This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Modern Enigma Society. If you are a fellow player, please remember that anything you read here is considered out of character knowledge. If you are a lawyer, please don't sue me; I'm not making any money off of this and it's just for fun.
Memory and Flame
by Simon W
June 2012
"Maire thought you had such promise."
Aoife stared at the bonfire as it burned away the last physical remnants of Matheson's prophetic madness. She believed he had infused enough of his essence into the pages that she felt the grim satisfaction of killing a hated enemy. It didn't quite rouse her Beast in a way to give it greater control over her, but she could feel it in the back of her mind purring like a very large and dangerous cat.
She pondered the words of the woman standing a little farther from the fire. She didn't know what strictures Anna followed, or what psychological gymnastics she had to contort herself into to keep her Beast at bay but if one of the things she needed to do was to cause pain, her Beast must we well pleased. Although, with the pathbound Lasombra it was difficult to tell. Maybe she thought she was being kind, after a fashion?
Maire of the Sea!
When Aoife first arrived in San Diego, over a century ago at this point, Maire had been Prince. And she was, to all public appearances, a Brujah of the Tower. Aoife was still uncertain where she fit into the new world of kindred and Beasts. She had two impulses driving her; one was to be in close proximity to Edmund for all she couldn't tell him this and the other was to prove that she was strong enough to be everything he thought she could be. She was hindered in this by both her own personality and the strictures of their clan. So she claimed a territory that was just outside of Camarilla held San Diego and growled and postured at him in public.
Prince Maire accepted the fledging Unaligned Gangrel into her domain with grace. Aoife wasn't sure if Edmund had anything to do with that. She'd never asked him and he'd never told her. Over time, knowing her social position was precarious, Aoife set about seeing how she could be useful to the Court. It wasn't long before she was winging her way to and fro with messages and developed a reputation for both reliability and discreteness.
What a strange relationship grows between a Prince and their favored messenger. What secrets get shared and what close contact they are sometimes thrown into. There were times when Aoife wondered if Maire truly needed to send as much correspondence as she did, or if she was simply looking for conversation with someone who made no demands upon her. Aoife's lack of political position made her neither threat nor advantage.
It took less than a decade to realize that Maire had no mirrors. By that time Aoife's friendship with Deaglán had become comfortable enough so she understood the subtle signs. She never brought up Maire's true nature in conversation and, as far as she was concerned, it was a secret she would keep to her grave.
They never declared themselves to one another. Sometimes Aoife even believed that Maire didn't know the depth of her feelings. Other times Aoife knew that was nothing more than a polite fiction. Maire knew and she didn't speak. Aoife left the area at the beginning of the 20th century to try and forget her. Two love affairs in quick succession only left her with the knowledge that as much as she did, truly, love both Gabriella and Teuta for themselves, she felt something much different and enduring for Maire.
When Aoife returned, heartbroken over Teuta's death (or so she believed) she expected to find that the passage of nearly fifty years had changed things. It hadn't. She and Maire settled back into the same pattern of being polite and cordial in public and sharing conversations and secrets in private. All of that ended when Maire was killed as the Anarchs swept the area to take control.
There were some who were surprised that Aoife was willing to be messenger to the Anarchs like she had for the Tower for so many years. It was put out far and wide that the Anarchs had killed Maire when they seized power. But Aoife knew differently. She vividly remembered arriving as Maire started to fall to ashes. It wasn't an Anarch gang triumphantly standing over her, but a Tower Malkavian sidling out of the room as she entered. Aoife often wondered if her mistake that night wasn't that she didn't give chase right away. But at the time it was more important that she spend Maire's last seconds telling her, in Gaelic and in the hope that she didn't understand, that she loved her.
Now, seventy five years later, Aoife was staring at a bonfire burning the last remnants of that same Tower Malkavian's essence. And Anna was standing behind her offering commentary. Her commentary revealed things Aoife hadn't known.
One, Maire was related to Deaglán and almost certainly had known Gaelic. Two, she had spoken of Aoife to others. So many puzzle pieces fell into place, niggling little loose ends that she just hadn't noticed before. But Aoife was much older now than the grieving woman she had been in 1945 so rather than turn and confront the Elder Lasombra she continued staring at the fire burning away the last of Matheson.
Aoife scooped up the ashes that remained of Matheson's book and then stared at the sea for a long time. Finally she said, "If you're going to stay in town and you want someone to talk to who won't make demands of you, look me up."
Sometimes memory dies in flames; sometimes it ends up burning more brightly.
