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Winter wind whistled past aged walls, and frost crept in swirling patterns along old panes. The building’s foundation, built decades prior by two sets of youthful hands, had been buried under a layer of snow. In the yard, an axe rested beside a pile of firewood, ruined now by the chilled flakes. The chimney had long since ceased its plumes, nothing rising against the backdrop of a darkened sky.
The door to the house remained firmly shut, no one emerging to take up the axe and restock their dwindling supplies. Inside, there was little need for fuel. Neither of its occupants minded the subtle dropping of temperature. The warmth would not have reached them anyway, regardless of how high the flames roared, or how many logs were tossed into its hungry maw.
Two people dwelled that quaint, quiet cottage. The first was reclined upon a plush bed, chest rising and falling slowly, with downy pillows holding up a tired head. The other was by her side, a chair pulled up close so their fingers might intertwine, familiar and fitting.
Two people rested in silence by one another’s side, knowing and accepting and coming to terms.
Two people, but only one soul.
A soul that was, at that serene moment, flickering against the pull of time.
Despite her brevity, her smile remained strong, gaze never leaving the woman holding her hand. She was not bothered by reddened eyes, or unnaturally-constant youth. And while the other lacked the indented wrinkles or the sagging skin of old age, both of them matched in the white of their hair, and the memories they shared. Decades upon decades of brilliant experiences — of healing and growing and staying together through it all.
They’d changed a great deal in that time.
Now, Apo met Cherri’s gaze with a surety that stole the breath from feeble lungs. No hint of that meager, terrified, desperate military girl had persisted to their present. She was only a memory these days, a ghostly reminder. The tragically-human figure to which Cherri had waved farewell as they left for their new station was long gone.
That last glimpse had been burned into Cherri’s brain, aching with an inexplicable finality. It was as if they had, subconsciously, known it might be a more permanent goodbye to the person they held most dear. In a way, she had been correct.
Following Apo’s deployment, months would pass in uncomfortable silence. No word from the post, and every letter sent was returned without explanation. Cherri found herself pacing the length of the house again and again, debating the logistics of donning her crossbow and storming into that strange town on her own. Had Apo taken a single week longer to return to them, they might have gone through with it.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been necessary. When next they had seen their love, it was through a curtain of white hair, teary scarlet eyes, and a sharpened smile. Everything was just off from what should’ve been natural, what should’ve been human.
But it was still Apo. Still their love. Still the person for whom Cherri had waited. And she was back. She was alive. She was home.
It hadn’t mattered that Apo’s skin was now permanently chilled, or that they liked their meat a little rarer than before. Cherri ran hot anyway, and dinner was quicker to prepare than ever before.
It didn’t matter that Apo didn’t age, or that she jumped at the sound of fluttering wings during their walks through the woods. Cherri watched her grow through the subtle shift in her thoughtfulness as they became wiser together, and the occasional startle just provided an opportunity to intertwine their hands and walk that much closer together.
It didn’t matter that Apo was a vampire. It didn’t matter that Cherri was a human. Vampire was only a word, only a state of being, as simultaneously trivial and complex as being human. Apo was Apo, Cherri was Cherri, and their life was theirs.
It was theirs, and it was finite.
Cherri already knew the other could hear the slowing of her pulse, and the straining of her breaths. Apo’s steady gaze worked to remind her of that fact, never shying away. Indeed, she was different from the terrified army girl that had once feared the approach of this mortal moment.
It was not a secret — the arrival of this inevitable end — to either of them. It had not crept up unexpectedly, or struck before its time. It’d come in the form of gradual weakness, lethargy, deepening aches.
This evening was nothing more than a finale.
“It’s almost time,” Apo whispered. “Might be better to get it over with now.”
Cherri let her thumb trace over Apo’s knuckles, a smile pulling at her lips. “Just give me a little bit longer.”
The vampire opened her mouth to argue, but she was silenced by the tightening of Cherri’s grip. Some of the fight filtered out of her, neither fully willing to bicker over small details anymore, not like they might have in their youth. Still, Apo didn’t seem completely content.
