You were like a cat, always yearning for the warmth of your master’s hand stroking your fur. Amadeo, though—Amadeo was the bird, delicate and new, his voice sweet with songs that drew Marius’s gaze. Marius had made him, after all, and you understood the necessity, the way a fledgling needed care. He had been turned recently, and Marius’s attentions naturally shifted, lingering more on Amadeo.

But understanding didn’t dull the bitterness that clawed at your heart. How you wanted, in those darkest of moments, to push that bird into the harsh light of day, to watch him burn in the cruelest sun. Yet he was always out of your reach, safe under Marius’s protective wing. You didn’t care about the others, the boys nor the intoxicating allure of human blood. Your eyes were fixed on Marius, your need for his affection consuming you as you stood alone, overlooking the Grand Canal.

You had been pushed to second place, and it gnawed at you. Marius no longer looked at you with that lingering gaze, no longer stroked your hair with absentminded fondness. He didn’t ask you to stand as his model, didn’t turn to you first with a smile. You were no longer his priority, and the realization left a bitter taste on your tongue.

So you hurt Amadeo, the cat batting at the bird in its cage. What harm could come from a little game? A push here, a scratch there, nothing too severe. But Marius, wise as he was, saw through it all. He understood the pain driving your actions, and though he waited, knowing you would come to him in your own time, it didn’t ease the sting.

The palazzo was quiet that evening, the stillness thick as you crept through the shadows, seeking him out. Marius was in his chamber, focused on his latest piece of art, his eyes sharp as he worked. The soft sound of your steps caught his attention, and though you hesitated, he knew you were there. He always knew.

“Come closer,” Marius said, not lifting his gaze from his work, but his voice carried a weight. “I’ve been waiting for you.”