"Fine. From the beginning then."
She remained on the floor, staring up at the man who had not only saved her but ended her life.
"I grew up in New Orleans. Lived there my whole life, really."
She nervously messed with the ends of her sleeves. He watched and remained silent, as if he couldn't see her anxiety at revisiting her past.
"When I was fifteen, I was trying to survive the horrors of public education. I was always a bit of a loner, you know? Preferred art to people. Had a few friends, but they all drifted away eventually. One of them slept with my boyfriend."
The memory still stung, even years later.
"That ended the relationship pretty quickly."
The man leaned forward, his dark brown eyes locked on her face with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Like he was drinking in every word, savoring each syllable as if she were a vintage wine he couldn't get enough of.
"Go back further."
His voice was gentle but insistent.
"What was your childhood like? Were you happy or sad? I want to know what really makes you tick. What pushed you to become such a talented artist."
Lily's jaw tightened. She didn't talk about this. Not with anyone.
But what choice did she have? She couldn't exactly say no, lying was a useless endeavor too. She had never been good at lying and something told her that if she tried, he would immediately see right through it.
"My father was a drunkard according to my mom. Left when I was three. I don't remember what he looks like, I think she said his name was Ted but she didn't like to talk about him that much."
The words came out flat, emotionless.
"Perhaps that is a blessing in disguise then, drunken parents often become the worst of monsters in the end."
"Yeah, maybe."
She fidgeted on the floor, no longer meeting his eyes. Truth was, the older she had gotten, the more she realized just how much the pain of not having a father-figure really meant.
"Go on."
"Mom died from cancer when I was twelve. It was slow. Painful. I watched her waste away over two years."
"A terrible disease, too many a good life taken by something so foul."
Her finger stopped moving. The thought of pointing out that he, and now her, were vampires that also took peoples lives crossed her mind.
"I lived with my grandmother after that. She took me in, raised me until I was eighteen and out of school. She passed away two years ago. Heart attack. Found her on the kitchen floor when I came home from the gallery."
The man gave her a look that pierced straight through her defenses. Empathetic. Understanding. Like he'd lived through similar losses himself.
"Your tragedy is a mountain that most people never experience."
He spoke slowly, carefully, as if weighing each word in his mind before he uttered them.
"The loss of your parents, friends, even lovers, it's enough to drive many humans to end their own existence. Yet here you sit."
He gestured toward her with an elegant hand.
"A lesson in endurance. Your misery and suffering teased through strokes of paint on a canvas."
Lily wasn't sure what to make of his bold proclamations. The way he spoke about her pain like it was something beautiful, something worthy of admiration rather than pity.
"I really started painting because it was therapy."
She met his eyes once more.
"It helped me cope with my own mind. All the shit rattling around in there."
"Then you should continue painting."
His face lit up with genuine enthusiasm.
"Display your emotions. Frame them. Works of art, talent, and a mind like yours they're very rare. They always have been."
He leaned back in his chair, settling into a comfortable position despite the corpse still slumped beside him. He acted like it wasn't even there, as if the loss of a human life wasn't even registering on his radar anymore.
It made her shiver, would she become like him in the future? She hoped not.
"Tell me about your first painting. The very first one you remember creating."
And so it went. Back and forth. Him asking questions, some clarifying, some born of pure curiosity. Her answering to the best of her ability. He never grew impatient, never rushed her. His attention never wavered.
They talked about her struggles in school. Her brief attempt at community college before financial reality forced her to drop out. The dead-end jobs she'd worked to pay rent. The small studio apartment she could barely afford.
The nights she'd stayed up painting until dawn, losing herself in color and form and the blessed silence of creation.
She told him about the pull toward darkness. How it felt more honest than light. How in her mind suffering and beauty weren't opposites but partners in some twisted dance. That seemed to please him the most.
Hours must have passed. The conversation flowed easier than Lily expected, smoother than any social interaction she'd had in years.
Maybe it was because he actually listened. Really listened, like her words mattered.
Or maybe it was because she was still in shock, her brain desperately grasping for normalcy in the midst of absolute insanity.
Eventually a bone-deep weariness began to creep through her limbs. Her eyes felt heavy, weighted down.
Something was wrong.
Lily pressed two fingers against her wrist, searching for her pulse.
Nothing.
She moved her hand to her neck. Still nothing.
With growing dread, she placed her palm flat against her left breast, directly over her heart.
No beat. No rhythm. Just stillness.
"That's...strange."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
"What is?"
"The realization that I'm truly dead. A vampire. It defies all logic."
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat as she ran a hand through her hair.
"Part of me wants to scream. To be locked away in a padded cell for the rest of my days. But the truth is the truth. I can't deny it."
She looked pointedly at the man she had killed and the bloody wash rag that still covered his face.
The man nodded slowly, something like regret flickering across his features.
"I wish there had been another way."
He rose suddenly, smoothly, extending his hand.
"Come with me."
Lily took his hand as he gently pulled her up from the floor. His skin was cool, like he had been sitting in front of an A/C unit for too long.
He led her to the bedroom, the one she'd woken up in before reality had gone off the rails and everything had turned upside down.
He pointed to the large king-size bed with its rumpled black sheets.
"This bed is yours."
Then he gestured around the room.
"Notice there are no windows. And the lock on the door, it only unlocks from the inside. Security measures to prevent accidental death."
The lethargy intensified. Lily swayed slightly on her feet.
"Why am I feeling so sleepy?"
"The sun is rising soon, your body is giving you warning signs. Always listen to the warning signs, like I said earlier, it's better to be indoors when you enter the corpse sleep."
His explanation was matter-of-fact.
"You'll get used to the feeling over time. As you age, the effects will lessen but never completely disappear."
He moved toward the door.
Lily's hand shot out with a speed that surprised her, gripping his arm.
"Wait. Please reconsider leaving. Stay a bit longer. Help me learn more about what this all means."
For a moment, he just looked at her. Then he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
The gesture was so paternal, so tender, that it nearly moved her to tears.
"Good night."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lily stood there for several seconds before her legs gave up the fight. She crawled into the bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin.
Staring at the ceiling, she waited for the sun to rise somewhere above her.
This was all so strange. Why wasn't she more freaked out? Why hadn't she attacked him or screamed more or cried until she had nothing left?
Why hadn't she run when she had the chance?
This wasn't like her. She was pragmatic, logical. She should be fighting this with everything she had.
But maybe it was because he'd saved her life when he didn't have to. He'd gone out of his way to turn her for reasons she still didn't understand.
She hadn't even asked how he'd done it.
Despite knowing him for only one night, there was something there. A bond she'd never experienced before. Inexplicable. Undeniable.
She wasn't sure if she liked him, hated him, or loved him.
Her mind began to drift, consciousness slipping away like water through her fingers.
One last thought surfaced before the darkness claimed her completely.
She never got his name.