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CEDRIC | Cedric had never been the kind of man to let a problem sit. He was not the optimistic sort who thought that a problem would just go away if left to its own devices. The problem he and Castalia had to deal with was one he thought was of great importance. Castalia had to feed from someone, and Cedric had ascertained with no argument that it ought to be him. This was not a promise that he was going to neglect, even though he was not at all happy should any more of his past memories slip from the vaults of his mind and into hers.

The last time Castalia had fed from Cedric, they had parted on uncertain terms. They had not known from whom the trick had come, and Cedric would not allow their non-argument to become a corroding force in their relationship. If it was to be a true relationship he knew, too, that he couldn’t be angry. The terms of their meeting had been that he be able to let go of his past and embark on a second chance. A second life. A new life, completely separated from the old.

But the old continued to creep in at the corners, old ghosts chasing him down, sending assassins. Assassins. It was so old world, and he was flattered that he meant so ******* much. And now this. Memories, slipping past the barriers. Cedric was starting to wonder whether he could keep them locked up, or whether they were meant to be out in the open.

Work was finished early, everything packed up or left in good hands. The record shop was closed until it would be opened in the morning by the day time manager. The drivers were all happily buzzing away in the city and in no need of direction. The Cocoa Bar was left in Costello’s charge, and Apollo Damona was yet to open. Cedric made his way back to the house, the one he had secured on the lake and convinced Castalia to move into with him. The moon was bright and round, its reflection dancing off the water. Fire crackled in the fireplace. Cedric’s feet were bare, his jacket removed.

While he waited for Castalia to come home, he idly played the piano, the tinkling heard throughout the halls, adding a warmth to the white marble floors and the high ceilings. He didn’t play much anymore. It was nice, to have some time to indulge.


CASTALIA | She had taken some time, making her way home slower than she normally would. Her leg had healed hours before, her attention focused on the way the moonlight shone on the lake’s surface as she made her way up the driveway after parking. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Cedric, but she was fine holding off the inevitable conversation that she knew would be coming. The chance that she would once again see something she knew he would rather her not. As she reached the doorstep, the brunette removed her jacket as she normally would and unlocked the door with her keys.

It wasn’t often that she heard him play, so as she opened the door, she was careful not to make too much noise as she shut and locked it behind her. Her shoes were removed and her jacket hung up as she would regularly do. After leaving Apollo Damona, Castalia had changed into a set of leggings once she returned to Sonrisa. After she put everything where it was meant to go, as neat as she had been in her own apartment, the woman pulled her hair down and padded quietly down the hall.

Her greeting was absent as she leaned against the wall to simply watch him. The home was grand, extravagant and yet had an air about it that she couldn't quite describe, much like the man she had become fond of. Looking towards the moonlight briefly, she debated on what she would say - the topic had certainly been one that would need to be touched on again.

But did she want to start it?

Her mismatched gaze returned to Cedric, trying to piece together the piece that he was playing. It had been too long since she had played herself, usually only to get her mom to leave her alone about musical influences - singing, really, had been what she preferred. After a few moments, she moved further into the room and sat down on one of the couches. Her body twisted slightly as she simply curled up where she had found herself the most comfortable and picked up the book she had discarded, but kept it against her thigh rather than reading.

Only when he would cease playing would she speak, her fingertips toying idly against the edge of the paper. “We’re still a new start, for us both. You know this, yes?”


CEDRIC | When he heard Castalia come home, the tinkling, random melody that Cedric had started turned into something fuller, and more vibrant. The melody was not one that had already been composed. It didn’t belong to a long-dead artist. It was one of his own. He’d done good playing on the stage in Brussels, but he’d never been famous. The inner circles of the cultural set in Europe had known him, but he was far from a household name. And he didn’t consider himself good enough to be recorded, or to go down in history as a great composer. Someone had once suggested he make music for the movies -- but he’d never been much interested. He’d been happy in his life, and hadn’t thought to reach for more.

