𝐎𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧 // 𝐉. 𝐇

Chapter 2: The Comfort of Companionship

Mudita (n): Delight in the happiness of others

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The backstage of the Royal Opera House transformed into a hive of activity as the final notes of "Giselle" faded away, leaving the audience in a state of silent awe. Amid the chaos, Ophelia found a sense of calm in the rhythmic swish of the broom she wielded, sweeping away the remnants of the enchanting performance.

Emile, her closest confidant and a French vampire with a penchant for the arts, joined her in the cleaning effort. His lean frame moved gracefully, effortlessly lifting and rearranging props with the assistance of a few others. Despite being urged to go home and rest, Emile, much like Ophelia, found solace in the simplicity of the task at hand.

Cleaning had always been Ophelia's sanctuary, a way to clear her mind of the ceaseless thoughts that occupied her head. It was a ritual, a grounding activity that allowed her to escape reality for a moment. Tonight was no different. The soft echo of her broom against the wooden floor drowned out the noise of the world.

As Ophelia worked, she stole a glance over her shoulder and saw Emile engaged in conversation with Coach Valeria. Valeria, fondly called Val, had been coaching the dancers for over a year and had become an integral part of their lives. Her gratitude towards the dancers was evident as she thanked them for their hard work, insisting they go home and rest.

The trio headed towards Emile's sleek black Chevrolet Camaro, a symbol of the swift and stylish lifestyle they shared. The car hummed smoothly as they drove through the quiet streets of London, the night air crisp and cool. The comfortable silence enveloped them until Ophelia's stomach betrayed her, emitting a low growl.

"I think someone's hungry," Emile remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Ophelia chuckled. "Guilty as charged. How about we stop for some take away?"

Emile nodded, guiding the car to a halt at a nearby restaurant. Sometimes, in the comfortable cocoon of the car, Emile would switch to his mother tongue, and Ophelia, having spent years by his side, effortlessly picked up on the language.

"Have you fed?" she asked, concern etching her features.

Emile shook his head. "No, I thought you might want to eat first."

Ophelia frowned. "Emile, you need to take care of yourself too. I hate being someone's priority."Guilt washed over her as the car pulled up to their home. She scolded Emile gently for his selflessness, but he reassured her that it wouldn't happen again.

"You promise?" she asked, holding out her pinky finger.

Emile smiled, linking his pinky with hers. "I promise, Ophelia. I won't forget myself again."Still not entirely convinced, Ophelia sighed but let it go for now. They grabbed their duffle bags from the trunk, locked the car, and entered their shared haven.

Heading straight to the bathroom, Ophelia prepared for a comforting shower. Stripping down, she stepped into the cubicle, turning the water on high. Steam enveloped her as she let the warm cascade wash away the remnants of the performance, the guilt, and the demands of the night. Through the mist, Emile's voice carried.

"Ophelia, you know you can't always put others first, right?"

She nodded, even though he couldn't see. "I know, Emile. It's just... It's who I am."

Emile's chuckle echoed. "And that's why we love you, my dear. Now, hurry up. I might just be hungry enough to eat you if you take too long."

Ophelia couldn't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the soothing rhythm of the shower. In the quiet moments of companionship, surrounded by the steam and the familiar presence of Emile, Ophelia found a different kind of peace—one that went beyond the stage and the spotlight.

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The night unfolded in the cozy living room of Ophelia and Emile's London apartment. The soft glow of the television illuminated their faces as they settled onto the plush couch, the remnants of take-away containers scattered on the coffee table. The familiar theme song of "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" played, and Ophelia couldn't help but smile at the upbeat rhythm.

Emile, having returned from his hunt, sat beside Ophelia, his eyes fixed on the screen. The centuries-old vampire had a timeless air about him, and his gaze held a depth that reflected the weight of his age. Though he had left behind the habit of feeding on human blood, his striking charm and allure remained.

"So, what's the deal with this show?" Emile asked, his French accent adding a charming lilt to his words.

Ophelia chuckled. "It's a classic sitcom. You'll love it. Just watch."

As the comedic antics of Will Smith's character unfolded, Emile found himself drawn into the humor of the show. His undead heart warmed with the laughter that resonated through the room.

"You know, Emile, I can't believe you've never seen this before," Ophelia remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

He shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. "Well, I wasn't exactly catching up on the latest TV shows in the 17th century."

Ophelia nudged him, "Fair point."

The undeniable charm that Emile possessed wasn't lost on Ophelia. It was as if an invisible thread of allure surrounded him, captivating those around him. His charm wasn't just about looks; it was an inherent part of his being, a quality that had undoubtedly contributed to his survival through the centuries. This was his vampire gift.

As they shared a moment of laughter, Ophelia couldn't help but reflect on Emile's mysterious past. Born in a time long past, Emile had been turned into a vampire by an unknown maker. The memories of his younger sister, Emilie, lingered in the shadows of his existence, a painful reminder of the sacrifices he had made to adapt to his immortal life.

"You know, Emile, we've been through so much together," Ophelia mused, her gaze fixed on the television.

He nodded, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Indeed, my dear. It feel like centuries"

The undying bond between them spoke of a friendship that had withstood the test of time, transcending the mortal and immortal realms. In the background, the sitcom's laughter track echoed, blending seamlessly with the warmth of their shared space.

As the night progressed, the apartment became a haven of comfort, a sanctuary for two souls navigating the complexities of existence—one a graceful ballerina, and the other a timeless vampire with an undeniable charm. Together, they found solace in the simplicity of laughter, the magic of television, and the enduring strength of their companionship.

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