Cherri sighed, long and slow — aiming to sound fond, but falling more in the realm exasperated. She took her hand out of Apo’s grip and opened her arms. The vampire stared for several seconds, a quiet contemplation in their eyes.
“It’s a hug,” Cherri said. Their voice was not as steadfast as it could have been, but the unamused raise of their brow communicated enough. “Really no need to overthink.”
Apo was not completely able to heed her words, already lost in thought. It was a frustrating habit they hadn’t been able to shake over the course of their life together. No matter the silence of their surroundings, the vampire’s head never seemed to be at peace.
Cherri knew, without needing to ask, what plagued her love that night. There were few things that could keep Apo from melting into their embrace, so a conclusion wasn’t hard to draw. She sighed again, louder and more dramatic. “I am not going to be crushed to death by a hug, Apokuna. I’m not that old and frail.”
The comment worked as intended. Apo’s lips tipped up into the vaguest shadow of a smile. A hint of the mischief that Cherri had always adored slipped into her response, “Are you sure? Lookin’ pretty elderly to me…”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. It took a greater amount of effort than expected for Cherri to lift her hand and smack her partner’s side. Despite their unnatural reflexes, Apo didn’t even attempt to dodge. They accepted their penance with a solemn laugh. “Get in here already. My arms are getting tired.”
Finally, Apo relented. She rose and gently collapsed forward into Cherri’s waiting grasp, burying her face in their shoulder. No breath fanned out against their skin, having evaporated with the last traces of Apo’s humanity. It was an absence to which Cherri had grown accustomed.
There were other comforts in the contact anyway. The weight of another body was an anchor, even as they felt the siren call of the end growing more pronounced inside their skull. From this distance, a familiar scent of roses and blood overpowered the sharp pangs of illness that had permeated Cherri’s resting place as of late.
It brought memories, each more pleasant than the one before. Swept up in the sensation, they were young again, spending late nights chattering, braiding hair, resting in the other’s company. Thoughts of last breaths and parting words were far removed from them then, and they were free to simply enjoy being together.
They were free still, for all intents and purposes. Apo had not been stolen away by the military again, had not been felled in combat, had not failed to return to their home. Cherri would have a companion to her very last moment. Nothing kept them apart, or held them in. No barriers, no beacons, no missing letters.
Cherri squeezed Apo closer with one arm. The other found a familiar object upon her bedside table, placed there by the vampire earlier in the week. Clutching it tightly, Cherri allowed herself to resume embracing with both arms.
Apo’s heightened senses would not have missed the movement, would not be able to ignore the intentions that now hung in the air. However, if their instincts had begun to ring the alarms, they showed no indication of it. On the contrary, Apo seemed to sink even further into Cherri’s hold.
Apo’s voice was muffled as she asked, “Are you comfortable?”
Cherri smiled.
“Of course,” she assured them. “You’ve given me enough pillows to last a lifetime.”
The hum that rumbled between them was one of relief, like that was all Apo needed to hear. Cherri reached up to drag her fingers through soft, white hair. The movements were slow, their limbs growing heavier by the minute.
“What about you?” She wound a lock around her finger, and watched it fall in a gentle curl. Darkness began to blur the edges of their vision. “Are you comfortable?”
Cherri brought the stake up, hardly needing to search for the perfect spot to let it rest. There was, after all, nothing she knew better than her love’s heart.
“With you by my side?” She felt Apo smile. “Always.”
Cherri focused everything she had left on the weapon in her hand, and the vampire in her embrace. They drew in a final, deep breath. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Apo whispered. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”
The stake plunged through their heart in a single, precise movement. Apo choked out a gasp and jerked upward, almost as if attempting to escape. Not a moment later, though, she relaxed. When their limp head returned to Cherri’s shoulder, she could still feel Apo’s smile, permanently engraved upon their expression.
Silence encapsulated the room.
Seconds passed, a heartbeat faltering within its confines. Cherri did not have a reason to fight any longer. She let her eyes fall shut, and felt the weight upon her chest dissolve into ash.
Soon.
They would see each other again soon.