The melody was sweet but strong with equal notes of darkness and light. It leapt and bounded before delving deep, wrenching at the heart. It was how he felt about Castalia. Soon, it pittered away; Castalia was nestled on the couch and Cedric closed the lid of the piano, fingers sliding over its smooth white surface as he took a deep, unneeded breath.

“Yes,” he said. Of course he knew that. Despite the tendrils of his past that wouldn’t quite let go of his ankles, he was still here in a city that was mostly his own, with no one from his past anywhere near him. He was immortal. He had Castalia. It was all brand new. He stood and meandered over to the couch, sitting down close to Castalia, hand reaching for her thigh. For a while, he was silent, though it was clear he wanted to say something. Eventually, it came out.

“I miss her,” he said. “Alaya, not the ex. It’s hard enough, trying to keep the memories at bay without… it’s better to try to believe that it never existed. And I…” he paused, caressing Castalia’s thigh. “That was the last time she and I had sex, before she found out, before the divorce. It was the last meaningful sex… and I think, I remembered, because it is what I want with you,” he said. He didn’t know whether it made any sense, he didn’t think that it sounded like a great excuse. But it was a start.


CASTALIA | It was both enjoying listening to him play as well as watching him. Castalia tucked her feet underneath herself, comfortable on the white couch and simply watching his expression. Although she knew him best, there was still a lot about him that she didn't and it didn't bother her, but his body language usually told her what she needed to. The piece he was playing had her smiling, occasionally glancing back down to her book but ultimately, her gaze would return to him. Especially when he stopped playing. There were things she wanted to say, questions that she wanted to ask that she wouldn't.

Perhaps it was because she didn't want to know the answer, but also because she knew what it was like to want to escape. As he sat down, she adjusted to be closer to him and set her book on the edge of the couch, her hand sliding over his. She smoothed her thumb over his knuckles, relaxing even more with him at her side. She wondered silently why it always felt his touch was warm, but her thought was lost as she listened.

It didn't make sense. At least, not as first. Castalia thought the words over and squeezed his hand, a nod given. “Better to have you think of a fond moment rather than not.” She said, “But I do know what you mean and I’d like to have that with you.” Leaning into his side, she frowned, “Cedric, maybe rather than pretend it didn't exist, you allow yourself to have those memories.” She paused. “I’m not saying tell me, but don't let it bother you. You are here with me, and I am not going anywhere.” Her head inclined as she lifted her gaze to his features, “Your past is something you run from, and that is fine. But it is your past, not your present.”

Castalia thought about the night that he had been turned, and the way he had been angry after the memory slip as she'd been feeding. It was a strange way for the past to come and bite him - not long after she literally had. “Though I have to admit, I did want to slap you when I realized it was your wife in the memory that was somehow accessed, but,” She squeezed his hand once more, “I do have to say, Alaya is a beautiful little girl, darling.” She didn't tell him that she'd been slightly offended or angry, the jealousy would be enough of it.

Though, she knew there was nothing to be jealous of. He was there beside her, as he was night after night. “I still don't know how it happened. If I did it, or if you had.” A sigh escaped her as she leaned back into the cushions. The frown from earlier fell across her lips, “Not that it matters, I suppose.” Her gaze swept the room. Castalia noticed that a few of her books were still a bit dusty from when she unpacked them and she looked back up at him. “As it still happened.”


CEDRIC | Cedric listened to all that Castalia had to say, a frown resting heavily upon his brow. The past and he had a rocky relationship, and though Castalia tried to tell him that the present and the past were separate things, Cedric tended not to agree. One could run from one’s past but the past could be persistent and wiley. It could catch up to a person, could curl its sticky tendrils around one’s present.

“Two people have come looking for me because of my past. My past knows where I am. I suppose it is time to accept that there is no point in pretending it does not exist because it is going to make itself known regardless,” he said. He shook his head.

“It does not matter, no. It happened. It might happen again. True enough, it should not matter, but if it happens again… maybe it is best we figure out how. And who,” he said. Why did it matter so much to him? Did he want to control what it was Castalia could and could not see? Was it because he didn’t want her to see it, or was it because he was trying to protect himself, and the wall he’d built between himself and his past?

