Armand de Romanus

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The late spring shower had just subsided, the pavement was still wet, and the puddles shone like molten silver in the twilight of the darkening skies. Droplets of dew and rain still hung onto my hair and shoulders. The auburn had darkened into a muddy brown; my natural curls had gotten too heavy, now they clung dramatically to my face. With practised ease, I made sure that my footfall was heavy, putting the weight of my admittedly small frame into every step I took. We forgot the way humans walked and acted all too easily; we had to remind ourselves to act naturally.

I passed under several street lamps, the pale, cold light illuminated my marble skin to the extent that it seemed to glow. I turned my head, I saw an abandoned shop had barred its windows, the darkness turning the glass into a mirror. My eyes looked haunted, even I had to admit this, I could understand why some felt uncomfortable when I stared at them too long. Still merely 5’6”, still only 17..500 years later, still a devil with the face of an angel…albeit sodden.

With one fluent move, I pulled my Matsuda sunglasses from my trenchcoat pocket. Frameless blue glass with gold metal details. One corner of my mouth rose to a soft smirk. Blue and gold…even now, I picked colours he had always liked on me. Although he would probably disapprove of my all black attire that I wore otherwise.

Now, with the supernatural shine hidden behind an opposite colour to my dark brown eyes, I looked a little less intimidating. I dug my hands deep into my pockets and stepped away from the makeshift mirror. Continuing down a road I have walked a million times before, I have come to enjoy the familiarity. The sounds of honking cars, the soft French voices in the distance.

I passed by a few more streetlamps; it was like a battle only I witnessed. Light fighting darkness, each side equally as powerful, I stepped from the shadow into the light over and over again. Until I felt it, the presence of someone else. Had they been following me? Had I been so lost in thought that my senses had dulled? I didn’t turn around; I had no reason to. If it was a threat, I knew I could take it on. If it were someone immortal, it was wiser not to run, for that would only garner its attention.

So I remained in the single cone of light cast around me, still…possibly too still for a human being, but at that moment I forgot to be sure my chest was rising and falling with breaths I didn’t need anymore. “Who’s there?” I asked quietly, calmly. My voice was velvet, inviting… ever inviting. Though my eyes remained as sharp as my senses were now. “I noticed you…there is no need to pretend you are not there…”

Hello, dear little Ghost,

Am I still possessive of Marius? That is a good question. I always craved and sought his attention, even if sometimes it meant acting up and, in the process, being punished for it. And even that I enjoyed greatly. Isn't it somewhat satisfying to know that nothing and no one else occupies someone else's mind more than yourself in that moment? When I still drew breath, I barely ever had to fight too hard for his attention. He poured it out over me, and I needed it...craved it...like a growing plant needs the sunlight.

Maybe that was why I reacted so harshly when he kept secrets from me and left some nights without explaining where he went. I wouldn't call it possessiveness that I felt for him then. Possessiveness meant I would have had any sort of ownership or claim over him. While it was he who owned my body, mind and soul utterly and completely.

Nowadays, no. For a long time, I thought my maker had died in the fire. I mourned him, maybe even myself, as Amadeo had died along with him. Several hundred years of no contact, no word, until you finally learn that he was alive. It does something with you. Several stages of grief and anger. Relief knowing there was still a chance to meet him again, and rage knowing he never even bothered coming for me.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I hated him. That I didn't need him since the vast majority of my long life was spent without him. But I don't think I would have any reason to hate any fledglings he desires to create. I hold no sway over his decisions or his life, and neither does he over mine. He even took Daniel in and gave me Sybelle and Benji. I have found my place in the world, my family. And while we might never be as close as we once were, I consider him a part of it again. I no longer shut my heart against the possibility that we could become more than just maker and fledgling. We reconciled.