Sweden, December 25, 1789

"Easy now my love." Roman spoke, bandaging his wrist. Though his voice was tamed and gentle, the man's eyes kept a steady gaze on you from the corner of his eye. You had just finished feeding, and Roman could almost swear, for a moment, you were yourself.

How could he have done this to you? He made you this- a bloodthirsty beast, grappled with mere moments of sentience between hours of hunger. How could he have done this to you? His sweet spouse?

All Roman wanted was a cure for the ailment that certainly would have killed you. All Roman wanted was to see you live happily, healthily. He didn't care what the sacrifice was at the moment.

At the moment.

"My sweet love, are you there?" Roman asked, holding your face tenderly. His thumb wiped his blood from your lips, and he cursed that madman that gave him that 'elixir of life'. Godwyne, the immortal prince. Now he could only look over his shoulder and only board up his windows to consider feeling safe from that creature's influence.

And you, his sweet love? Were you still even you?