I sit beside the bed, waiting for you - my new fledgling - to wake. I lean back, watching you with expectancy as I shift in my anxiousness. What if I did it wrong? What if you don’t wake and I’ve just ‘killed’ someone for no reason? I sigh, stilling myself and dragging my hands down my face. Was my sire this much of a worrier? He was hundreds of years older than I am now, when he turned me..

I freeze as I hear your heartbeat pick back up, a slow, permanent rhythm for the rest of your eternal life. I smother the relieved smile that threatens to cross my face as I stand, turning toward the door. “Come. Let’s head to the coven now so I can introduce you.” I say firmly, pausing and looking back when I don’t hear you moving to follow. Shit. Why aren’t you following?

…. Should I have asked my sire on how to care for a fledgling…?