The Long Dark Night

 Snippets of character fiction from a D&D game I'm currently in...

The Long Dark Night

by Simon W. 

Esme stared into the middle distance while their traveling companions and the town of Haven slumbered around them. Well, all except the bard, but Esme was giving him space. He needed to come to terms with what he had become on his own, just like Esme had.

Esme didn't sleep, so it couldn't be said that they dreamed. But it was a bit less under their full control than thinking was. It was... remembering mostly. 

A lifetime ago, Esme had been Esmerelda Augusto, a druid in one of the sacred groves of the Green Man. It had been a good life. She'd had meaningful work, her family was nearby, and her faith was strong. She watched all of the cycles of the green world turn, over and over, in a dance as old as time. Her favorite cousin (but don't you DARE let him know that) had been selected as the chosen champion of the Green Man and she thought their faith was in good hands. 

It was more than just a good life, it was an excellent life. And then, the undead came. They came in the night and they were different than the normal shuffling zombies and skeletons Esmerelda had encountered before. They could think. They could plan. And they seemed to know exactly how to get into the grove and quickly incapacitate all of the druids there. 

As she was being carried off, trussed up like a chicken for a stewpot, all Esmerelda could think of was that someone had told these monsters how to find the druids.

What happened next is best not remembered, although that didn't stop Esme from doing so. Pain, so much pain. Esme had no idea exactly how long it lasted as eventually time lost any meaning in a sea of agony. But she did pray to the Green Man for release; for death. Eventually she got it and for a brief moment thought the worst was over. 

When Esme next became aware of themselves, they were in what appeared to be a sewer and they were no longer alive in any meaningful sense. Some experimentation proved that they could still move, walk, talk, think, and even feel pain. But there was no heartbeat, no breath, and no answer to their prayers to the Green Man. All of their ability to connect to the magic of the green world was gone. Esme wandered in despair for what seemed like a very long time, alone and angry. 

Unbidden, memories of the pain that had been inflicted upon them would rise along with the face of the being who seemed to be directing it. Pale, pointed ears, and a look of fanaticism upon their face; it was not a sight that Esme would forget any time soon. As they wandered somewhat aimlessly through what appeared to be an extremely ancient sewer, they grew angrier. 

At one point in their wanderings, there appeared a being of.... light? All Esme could see were thousands of eyes and flaming swords. It spoke to them inside their mind. "Be not afraid, for I mean you no harm." Maybe for moments, maybe for days, possibly for years, Esme and this strange being spoke. In the end Esme had brokered a deal. They would get a measure of power and a way out of this sewer; the being would get their soul... as soon as Esme found it.

The Esme who left the city of the undead was not the same as Esmerelda Augusto who had entered it. Esmerelda was a druid; Esme was a warlock. Esmerelda was contented with her life and wished only to serve a higher purpose; Esme's primary purpose now was twofold, find their soul to wrest it back from he who had stolen it and bring vengeance upon the person who was responsible for their not being properly dead. Esmerelda had faith; Esme was unsure if the Gods cared about people at all. 

When Esme did finally leave the city of the undead and found human habitation again, they were nearly halfway across the world from where they had started. And the first person they ran into was their cousin, Salazar. He had found himself on a quest to fight against the same person that Esme now bent all their will to destroy. It seemed like a very easy alliance to fall into.

Now, months later, Esme found themselves thinking of all of this while most of their companions slept. They were not sure what the future held. They were not really sure of much of anything at this point. 

Memory and Flame

 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. 

Another New Beginning?

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.

Another New Beginning?

by Simon W. 

September 26, 1879
Deadwood Mining Camp, Dakota Territories

Aoife was in the mine when she heard the shouting. Jack, one of the men who worked for her, was yelling. She made her way closer to the entrance and met him as he was running in. "Fire, fire!" His face was covered in soot and he was in a panic. He ran past her, deeper into the mine. She made her way to the entrance and looked toward the main camp, which by this point had nearly grown to a town, to be greeted by a fiery hellscape. Nearly every building; every bit of wood or canvas in the camp seemed to be ablaze. She looked worriedly at the wooden supports around the mine entrance.

"We should leave," she shouted down to Jack. But then a shift in the wind turned the flames in her direction. She had no choice but to go back down into the mine and hope the earthen walls would provide some protection. 

