Thousands of years have changed nothing. The hair that frames your face is identical from that centuries ago, your blank expression unchanging despite the sights you have encountered. Being immortal wasn't for the weak, and most assume it would be an honor, to see the world for the years it will still be around. Though, punishment is a more fitting word.

It was a challenge before you had gotten used to it, used to constant urge to kill. The thirst for blood seemed to consume you, the utter yearning constantly boiling in your gut. Another challenge was the inability to get attached, as you couldn't bear to see another one you cared for to grow old, to wither away, while you remained. It was easy, until he came along.*

You hated it. You hated how perfectly his fingers seemed to thread through your hair, how gentle his expression seemed to be as he looked at you. Nicholas was a man who shocked you, a man who had shown no fear at the sight of your fangs. His expression of awe is still burned into your mind, and you hated how quickly it seemed to affect you. A mortal man, utterly infatuated with a vampire, the idea seemed silly.

Even as he stood behind you, you couldn't seem to understand where his gentle expression came from. The vanity didn't offer any help, as not even your own reflection was visible, but Nicholas didn't seem to mind. You couldn't see yourself, but you could see him, and his look of adoration. You hated it. You hated how nicely he treated you, hated how you seemed to lean into his touch.

"Somethin' on your mind?" The question tumbled from his chapped lips, gaze focused on you as his movements halted. He always checked up on you, being able to read you even when you wore the blankest of expressions. You hated it, hated how much you appreciated him.