He hadn’t shared this hobby with Elizabeth yet. At first he’d decided that it was too soon to share something that intimate with anyone. Later, it simply became a case of forgetting to mention it as he’d become enveloped in their fervor. Frankly, verbal communication hadn’t made up a great deal of the time they spent together. That didn’t mean that their relationship was trivial or superficial in the slightest, however. In truth, verbal communication takes up only a limited part of what two people share. Words pass information back and forth, but it's the body language and the way people touch that relayed true feeling. Henry felt so deeply for Elizabeth that it was hard to bear, yet he expressed it through a level of all-consuming attentiveness.
On one of those rare nights that the two were parted, the Brazilian had taken a walk around the docks between Coastside and Westwall with his vintage camera. After a little while of watching the Earth spin nonchalantly on its axis, Henry stopped at the promenade to admire how the inky water glistened, mirroring the dazzling assemblage of lights from the restaurants and designer boutiques that lined the lake’s edge. The night had dressed the city with unexpected beauty in the same way a black sequinned dress transformed a Plain Jane into a Femme Fatale. The Brazilian stared down at the waters of eternity, as if frozen alone in one of his photographs. It was an isolated concept until he remembered that he had new friends and family now. He hadn’t fully been able to exchange one for the other, but he was coming to accept the fact that his life had already made way for his afterlife. The mind is slow to accept death and the heart is a treacherous muscle that clings to old scars like they are fresh, still-weeping wounds.
It was a mark of the truly random nature of the world that not only allowed for every circumstance to exist, but for those circumstances to unite and/or divide mankind. Although it could be said that Vampires were no longer bound by the same rules of man, their psyche suggested something else. For it wasn’t as easy for man as it was the caterpillar: to let go of one life, one form, and one possibility in exchange for another. Man’s life, though invariably short, was not as short as the simple caterpillar’s. The life cycle of a moth or butterfly is a famous one: eggs hatch releasing caterpillars, which pupate to become adult moths or butterflies. The caterpillar stage in particular offers subtle lessons about the ecology and diversity of the estimated 20,000 living moth and butterfly species. Few generalisations can be made regarding the lifespan of such a large group because some species live mere days, and others live for more than a decade. Yet, the average life of a Human that transforms into a Vampire is roughly 25 years; the age where your average adult has started to settle into their own life, has a career, a lover or spouse, several ambitions, and maybe even children.
Henry was 26 years old now, but he’d been turned a year ago in March when he was visited upon by Emerald. He doubted that his sire, or indeed his childer, were much older at their respective turnings. Being one form and then being forced to evolve into another was very different to spending your entire life building yourself up to transform into something beautiful. And perhaps the greatest difference between mankind’s transformation into Vampirism and the caterpillar’s transformation into a butterfly is the choice. Not every Human becomes a Vampire, but every surviving grub will pupate. The life cycle for Vampires was brutal and not wholly necessary or exceptional. For Henry, however, the process was often involuntary, because unless he chose to murder every meal, he would ocassionally spawn another childe while feeding.
At that moment, his thoughts returned to those he’d turned without their consent. Mason had been the first and he’d been so startled by it that the only way he knew how to deal with it was to simply not deal with it. After a few months, he’d worked up the courage to face her, but all that bravado turned to silt and washed out of his hands when Henry laid his eyes on her. She’d seemed angry - not that he could blame her for that - so he bided his time until, within a blink of the eye, it had been several months more. Spotting her at the Roaring 20s party reminded him to try again and he’d been trying to find the right words ever since. He’d composed that letter maybe twenty times, but never sent it. Looking over it once more, the Brazilian decided to bite the bullet. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference at all, but there was only one way to find out.
Mason,
This is a long overdue apology. What happened to you that night, it was my fault, but it wasn’t my intention. I’ve been looking for the right way to approach you since I realised what had happened, and it turns out that there is no right way to do it.
You cannot apologise for taking someone’s life away. You cannot undo what has been done. The only thing that is left, the only thing I can offer as reparation, is a promise that you won’t have to go through it alone anymore.
Harper Rock is not a safe city and while my companionship might not mean much to you at this time, I do hope you can think it over and in time, we can greet each other as friends.
Sincerely,
Henry Craven.