The mine wasn't very deep; none of them were in the Black Hills. Most of the gold was found in the rivers and was panned. She and Padraic had been lucky that the plot of land they'd claimed when they arrived happened to have a rare underground seam. But still, there wasn't a whole lot of space between her and the fire raging across the camp. The flames roared as they got closer to the entrance and started licking at the wooden beams. It was dark and smoke filled the space where she and Jack were huddled against the farthest back wall. With a crash, the wooden supports, and the mine entrance itself collapsed. All was suddenly quiet. 

Jack sat beside her, his fear moving him to stoic silence. The heat and silence and heavy air seemed to press down on them and eventually Aoife either fell asleep or she passed out. Who could tell the difference in these circumstances?

She dreamed of her life before. Of taking the ship from Ireland to Boston when she was four years old. Of losing her mother on that journey. She dreamed of her father and her brothers and herself landing on a strange shore, with no home, little money, and few prospects. The local Irish community was the only thing that saved them. She traversed through all the memories of her childhood, growing up, going into service in the great houses of the rich elite in Boston, of Padraic getting into his legal trouble and, the two of them travelling west with the wagon train to Deadwood. Padraic has succumbed to small pox shortly after they had claimed this piece of land she was now buried under. Digging out this mine, working it, and finding men to work for her had been backbreaking but rewarding labor. Aoife thought that if she were to die here, she had few regrets all told. She'd been as decent a person as she could in the circumstances she'd been given. All in all, she thought, she'd had a good run and had started over more times than anyone really ever had a right to in one lifetime. 

Death, it turned out, was not her destiny that night. She became conscious at some point later, whether it had been minutes, hours, or days, she could not tell. She reach over to where she knew Jack had been sitting and felt only coldness. He was there, but he'd died at some point when she wasn't conscious. She whispered a prayer for the dead and took stock of her situation. She had space around her, but the air was heavy and thick. She wasn't sure how long it would last. Crawling on hands and knees she made her way to where the tunnel had collapsed. She felt around to see if she could find any purchase in the rocks and dirt and then, with a shrug, she started digging.

It was slow and painful work. As she dug, she got increasingly lightheaded as the oxygen started to run out. After was seemed like an eternity with no progress that she could see, she wondered if she ought to give up. Maybe staying down here and allowing oblivion to take her was what she was supposed to do. It had seemed to work for Jack, after all. With a shuddering breath, trying to keep tears for her dead friend at bay, she shook her head and resumed working. Suicide was a sin and what was lying down to die if not suicide of a sort?  A few more handfuls of earth removed opened up a small hole that fresh air flowed through. 

"Thank God above," she whispered. She took a break for a moment, just appreciating the fact that she felt less lightheaded. Then she set about making the opening wider. She could see sunlight through the hole and this cheered her. But digging took several hours and by the time it was big enough for her to try to crawl through, the sun had set on the Dakota prairies. 

She pulled herself out and painfully stood up. Her hands were bloodied and her arms were sore. She felt battered, bruised, and more than a little worried about the other residents of Deadwood. But she was unquestionably alive and that was the sweetest feeling. The smell of smoke and burned wood still lingered in the air. She wouldn't know the extent of the damage until dawn although what she could see by moonlight looked pretty grim, but surely, she thought, someone else aside from her had to have survived. 

"That was absolutely remarkable," said a male voice behind her. She jumped and turned around. A relatively well dressed man stood in the moonlight.

Aoife opened her mouth to speak and at first when she tried to raise her voice above a whisper she croaked.

"Here," he tossed a canteen toward her. "You'll need some water I'm guessing."

She didn't catch it, her reflexes dulled by weakness, shock, and oxygen deprivation. But she picked it up from where it landed. No water had ever tasted so good before. Once she had wet her throat sufficiently she managed to say, "thank ye" in a creaky voice. 

"You're welcome. As I said, absolutely remarkable. I heard you last night. I had to come back to see how it all went. I wasn't sure if you'd dig yourself out or not."

Aoife stared at him. "Ye heard me last night?" she asked.

"Oh yes."

"And ye... just listened? Ye didn't help? What kind of a man are ye?"

He laughed; a musical and oddly compelling sound. "My name is Edmund, and you'll find that I'm a very strange kind of man. And you, with your survival instincts and your tenacity, are a remarkable woman. Have you got a name."

"Aoife Kennedy, and don't take this the wrong way, but whatever ye'r selling, I don't want any." 

He laughed again. "I mean you no harm, Aoife Kennedy. I offer you an opportunity." He extended his arm to encompass the landscape around her. "This place may never recover from this tragedy. But you, I suspect you'll survive most any adversity that's thrown at you. I would be happy to help you in that effort."

