She leaned onto the altar inside the crypt, her claws gripping its edges painfully, enough to leave a mark. There was no light that could reach her, not there, in the darkest depths of her chambers. She contemplated her own body in fear, her fangs showing as she tried to steady her breaths. Her thoughts were painful, yet she still attempted to sort through them, ponder carefully.

Bastian was guilty, in more than one sense. And she had hurt him, far too much. He was scarred and blinded, locked away in a dark cell, starved, terrorized… And all the while, he was forced to bleed, as much as possible. A faint whisper escaped her, still able to recall the touch of his hands below her claws, desperate to let go of that dagger.

“He could have-“

She flinched and grew quiet again, cowering as a loud knock echoed. Someone called outside her chambers, the sound creeping past the two doors that kept her away from everything.

“Sire?!”

Martha stood firm upon the huge door, her jade eyes narrowing as she knocked again. She sighed, for she received no answer. After a minute, she decided to drop all formality, knowing her lord was in need of help.

“Nerys, I’m coming in.”

She had seen her run to her chambers, and had been told of the incident with the dagger. Still, no one really knew what had happened exactly, because Nerys had hidden away without saying a word about it.

The younger vampire reached for the handle of the door, opening it slowly. Once inside the main living quarter, she heard the familiar sound of tired breathing, which echoed from the room at her right.

She stepped surely towards that door as well, knowing she was hiding past it. There was no point in knocking, and so, she walked into the dark room. Her eyes did not need light to see, and due to it, she spotted her immediately in the shadows.

Her sire had crept into the stony crypt at the end of the room, pushing aside the white slab that usually sealed it. She was standing by the altar inside, her eyes glinting in the surrounding darkness. There was a grimace on her face, very similar to the ones she displayed when her body began to change, in a horribly painful way.

However, it was not the disease what was troubling her now, she could see. Her emotions and thoughts were tormenting her, the scent of her own blood triggering instincts that she was struggling to drown.

Nerys snarled when her most loyal official advanced on her, fixing her gaze on the small cut on her neck, sternly.

“Let me see that.”

She had to halt, because her sire raised a claw, commanding her to stop.

“It’s nothing.” Nerys stood tall again, and then let out a long exhale, averting her gaze grimly. “Nothing at all…”

Martha stayed still, waiting for Nerys to explain. But she just kept looking away, pondering deeply. That was why she spoke up, as always, calm yet a little critical.

“What happened with the prisoner?”

There were a few minutes of silence, which she did not dare object against. Nerys opened her mouth multiple times, struggling with words. Eventually, she mustered a few, faintly and with a lost tone.

“Bastian… is guilty.”

Those words would not stop echoing in her mind, clear and poignant. Yet she was the only one who understood their meaning. Her second in command just leaned her head sardonically, frowning.

Everyone considered that he was guilty, that he was a fiend that should have been killed long ago. Nerys shivered when Martha scoffed, raising one of her claws to look at it with a condescending look.

“Shall we arrange his execution already then? His prolonged existence is truly bothersome, and you-“

“No.”  

Martha blinked, taken aback. Nerys had growled deeply, glaring down at her. Still, that surprise did not last for long; she looked at those green eyes proudly, but kept quiet out of care.

She waited for her sire to calm down, knowing well that vampirism had twisted her temperament as much as her body. Their kind could lose control very easily, not only under hunger, but blind emotion as well.

Nerys had always managed to keep herself in check, more than most… until he appeared. It was something she was very aware of. And so, she took a deep long breath, letting her claws lower at her sides. When she spoke next, she did so slowly, trying to convey her wishes without hinting her true feelings.

“There won’t be any executions.”

She could not bring herself to cause more harm. The last thing she wanted was to keep on letting her rage out. She was sick of succumbing to her feral desires, her hunger. If she was a beast, she had to tame herself, for she should not be one.

Nerys let out an exasperated sigh, because Martha was giving her a knowing look. It was clear she noticed the faint care in her green eyes, the lack of vengeful intent.

Nonetheless, the resentment was still there. Well, in reality, that was what Nerys kept telling herself. She walked away from her crypt, her voice growing firm and harsh again.

“He won’t be slain in such a humiliating manner, we are better than that. His punishment shall not be out of proportion or spite. I will display clemency, for we are not what the insurgency claims us to be.”

Both sides could bring forth dreadful cruelty, she had seen. It was tiring, and terrifyingly familiar. She stepped towards the door, wanting to leave and breathe some fresh air outside. Yet she halted, as a question echoed.

“Then, you are forgiving him? Just like that?”

Nerys felt torn again, her doubt turning into anger, instinctively. She turned and snarled at Martha, who listened with an eyebrow raised, unsurprised.

“I have NOT pardoned him! He still must pay for his heinous acts, so I will ponder what fate must befall him, very carefully.” She looked away and left the room, whispering bitterly. “Let’s make it clear, I still despise him.”

Martha nodded with a small smug smile, thinking to herself.

Of course you do…

Meanwhile, Nerys slammed the door of her chambers open, dashing out with one last growl. She headed for the tallest tower outside, wishing to be alone to mull things over. When she got there, she commanded the soldiers who stood guard away, managing to make them flinch with her harsh tone. It was only when she could not hear their anxious steps that she moved closer to the edge, to slam her claws on the stony railing.

She looked down at the fields below, glimpsing the nearest village in the distance. A long while passed while she stared, and then she closed her eyes. No matter what, she kept seeing the fear in that grey eye, and the scars that adorned its former counterpart.

He had looked at her in a way that she hated, like if he wished to discern her past self, but could not out of fright. A dread she inflicted blindly, coldly and without regard. She now was as guilty as him, and she loathed herself for it. It was impossible to keep on wishing to hurt him, for she knew it was not right.

She knew that vampires could push away their hunger, control their instincts. Coexistence with humans was possible, as long as a stable and peaceful relation was kept. It was something she had enforced in her domain, against all odds.

Vampires could rule rightfully, use their strength not to oppress, but lead. There were advantages in her change, for she was able to bring progress with the might it granted her. She could still be kind at heart, by shielding innocents from any possible menace, be it vampiric or human.

She could be a benevolent ruler. Yet she had failed to be humane with him. Maybe he was at fault, and perhaps he deserved to meet some atonement, but not such a harsh one. Since the very beginning, she swore her clan would not rule like others did, that she would not be cruel or arrogant. That promise was broken, even if it was only towards one.

It was not the hunger that did it. The disease was not completely at fault, even if it helped for sure. It merely provided an excuse, one last push forward. What compelled her to be cruel, more than anything else, was her hate and pride.

Those were emotions she could not see in Bastian, no matter how much she had tried to find them.