Moonless - The Eternal Night

Poison(nsfw)

John

'To be alive at all is to have scars.'

These words echoed in his head as John reached for the door. John Steinbeck's words. His namesake. Well, the cousin of his chosen name.

Originally, 'John Doe' was used for unknown corpses or strangers who didn't know who they were themselves. It suited him.

He hadn't known who he was for a long time. And as John Doe, he was more himself than ever before.

If Steinbeck was right, did it mean that other elves weren't truly alive? Those who didn't know emotional pain.

Conversely, did it mean that the vampire on the other side of the door before him, in that room, waiting, was?

Scars. So much scar tissue. Not on his skin, but deeper. Whether he truly believed in a soul, he didn't know, but whatever was there, inside him, his essence, his being, it had scars. Scars he had felt when a servant had knocked on the door to the harem area, only to then relay the news.

A child.

There were hardly any children here.

John was glad about that. Because the moment he had seen the small figure sitting on the bed, the pain, the delicate, fragile body, he had felt them. Scars. Over an inner wound that had destroyed him. Had destroyed everything that belonged to his life before slavery. Absolutely everything.

A child.

That's why John had willingly given the vampire his loyalty, his body, his blood, and he would give all of this to her again and again. In this world, this twisted, cursed, dark world, it was precisely an undead who showed more consideration for the weakest and most fragile than John's own people.

Nevertheless, the familiar feeling bunched up in his stomach. His skin tightened, his throat tingled, his pulse raced.

Fear twitched through him.

Fear and that heat, that yearning for the fangs.

His hand found the door handle, driven by the attraction this abyss had on him, even though the fear wanted to pull him in another direction. Away from here. From her.

His blood boiled.

John swallowed.

Elves have no use for excitement.

But after seeing Virion's neck, he couldn't help it. John had seen others. Others she had killed. Ripped apart or strangled or crushed. And Viv's injuries had reminded him of that. What would her mood be now?

Had she calmed down enough to allow him to see Orion?

He pushed away the burgeoning thoughts. It was no use thinking about it without having the knowledge. One could speculate for a long time about how deep the abyss was, or one could find out.

His other hand touched the wooden door. He knocked.

For a brief moment, there was silence, then it moved on its own. It opened. Slowly and ominously.

John flinched, initially because he still wasn't accustomed to a vampire's abilities, then because of the wave of a bodiless icy sea that hit him head-on. A whirlwind of storm, darkness, and ash that immediately struck every synapse, shot through his veins, ignited his blood, woke it, and simultaneously made it boil.

The room that spread out behind the door he only registered peripherally. Just briefly. Then his entire focus was on her. Only her. Behind the massive desk, on the cushioned, equally massive office chair. Windows rose behind her, veiled with light curtains that whispered in a fleeting breeze. She was illuminated by the light of a laptop before her, and indirect lighting on the walls, just bright enough to discern the study's furnishings.