"Did ye not hear me when I said I wasn't interested in what ye'r selling?" 

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me. But in time you won't. Come, I will show you where the other survivors are. Give you a chance to rest and heal up." And with that he turned. Aoife was skeptical but she followed him over the ridge line. He led her to a small camp where several folks from Deadwood had gathered. When they got to the outskirts of it, he stopped. "I'll leave you here then, Miss Kennedy. But I will see you again." And he turned to leave.

"Wait, Edmund!" Aoife handed him back his canteen. "Thank ye... for the water, and for leading me here."

He took the canteen back. He tipped his hat to her and said, "Until later, Miss Kennedy." And then he strode off into the moonlit night.

Aoife made her way into the small camp of survivors. She was able to find some of the other men who'd worked in her mine and tell them the news of Jack. Someone found some bandages for her hands and she got some hot food, and found a place to sleep. All the following day she worked with the other residents who were staying to start clearing debris and figure out how to rebuild. 

About a week later she was settling down for the night in a little tent she'd managed to scrounge. She'd taken a swim in the river that afternoon and felt like she'd finally gotten all of the grime, smoke, and sweat out of her hair. Her hands were healing under the bandages. Words had been said for the dead and overall folks were starting to try and figure out how best to hunker down for the winter. October was mild thus far but it was early days yet. 

There was a soft scratching at the canvas; what passed for a knock on a door in these circumstances. She pushed the flap aside and there was the man from earlier. 

"Good evening, Edmund," she said. "What brings you here?"

"May I come in?"

Aoife gave him a critical look. He seemed inoffensive enough; and there were people nearby who would hear her yell if he was otherwise. She nodded and said, "Welcome to my humble home."

Edmund came in and found a spot to sit. "I said I'd be back. I have a proposition for you, Miss Kennedy. All I ask is that you hear me out in total before you answer yes or no."

Come morning, Aoife's tent was empty and her few belongings that she'd salvaged from the fire were gone. Everyone in the camp assumed she'd decided to leave along with the vast majority of the other survivors. Little did they know that offer she'd been given or the choice she had made for yet another new beginning.

Retrospective

This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Mind's Eye 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.

Retrospective

by Simon W. 

July 2120

The blue flaming sword went cleanly through the neck of the Ba'ali that she'd cornered. As his head left his shoulders, he briefly erupted into green flames. Marianne hissed in pain but she held herself in readiness to have to fight again. This time she didn't need to, the flames had been his last defiant gasp. 

There was nothing left of him now but ashes. The cultists, on the other hand... She turned and looked at the mess that was the room. Thirteen dead humans; some by self-inflicted wounds but most of them died to the sword in her hands, which was now starting to lose its blue glow. Marianne shook her head and then proceeded to do the painstaking, dirty, and slow work of dismantling the ritual and stacking bodies and body parts in a pile. 

After the last of the ritual components has been rendered inert, she briefly left the wreck of a building long enough to get the gas cans from her vehicle. Then she came back and doused everything and everyone liberally. Once all that was finished she lit a torch and threw it into the center of the room. Then she walked out.

She watched the building catch fire from across the street. Her Beast didn't like the flames but she refused to not stay. That would be showing fear. After the building was well and truly blazing, she made a phone call. 

"It's done," she said to the person on the other end of the line. "Keep emergency services away for at least another hour to make sure it's all destroyed by the time they can get here." Her face darkened at whatever they said. "No, there were no survivors. You didn't ask me to save anyone; you asked me to solve your problem and I have... effectively." 

She hung up the phone, got into her vehicle, and drove away. She had a temporary place to stay for the day and then she'd head back home tomorrow. When she arrived at the temporary haven there was a red rose placed at the entrance. Marianne narrowed her eyes and looked around. But she saw nothing, even as she focused so that her senses were all as acute as possible. 

That day she slept holding the rose clutched in her hand like a security blanket.

How had she gotten here?

That was the thought on her mind as she made her way to her more permanent home the following night. She'd left California in the summer of 2020 chasing after Vanessa who was, in every possible way, the one that had gotten away. She'd thrown her lot in with the Sabbat for long enough to gather the favors she'd needed to bust Taggart out of his box in Mexico City. By the time she'd done that, he was more sane than she was and he'd been the one who'd been imprisoned in a box. 