Cedric, built like a brick, turned in his seat so that he was half laying on his side in a semi-fetal position. A sigh gathered in his lungs before they deflated, letting the sigh free. His eyes were wide, gaze clinging to Castalia’s and her heterochromic eyes. “I can’t help but think your view of me might change, if you knew exactly who I was. If you’re going to know everything, if you’re going to see it… maybe just a small bit at a time,” he said, reaching out to graze a thumb over the rise of her cheek.


CASTALIA | She was comfortable in her seat, but her heart was heavy as she listened to his words. Truthfully, Castalia didn't care about his past. He was there, he was hers - that was all that mattered to her. Upon meeting him, she hadn't known his name, she hadn't known his past. It would never matter, really, as she tucked her ankle underneath herself. She smoothed her fingertips against his skin affectionately, her expression gentle as she moved her hand towards higher against his forearm.

"I do not like any of them after you." The brunette murmured as she thought about it all, shifting slightly on the couch, "Nor do I like the fact you are being forced into something you do not like." Afterwards, she smoothed her hand over his wrist before leaning over to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

Castalia settled into the couch more after he rearranged himself. Her mismatched gaze took in his icy blue eyes, the way they were wide. Her hand moved down to run her fingers through his hair. "But, think of things this way," The allurist said, inclining her head as she leaned into his touch. Her hand lifted to his as she turned her head, and pressed a kiss to his thumb. "You did get over me ripping out your throat with my teeth among other issues and surprises turning you has created."

She ran her tongue over her teeth as she tried to think of what to say next. Her nails traced gently against his scalp, moving in slow circles before she said, "And if in some chance I find an issue... I will talk to you, if I need to. I love you, and it would take you a lot to change that. Even a past you're running from.”

CEDRIC | Cedric did wonder what Castalia might think, with these people coming after him, wanting him dead due to his past. That alone should have had her questioning him. And yet, she didn’t press him for answers. She never had. She chose to take him at his word, to trust him for what he’d done in the here and now, for who he was in Harper Rock, not who he had been in Brussels.

“You’re far too good to me,” he said, a rare smile spreading over his lips as he wondered whether Castalia realised what she’d just said. Not that she hadn’t let it slip in the past -- not those words exactly, but close enough. Cedric sighed, the sound heavy, sinking his whole body into the couch and Castalia’s gentle touch.

“I’m not sure my curses are due to the way I was turned,” he said, keeping his gaze steady. “I wasn’t faithful to my wife. I worked for a man who did a lot of illegal things. It started just as a pianist for his private parties, and then… well, I got drawn into his world. I slept with his daughter. She told me she was twenty-one. She was only seventeen. It… spiralled out of control. I killed someone I shouldn’t have. They wanted my head. My wife divorced me. I had to leave the city. That’s when I came here,” he said.

It wasn’t as if he was a seasoned peadophile -- he just hadn’t known. “I was unfaithful. I was a criminal. I beat men up for fun. I was a thug,” he said. It was still in his blood. There were so many things he should be guilty for but he wasn’t. “I’m telling you, now, because I love you. And you’re going to see it. You may as well be prepared.”


CASTALIA | It was the signs of affection from Cedric that caused Castalia to feel a phantom flutter in her heart, the smile and his words causing her to chuckle softly. "You have never given me a reason not to." Her fingertips traced higher against his arm, feeling the muscle in his bicep before she stopped on his collarbone. "You treat me well." Her shoulder lifted and fell as she shrugged. She stretched her leg out on the couch beside him, taking in that rare smile of his and how differently it lit up his face.

The curiosity across her features showed that she briefly didn't understand what was said. Not that she didn't comprehend his words, but that only after he continued, did she get it. It was a lot to take in. Castalia sat without making a noise as she listened to him, her actions never ceasing. The side of her nails moved against his scalp before she alternated to using the neatly kept tipped to make circular motions. Her mind could paint images; the woman she'd seen in his memory finding out about the affair, hurt words following in anger.

