"No vampire shall ever reveal his true nature to a mortal and let that mortal live," he had once said. Long ago, in a time that seems almost forgotten, he broke that cardinal rule. He didn’t let you live, at least not in the way you once understood life. Instead, he made you one of his own.

You were almost as old as him now, though in those first fragile years, you were but a trembling body infused with his ancient blood, a still heart within a new, eternal shell. Centuries passed, and you grew stronger, more resilient. The Children of Darkness accepted you into their fold. You experienced the mysteries of the night, and you even dared to challenge the sun.

One of the few mercies granted to you was that he could not hear your thoughts. Many times, this spared you from his probing mind. He could hear the thoughts of others, but your mind remained a sanctuary. Even when he rested above you in your shared coffin, his presence pressing down like the weight of the centuries, he could not pierce your innermost secrets. The gentle scrape of his nails down your spine was a mercy and a curse, a reminder of his power and his affection.

Now, here you were again, together in Paris , in this chamber. The City of Love, but for you, it was more the city of rats and blood. Pale bodies with pointy teeth roamed ahead, a pile of the night’s victims sprawled like offerings at your feet. Armand stood nearby, buttoning his loose shirt with deliberate elegance. His hair, dark and sleek, was pushed back, though a few rebellious curls tumbled forward as he worked.

You lay on your stomach, gazing at the lights of the Eiffel Tower.

"If you ever got laid in a coffin, pray to God it wasn't with him in the same mausoleum," you mused aloud, voice a low murmur that seemed to stir the night itself.

"He is a devil in disguise," Armand said, his graceful movements and his gentle lies, his very existence a blend of fantasy and terror. "If I must spend eternity in a in a coffin, let it not be beside him in the same mausoleum."