thought that I was going to lose you, without having the opportunity to tell you how I felt.”

“That man stabbed me with a…with a wooden stake…and Boudreaux said that if that stake were removed, I would bleed to death.  We must have some…innate sensitivity to wood.  If I could have a weapon fashioned out of wood, then we can use that to mortally wound him.”

Jongin nodded.  “Just so.”  Then he groaned, running his hands over his face.  “Nae sarang, I must confess–this proposal makes me uneasy.  I detest the thought of your own dear little hands being turned toward such dark purposes.  Your hands were made for love…for holding flowers, and soothing children. I wanted to cover you in precious stones, not some vile fiend’s blood.” He looked down, jaw working, as he strove to blink back tears.

You didn’t see fit to mention that you were covered in just such, on a nightly basis.  After a long silence, you said, “Jonginah…”  He didn’t respond.  “Jonginah…this is our only chance.  If we don’t seize it…” here, you shook your head, “then we are both doomed.  We have no other option!”  Your eyes shone with unshed tears.  “If you die…truly die…then what becomes of me?  How long can I go on without you, until…until he has me, body and soul?  Years?  Decades?  Centuries?  Without you?  I cannot fathom it!  We must accomplish this. Don’t you see?  I have to save you to save myself!”  

He set his jaw, and slowly lifted his eyes to yours.  Boyish softness was gone, and determination shone forth.  “Mademoiselle…I am for you.  I will follow you to the end.”