But it wasn't only the affair, being unfaithful. The murder caused Cedric to have blood on his hands, the same hands that Castalia's mismatched gaze dropped to. She traced his knuckles over with her gaze, thinking back to the night they had met. Even if she'd known, she wouldn't have changed anything. She would have still invited him back to her home and turned him. She brought her eyes back to his, "As I said the night we met, we all have skeletons." She let out an exhale through her nose, unsure of what else that she could say as she looked down at the man and moved her hand to his side.

"And in the present, you are a successful businessman with a stunning home and a woman who has your back." Leaning forward, she leaned down and kissed him. "I'll be prepared, my love."


CEDRIC | She had a point, of course. What did it matter how he’d spent his days in the past, who he might have hurt or what he might have done? It only mattered what he did now, how he treated those he called home -- whom he invited into his home. Castalia accepted his confessions without a flinch, reiterating her love, reassuring him that it did not matter.

And yet, he stared, silent, chewing on his lower lip. No, it might not matter what he had done, and she trusted that he had somehow changed. In many ways he had; he wasn’t as young nor as reckless as he had once been. He had become the boss rather than the employee, which came with its own gravitas. He no longer beat other men up for fun or money but he was still a killer. A killer with a lust for sex unrivalled by any lust he had ever felt before. How long could he last?

How many of his encounters would she see? There were memories of his past, yes, of the warehouse full of testosterone-fuelled men screaming for their bets to knock each other out, pure unadulterated bloodlust spiking their features as they crowed for more blood, for more broken bones. There were memories of his daughter, too -- good memories, of the stage, of the piano, of what life had been before he’d been recruited into the darkness. There were memories of his wife, of the girl he’d cheated on her with. Of the man that he had killed.

But there were also fresh memories. Recent memories, of women he’d slept with. So many faces and so many forgotten names; so many lifeless eyes and snapped necks, apartments that he’d left no trace of himself inside of. When they took their bodies away and discovered the semen inside of them, what was it that they found? Were they confused by darkness of it? Were they disgusted? Was he giving them something that he shouldn’t? No one had come breaking down his door yet.

It didn’t matter what he said, Castalia would only continue to reassure him. So he nodded, eventually. He gave in. He relinquished the need to try to convince her that he was a bad person, and that he was no good for her.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll let it go,” he said, breathing out -- as if in doing so he could release all of his inner demons.


CASTALIA | People did things that they weren’t proud of. It was something that she understood, even if some of the things were things that she didn’t approve of. But, to feel disgust at the death of the man whom Cedric had killed would be hypocritical. She had killed how many men before she’d even met him? Yes, it had come with the lack of control, the constant thirst that had been present when she was a fledgeling, but she wouldn’t hold him accountable.

The infidelity wasn’t something she was thrilled with, and it didn’t help with her knowledge of this as well as his new business venture surrounded by women, and she could see how he correlated the way it would connect to his curse. However, he would have never been cursed had she not turned him in her selfish moment of need, lustful as it was. Her nails ran through the light colored hair on top of his head as she frowned in thought.

She looked down at his knuckles, noticing the scars once more. She’d assumed they’d come from self defense, perhaps even if a piano string snapped on him. There’d been a few times when she’d treated wounds caused by bones shattering beneath the pressure of a hit at the hospital. Gangsters, she had learned, were mostly the reason and as she bounced her foot briefly, Castalia let out a small noise.

“Before we met, I lost track of the amount of times I’d killed without the need to feed,” She said, looking down, “even afterwards. I took pleasure in it. I’m not an angel, Cedric.” Her parents had raised her to continue on in the right way, but it had been difficult to shake, to accept. “And I have never had it in my mind that you were, either. But, you are good to me, and you worry more than I do about myself.” Castalia tried to think of the best way she was trying to word things for him.

However, as he said he’d let it go, her mind drifted back to the piece that he had been playing as she adjusted herself on the couch. She stretched out her leg once more. She hummed a few bars that she had heard before asking, “That melody, what was it?”


CEDRIC | Cedric tried to imagine Castalia killing for fun, needlessly, the blood only a boon. They’d not witnessed each other at their worst -- or what society would consider their worst. And here they were, like a revelation. Two confessed killers lounging comfortably in luxury. Would karma come back around to bite them in the ***? Cedric didn’t believe in karma.

