Back to Gallery

Confession - by Sailorcelestial

I hate this, these feelings. I never had them until Faylin. Is Eanwulf right? Does Faylin, so weak and helpless, somehow manage to influence me with the half of his soul still intact? It could be; after all, Faylin is the only vampire I know of with any portion of a soul. As his master I am connected to him unless I choose to end the connection. I have yet to end the connection to one of my vampires, unless by death, and then only once. I do not wish to lose Faylin in that manner, or any manner.

But then, I think as I watch through my window the moon climb slowly up the dome sky, I have already lost him, haven’t I?

That little bitch of a princess took him from me the moment she set eyes on him in the palace ballroom. True enough, I introduced them, but Faylin is mine, was mine, was meant to always be mine. I tried so hard for months to gain his trust after what I did, and she swept the pieces of him together in a neat pile in only one night. Is it because she is a woman? The thought hurts that I may not have him simply by fact of my gender. Is it because of what I did? That pain is only somewhat easier to bear. At least I know that was my own fault, and I know that until she came along I had a chance, however small, of fixing it.

Or, could it be that she appeals to him simply because she is alive? A breathing, warm, living human being with a future and something other than eternity to look toward?

No, I cannot think that. In time the problem of gender might have been overcome, for eternity tends to dull old prejudices and leave one open to exploring new desires. But if it is the warmth of life he craves, some semblance of what he once knew . . . I can never give him that, not after taking it away.

These are the thoughts that keep me here in one of the rooms of the vampire wing, staring out at the night sky I should be under, while Faylin and the humans dance away the hunting hours. If I turn my gaze away from the moon and downward I can see them, all the little couples twirling around on the cobblestones of the courtyard. I have to admit, the idea of having a ball outside under the moon was a brilliant one, and I will credit it to Lord Edwardson even if it come from his meddlesome daughter.

There. My vampiric sight catches a hem of rose-trim, the flash of golden eyes amongst a twirling of gold and green. He is smiling again, in that way he never smiles at me, and he is so very beautiful. I ache for him in both my groin and my chest, and it worries me that the ache in my chest is the stronger of the two.

Moonlight drips like silver honey from the sky as Isleen takes Faylin’s hand to lead him away from the crowd. How long has it been since she brought that note to me, the one telling of her father’s permission for her to see Faylin? For once my memory escapes me, but perhaps it is because I feel my chest splitting as Faylin leans down to willingly and gently kiss the princess. So . . . and how long have things been like this? How long since Faylin could put away the memory of his wife long enough to become more than just friends with Isleen? Seeing proof of my fears pains me more than I am willing to admit, but I cannot bring myself to look away.

Punishment, I tell myself. You punished him and made him hate you, even if he couldn’t feel it. So this is your punishment.

Isleen’s arms are wrapped around Faylin’s neck, and his her waist the way I wish they would mine. My aching chest splits again, but the worst of it comes when I see Faylin lift a hand to caress her cheek, such a loving gesture, one he will never give to me. Not now, not after this.

Even then, I am unable to turn my gaze from them, and am only given relief when they part, speak for a moment, and then head inside the castle. I know they must be heading for Isleen’s room, and I know what they must be planning to do, and it hurts more than anything has before, even the wounds Faylin gave me before I blocked his hatred and anger.

I finally take myself from my perch in the window and the agony in my chest seems to effect my legs, for it is all I can do to stumble over to a table and take hold of it to keep me upright. I close my eyes tight, because they are burning, strange, stinging pinpricks lighting behind them.

What is this thing Faylin has infected me with? Why does the mere thought of him lying with that bitchy bit of a princess burn through to my core?

I will kill her. If I kill her, she will be gone and Faylin will be free to be mine again.

Free? says another voice in my head, the annoying one that has become more frequent lately. Free from Isleen, perhaps, but even less likely than ever to willingly be YOUR lover. He cannot hate you, but you can still cause him pain. Are you really going to kill everything he loves and expect him to cling to you in his sorrow?

Behind my eyelids I see the agony in Faylin’s face when I killed his wife and brother, and later when I made him drink from the last of his daughters. For some reason, it is not so amusing now as it was then.

My sensitive ears pick up the sound of footsteps down the hall, coming closer. Two pairs of footsteps. Saorla and Jocet? That is the only pair in this section of the castle. I do not want to talk to them right now, sweet and clueless as they are. I turn from the door, expecting them to knock and request entrance so I can turn them away. Instead, my ears next hear the door creaking open slowly, hesitantly. Confusion guiding me, I turn again, and see Faylin at the door.

For a moment, just one tiny but wonderful moment I think he must have come to his senses, must have told her no and come back to me. Then Faylin steps inside and behind him follows Isleen, her eyes glaring at me. There is triumph in them, and different sort of triumph than on the day she brought me her father’s letter. My stomach roils and my chest aches in anticipation.

“Why did you bring her here?” I growl, letting my displeasure with him be known. Perhaps I should not, but I cannot help it, not with the bitch standing right there, gloating over whatever has brought them.

