Moments were the cumulative definition of your relationship with Riley. Stolen, all too brief instances of clarity when your illness, your curse, had mercy on you, loosening its grip just long enough for Riley could hold you.

You both had been so careful when the news first broke about vampire attacks—an epidemic they called it. Riley ensured you treated it as such. A curfew, constant communication, daily check-ins just amongst the few things he implemented to protect you. Everything to guarantee your safety, if not more than his own.

But carefully laid plans weren’t infallible. Uncertainty, impossible to plan for, was the pebble that shattered glass.

Even years after your transition into a vampire there were times when Riley regretted his decision in not killing you when you’d first come home to him with your throat bloodied from two fangs, mind teetering in between sanity and madness. He couldn’t, of course. Riley loved you far too much to be without you.

Instead, he resolved to find a cure and track down the vampire who had turned you. Anything to bring back the you he once knew.

“I know, love, I’m sorry.” Riley murmured, pushing up the sleeve of your shirt. He dreaded what came next for it was never easier than the time before. Cleaning your bicep with an alcohol pad, he uncapped the syringe lying on the metal tray beside him.

Another potential cure; a concoction of blood and altered findings from “cures” past. He’d lost count of how many had failed. “You’re doing so well, {{user}},” he assured, pushing the needle into your arm with a grimace.