He imagined that he himself had skated a thin line the night of his turning. How much of Castalia had wanted to bring him home only to feed from him until he was dead? A victim of lust, like every single one of Cedric’s own victims. It used to be that if he killed a man it was out of a pure, animalistic lust for violence. Now, that passion had taken a back seat. 

“That melody was your melody,” he said, off-hand. “It is how I feel for you, in melody rather than in words,” he added, straightening himself somewhat so that he could be level with Castalia, so that he could look in her in the eye. ‘Love’ was a strong word, but was it enough? Could it be enough to battle the curse that raged in Cedric’s soul?

“You said… before you met me, you couldn’t count the amount of men you had killed. You have stopped, since?” he asked, curious. He had never suspected Castalia to be any kind of serial killer.


CASTALIA | Pleased with his answer, she simply smiled. If she were able to, she knew there would be a blush. Instead, she simply moved her hand up to grasp the quaver necklace he’d given her. A shrug of her shoulder was given as she stopped her shifting around. “It is not as frequent as it was back then - nightly. I did not leave evidence and they did not come home with me. They thought they would, but truthfully I would often rip their throat out once we were away from sight. I would feed, once enough of their arousal and the alcohol was in their bloodstream.”

The brunette tilted her head as she looked into his eyes, wondering what he thought of her revelation. “And then I met you,” Her hand lifted to trace her fingertips over the place she enjoyed biting on the regular, “and I decided I did not want another childe, to not to learn about those I intended to feed on, so I drank bagged blood. Usually in my coffee. But, there were occasions. Unfavorable individuals who I did not feel should be in society. Men who preyed on women in my venues, typically, the ones who thought they were being clever and putting something in their drinks.” She gave a small frown as she tapped her fingernail against his flesh.

She hesitated afterwards, allowing her words to fill the space between them while she let her hand fall. Castalia realized that she didn’t talk about certain topics, such as this. It wasn’t that they made her uncomfortable, but she never knew exactly how she was feeling. In some ways, it made her more aware of the creature she’d become and how much she’d changed from day one. She’d once been a nurse, saving lives and working tirelessly into the night doing so. She hadn’t transitioned easily, but her sire hadn’t been there by her side the first evening.

“Truthfully, I don’t even remember my first kill.” She let out a sigh, crinkling her nose. “Just her name, and it’s because she was my neighbor - apparently the damage I did was said to be believed was a mountain lion attack. My sire hadn’t been there when I awoke after she fed from me. I was on my own until she found me a few days after.”


CEDRIC | Cedric thought back to the night they had met; how they’d left the pub, him having drunk more than enough to be high on an alcoholic buzz. They hadn’t stopped in any dark, dank alleyways out of sight. Instead, Castalia had taken him home. She’d taken him home and, though she had ripped into the skin of his throat, she’d not killed him. Not entirely. Not a true death. There’d definitely been arousal and alcohol in his system.

They’d hardly known each other.

And even now, there were clearly still things they were learning about each other. It seemed, as much of a mystery as Cedric had strived to keep his past, Castalia had an equal amount of secrets. Or, not secrets -- just things she had not yet revealed. For example, he hadn’t known about the way she’d been sired. A frown creased his brow.

“Seriously?” he asked. “How--did she not know she’d done it? Why did she leave you alone?!” he asked. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to become what they were without knowing. And back then… it wasn’t common knowledge that vampires existed. It wouldn’t have been a logical conclusion to jump to. He lifted his hand, fingers grazing the rise of Castalia’s cheek.

“It’s not as if I can judge you. My kills are--weren’t as calculated,” he said. He’d had to change his ways. He’d had to start feeding from blood packs, too. To take from the source was too much of a temptation, now. The act of taking blood was too tangled with carnal lust. It didn’t taste as good. It was like eating McDonald’s when all you want is farm fresh.

“How come I wasn’t killed like the rest…?” he asked. He wasn’t going to. But curiosity got the better of.