“She wanted to come,” he answers quietly, “to make sure you don’t hurt me.”

I laugh at that.

“And what does she expect to do if I decide to hurt you? Fight me? Shove a stake in my heart? Scream for Daddy?”

“I have my weapons,” she says, and I see one of her hands slipping down Faylin’s arms, her fingers curling in his. It hurts, oh how it hurts even more than watching it from a distance, but I am no longer alone. So I just growl again in immortal impotence and snap at the both of them.

“Well? What is it? You didn’t come here for pleasant conversation. What do you want?”

“My father and I are taking an entourage to one of our vacation castles.” Isleen answers me as though she has any right to speak to me, after being so insolent and stealing away one of my vampires. But I do not respond, not when I can sense the way this is going. “We will be gone several weeks, and I have asked Faylin to join me.”

Faylin watches the ground, and I see him leaning slightly away from me. His voice remains quiet and I realize . . . he has never completely healed. He has only been able to suppress his reactions to me, but he still fears me and my anger and my retribution. Watching him, and how even as he asks for this he shrinks away, everything in me shatters. All of my resolve breaks.

“I told her I’d have to ask you for permission, Master. I would like to go. Lord Edwardson will see to it my needs are taken care of, Isleen assures me. And we’ll be back in a few weeks.”

A trip? Vacation castle? Several weeks? My staring at them must seem quite stupid, but it is all I can think of to do. Are they really asking me this? Isleen knows, I can tell by the smirk in her eyes, that if Faylin goes with her now he will never return here to me unless I compel him to return. Why should he, when I am the one who used him so brutally, punished him when all I really wanted was a lover.

What does that word mean, I think as I try to collect myself, lover? I thought I knew, but in light of the agony in my chest I am no longer so certain.

I will NOT let him go, I cannot! He is MINE! I feel rage building in me, rage directed at Lord Edwardson for letting his daughter beg him into accepting a vampire. Rage at Isleen for being such a meddling little bitch. And rage at Faylin for—

All that fury dies the moment I think of Faylin and what being so furious at him would mean. More punishment, if I let it get out of hand. More punishment, no hatred because he is incapable of it, only pain and sorrow for us both.

I feel my shoulders slump in defeat. If I do not let him go now, he will only leave me in the future, either out of desperation to get away from me, or in an attempt to be with Isleen. At least if I allow him to leave instead of waiting for it to happen he might have some good thoughts of me somewhere in the long years of his eternity. I turn away from the couple— stinging as I think that word— and bark out my answer.

“Fine. Go. Don’t even pack. I’m sure Lord Edwardson will see you get everything you need.”

“M-Master?” There is shock in his voice, and though there is hope there is also despair, the expectation of being tricked.

“I SAID GO!” Now I want him to leave, I want him out of my sight, out of range of my hearing, out of range completely. I want to him go so I cannot change my mind and grab him and force him to stay, force him into things he does not want. “GET OUT OF HERE!”

I stand in agonizing moments as I listen to them leave and scuttle down the hallway. It is not until they leave the boundaries of my sensitive hearing that I let go of all the confusion inside me by dropping to the floor, rage bubbling up from my throat and out of my mouth. Rage and pain and so much more as I feel Faylin slipping from my reach.

But I never really had him; I know that now.


She stood in the hall listening to such unfamiliar sounds she was not at first certain they were real. Perhaps some Fae meant to confuse her, perhaps some banshee took her master’s voice to proclaim its message.

Master Collamair . . . .

Not daring to enter the room, Auron instead stepped away and left the hallway, knowing her master’s ways better than any of the others. He would not want anyone to know what she heard, and she would pretend to never have heard it, though later he might pick it up from her mind. If she said nothing, all would be well.

Faylin . . . Isleen . . . you silly children.

Yes, she had heard the exchange as well, and though the thought of her master actually in pain surprised her still, the reason for it did not. Eanwulf raged about it when not locked in the Coffin. Saorla and Jocet did not know what to think of it, though they had left their Christianity far behind them. Auron too, had noticed long ago that the master’s attention turned more and more often to the newest and weakest of their number.

She did not know why this was so, only that it tore the master apart.

And silly Faylin went on with his human princess, never stopping to think he could never have her unless he wanted to make her a vampire. Auron knew, even without knowing Faylin as well as some, that he would not do that. He could not bring himself to feed, how would he ever make someone else into a bloodsucker?

No, thought Auron as she moved to one of the balconies to watch Faylin and Isleen rejoice in their good fortune, Faylin was not thinking, not with his vampire brain at any rate. He thought with what remained of his human soul, forgetting what he was now and that his soul would do him no good service.

She tilted her head, still barely registering the sounds of confused and angry sobs from the room one level up. Turning her attention discreetly elsewhere, Auron kept moving to the floor below, and wondered what would become of them all now that Master was without his favorite vampire.

Without the one he loved.


Back to Gallery

All Roses Have Thorns is hosted on ComicGenesis, a free webhosting and site automation service for webcomics.