It was a strange pairing, her and Taggart. They'd set off to hunt infernalists and Ba'ali the world over. The demons had been banished back to their realm but their influence never completely disappeared. And there was always someone willing to sell their soul for power. Marianne burned with the desire to kill all who had made such a bargain and Taggart never disabused her of the idea. If anything he encouraged it any time she started to doubt her cause. 

The one constant in the last century had been that periodically she'd get intelligence about a particularly nasty set of cultists or a true Ba'ali wrecking havoc. Every time, she would find a rose, Vanessa's calling card. They had been dancing around one another now for a century. Vanessa ran. Marianne chased her. Marianne never caught her. At most she might get a brief glimpse of a woman in red off in the distance. She had no reason to believe they wouldn't do this dance for all of eternity, locked forever in this strange, unhealthy relationship. 

Marianne sighed. There were always going to be more Ba'ali to kill. And maybe someday, she'd see Vanessa properly again... but it was entirely likely that was the day they both finally killed one another. 

Inge and Wulf’s Wedding Ceremony

This is fan created fiction about a character in a Werewolf: the Apocalypse live action role playing game run by Mind's Eye 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.

This is less a narrative piece and more a description of events. But since we are not playing live games for our live action role playing game and since game happens on Saturdays anyway I wanted to write up an event that folks in the game would have access to have gone too.

- Simon W.

Inge and Wulf’s Wedding Ceremony
May 1st, 2020

The ceremony took place in the forest. While most gatherings at the Sept of the Desert Winds took place in the Silverwood Lake Bar, Inge wanted at least part of this ceremony to take place where it would be appropriate for shifters to be in any form they wished. She also wanted it to be far from the prying eyes of humans who were not in on the secret of Gaia and Her defenders.

Inge had invited pretty much everyone she knew to this event. The entirety of the Sept of the Desert Wind, of course; all members who wished from the the Sept of Shadowed Wisdom in Los Angeles; and all members who wished to come of the formerly named Sept of the New Dawn down in San Diego. Plus there were her kinfolk friends from around the country, as well as her adult children and their families. She’d told Wulf to invite anyone he wanted and sent out invitations.

The ceremony took place at dusk. Torches lit the area, making a blaze of light. Spring flowers were strewn about bringing the beauty of nature to the scene. The guest stood in a circle, some human, others were wolves, or cats, or even birds. In the center was a great bonfire, where Inge and Wulf stood with one another. She was dressed in green and had her long hair flowing loose for the ceremony. He was dressed in the plaid of his clan, shades of green going from dark to light.

Rends the Unjust, an Elder Theurge of the Children of Gaia, came forward into the circle.

“To whom, aside from Gaia the Mother of all, is this ceremony dedicated?”

“To Freya and Brigid,” answered Wulf and Inge in unison.

“Today, we ask that Freya and Brigid attend this union. In that spirit, I offer a blessing to this ceremony.

Blessed be this marriage with the gifts from the east — new beginnings that come each day with the rising sun, communication of the heart, mind, body and soul.

Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the south — the light of the heart, the heat of passion, and the warmth of a loving home.

Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the west — the rushing excitement of a raging river, the soft and pure cleansing of a rainstorm, and a commitment as deep as the ocean itself.

Blessed be this marriage with the gifts of the north — a solid foundation on which to build your lives, abundance and growth of your home, and the stability to be found by holding one another at the end of the day.

Inge, Wulf, these four simple blessings will help you on your journey that begins today. However, they are only tools. They are tools which you must use together to create the light, the strength, the infinite energy now and forever of a love you both so richly deserve.

Go with Gaia.”

Then they danced among the flames and feasted well into the night. Inge’s adult children got to fight with their Aunt Dagmar for the opportunity to hold the babies and friends and family celebrated the end of the Age of Apocalypse and the beginning of a new life for Inge, Wulf, and their children.

Becoming The Thing I Hate

This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Mind's Eye 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.

Becoming The Thing I Hate
by Simon W. 

"Don't become the thing you hate." 

Konstantin is very serious when he tells me this. And he has good reason to be. Contrary to popular belief I actually am aware that I'm quickly going off the rails. In the last year, the choices I have made have been.... well if I'm polite I'll say they are questionable. If I'm honest I'll say they are downright dangerous.

All I can say is that each one seemed like the best choice I could have made at the time. Hindsight is 20/20 though so I can see where I made missteps and I can see where I went wrong.

The question now is can I course correct? Is it possible to continue fighting against the Great Evil and not lose myself to it? If it isn't, then I really should just throw myself at some Bal'li and die at their hands, hopefully taking at least one of them down with me. It is literally the way I can ensure I do the least amount of damage.

