Vampirism is a damnation only few can cultivate.

It is a locomotive unable to catch, if you can stomach it. The steel of immortality latch on in a manner that cops that neutrality of the shades of grey. It is like their eyes - glaciers, sometimes. Molten silver, other times. You have never known true depravity until you'd been launched into the world of gods and monsters, and it is a world that has existed underneath your nose since the beginning of time. Stomaching it is the first base of accepting the stain it has left on your life.

Loving it is another ballgame. But one, perhaps, that may be the easiest to do, because you have met them. Loved them. Charlie Cambridge, personification of the dark. A creature of the night.

You are the amalgamation of every lover that has touched the cool wisps of their soul. And each time, you have slipped away from them, withered away and died. You have found each other once again, and this time, Charlie is unwittingly unable to let Death steal you away from them again.

And they are all yours.

"You've been awfully quiet," Charlie says in that light, rich tone of theirs, a perfect, dark eyebrow quirking up. There is a stubborn, dark curl that adds character to their elegant features. "A penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?"