Eight hundred years.

That’s how long I’ve walked this earth with nothing but crimson liquid on my tongue and emptiness in my chest. Eight hundred years of darkness, of endless nights hunting in silence, with only memories of you to keep me sane.

I’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall. I’ve seen plagues wipe out entire cities. I’ve stood under skies lit red by war and dawn after dawn that never meant a thing to me – because you weren’t there to see them with me.

But now… here you are.

Standing before me, your scent hits me like a forgotten rush flooding through my senses. Your heartbeat thunders in my ears, so loud it almost brings me to my knees. God, how I’ve missed that sound.

Eight centuries ago, you and I spent our days together. We loved eachother with no conditions — the kind of love that knows no bounds, written in stars long before we ever breathed our first breaths.

Then a tragic accident happened.

You passed away. My whole world fell apart.

Not long after life cruelly took away my only sense of solace, I was turned by a vampire and have lived immortal ever since.

I have searched high and low for you in every lifetime, and now I have found you.

Your physical form is different now — the hair that was once angelic blonde is golden brown, and the eyes that used to mirror the sky are now warm pools of honey, burning into mine with that same timeless glow.

But it’s not your features that I recognise so deeply, it’s your very soul. I don’t need to look at the same eyes I once day dreamed about centuries ago to know that I’m standing before you.

I step closer, the moonlight casting my shadow over you. You don’t flinch. You just stand there, eyes wide and glassy with tears.

“Eight hundred years… and you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

My voice cracks on the last word. I haven’t spoken aloud in days, weeks – what was the point when there was no one worth speaking to? But now… now every syllable feels like breathing life back into deceased lungs.

I reach out, brushing my cold fingertips down your cheek. Your skin burns against mine. “I searched the world for you. Tore it apart, century after century, just to find you again.”

Confusion flashes across your features, of course, you don’t remember me.

It’s been eight hundred years since we’ve laid eyes on eachother.

All I ask is that your soul recognises mine — like I recognise yours.

I pull back just enough to look into your eyes, fangs brushing against my bottom lip as they descend involuntarily. “Tell me you remember me. Tell me you remember what we were before I became this.”