Is there another way?

Konstantin thinks so. He tells me this is a marathon and not a sprint. He tells me that what separates me from my enemy is my capacity for mercy.

I'm pretty sure my capacity for mercy died somewhere in Mexico City...

How do I resurrect it? I'm tainted, flawed, literally deranged, and can hardly even stand to be in the same room with myself. The only thing I'm certain of these days is that I have no certitude. The dreams of roses haunt me, whispering in my ear while I sleep.

Is this what made all of those Kindred sign those contracts? This feeling of helplessness and despair? God, if that's the case I actually feel sorry for them. They didn't get the help or security they wanted if that is the case. The Great Enemy lies.

Everybody lies...

What do I know that is true?

I trust my Anarch brothers and sisters in San Diego.
I trust Tank.
I trust my faith in God.
I trust my belief that protecting humans from Kindred is always the right choice to make.
I trust that my being adversarial toward the Great Enemy is always the right call.

Maybe I can crawl out of this well of despair I've found myself in. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope...

Her

This is fan created fiction about a character in a Vampire: The Masquerade live action role playing game run by Mind's Eye 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.

Her
by Simon W. 

Content Note: the song lyrics are Gravity by Vienna Teng

"Hey love,
Is that the name you're meant to have...
for me to call.
Look love,
they've given up believing,
they've turned aside our stories of the gentle fall"

Marianne sat in the one non-bathroom room in her haven that was devoid of books. In fact it was completely empty save for an apparatus from which she could hang a heavy bag. She didn't hit nearly as hard as most of her clan mates but she still occasionally need to hit something.

No, occasionally she needed to break something. And heavy bags were vastly less valuable and far more replaceable than people. She'd started buying them in bulk.

"But don't you believe them.
Don't you drink their poison too.
These are the scars that words have carved
on me."

She thought that she was content with her life the way it had been. As a human she had had a healthy, loving relationship that had only ended due to tragedy. Or possibly heroism. But really, you can't have one without the other, she thought sarcastically. Still, her husband had died a hero and been buried by the Navy with honors.

"Hey love,
that's the name we've long held back
from the core of truth"

She'd met James when he was posing as a college professor. Deep into grief that had probably swerved hard left into major depression, she hadn't really even questioned the fact that she'd suddenly found herself enrolled in a Materials Science class that met at midnight. Looking back that should have been a clue since she'd been working on a Master's degree in English. But met him she had and eventually he asked her if she wanted to leave the shambles that trying to live without her husband had become and, quite frankly, she had jumped at the chance. Some combination of blood, shared experiences, and similarity in temperament meant that they became best friends.

"So don't turn away now...
I am turning in revolution.
These are the scars that silence carved
on me.

This is the same place.
No, not the same place
This is the same place, love.
No, not the…"

Everett and she had met literally in fire and blood. He'd killed her, then embraced her, then run off with her fleeing his angry sire and living in some weird fantasy where he'd saved her from the evil Tremere. But she wasn't a damsel in distress and he for sure wasn't a hero. Still they had enough in common so that when they weren't fighting they were actually shockingly compatible companions. Granted, everything is easier when blood is involved. Marianne snorted; it was kind of the hallmark of her romantic life once she stopped being human. And honestly she had thought that's where she would stay forever.

"Hey love,
I am a constant satellite
of your blazing sun.
My love,
I obey your law of gravity.
This is the fate you've carved on me...
Your law of gravity...
This is the fate you've carved on me...
On me."

But then... she had met Her. No blood, no violence, no real trauma at all. A shared love of music, art, and beauty had drawn them together. And it was just so easy to relax with Her. Marianne had briefly wondered if it was possible to be in love for real as a vampire. One of the things Marianne liked about Her was how much she needed Marianne. Being needed, always Marianne's Achilles heel..

Of course, that was over now. And it had ended, almost prosaically, in betrayal. No, not for another woman (or man). Not a growing apart due to a lack of interest. Not any of the normal things that drive people apart. No, Marianne had to hand it to Her; when She betrayed someone it was with the kind of over the top drama one could only expect from a true artist.

Marianne sat in her empty room staring at the heavy bag. She couldn't even bring herself to hit it right now. She just felt so empty; full of more grief than anger. She sighed. Nothing to do but try and keep on keeping on, she supposed, even if the yawning emptiness in her heart dragged on her like a black hole in space, swallowing all of the light that touched it.