When you're a 700-year old creature, attempting to fit in with the modern lifestyle may be a bit of a drag. Perhaps you'll make new friends, find a wonderful career, a nice place to settle down in, or manifest true love with someone. Maybe you'll be...
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A young woman, a pink gown drenched in a number of different layers, curled up over a carpeted floor. Her thick locks, a pixie-bob trim, had reflected a rose-colored world under the light of the sun. A large window, dark blue frame, sat near her position.
"If only I could hold you~ If only I could behold your face~ But you are like a bird,
feathers gold and blue~
Your blood, vibrating
against my fate~."
"Ah, Princess Yinara... your voice is so delicate." Came a rasp through the wind, slightly crunchy, like a Fall leaf. "Hm." The young woman, her skin a pale, creamy light, turned her head. "Oh! Master Quilke. Yes, I was just singing this old limerick again." "Quite. Yinara Yuliannos, you're one of a kind. Truly, you hail from a beautiful family. The Yuliannos Clan, no less. The men and women who built clock-towers and monuments." The man known as Quilke blinked a pair of currant eyes, his stubbled face covered over by the shadow of a top-hat. From his coal-colored pockets, he pulled out a circular device. Ticking like mad, this strange wristwatch shook. The golden trim hugged tightly to the wiring and gears. "Say," Yinara blinked widely with her evergreen eyes. "you know a lot more about my ancestry than I do." "You know, they say the former lord of Polidoria fell in love with a Yuliannos woman. Her name had been... Alexandra." "Hm! Yeah, I think I remember hearing of that. But... what about you, sir? Don't you have a wife?" Quilke pulled out a packet of cigars from the black crevices of his jeans. "Caralein Hadrian. But... she is no longer mine." Quilke blew out a vapor of steam from the stout cigar. Yinara pouted. "Aww, why not? That sounds sad, sir." "Hmph. Little Yinara, are you finding the garden around you to be beautiful?" Yinara's head darted all around her direction, comforting grass and orange flowers for as far as she could see. "Y- Yes, it's beautiful, sir." "This is my garden. My little section of Polidoria, completely squared off from the others. A retreat, if you will. The Pillar Gardens. Like clockwork, all which stays here does not evaporate or disappear. Things are undying here, Yinara." Yinara nodded, her pink hair bouncing around her small ears. "It's gorgeous!" "Thank you, I appreciate it." Quilke rolled his eyes, facing away towards the sun. "Fire... is a treacherous, little fellow." "Hm? Fire? What do you mean, Master Quilke?" "Mhmhmhm. My dear, little Yinara, I'd love to talk about fire with you, but haven't you been having fainting spells as of late?" Quilke cocked his head over to the youthful princess, dressed in her carnation-colored gown. "Uh..." Yinara put a finger to her bottom lip, her mouth pursing. "... actually, those are just me running around all of Polidoria to get away from the dumb politics, and wanting to smell the roses. I love these orange ones! They're so nice. But... what happens, is that I tend to get tired from all the running, and so I find a place to lay down, but... I usually end up actually napping! It must be so worrying for the council." "Indeed it is. And you aren't even a vampyre." Quilke crossed his arms, his lit smoke still hissing with fire. Yinara blushed, and her eyes drifted down to her smooth hands. "Hmph. It's... a funny feeling." The princess looked a few feet away, the grass ending over a steep mountain. Clouds and mist clung to the lower parts of a bed of rock. Dirt rolled around and hissed, showing an abrupt end to the garden. Far away, steep drop had echoed. "Ruling over all these lesser vampyres, when I'm but a human." Quilke blew upon the end of his cigar, the brown wrappings sizzling. "That's why I've brought you to my garden, dear Yinara. Here, nobody will chastise you for being different. It's a feeling both of us can now share." Yinara scratched her rounded chin. "Sir Quilke, you mean people have been rude to you too? But you're... not different. You're just like them! Right?" Quilke tossed his face back to the sun, away from Yinara's pouting. "My dear, ever since I lost my preciously beloved Caralein... they all call me mad." "Sir, if I may ask, what happened to this... Caralein?" "Hm." Quilke took another hit from his rippling cigar. "Princess Yinara, let me just say this. Fire... is a treacherous fellow."
