My rumbling stomach woke me early the next morning. Groggy and disoriented, I got out of bed and stumbled to the window. It was only wide enough for one eye to see out of, but I could see that the purple sky was tinged with streaks of pink and orange. For the first time, I noticed that my second story room overlooked the very garden I was working in yesterday. Andrei and Adela weren't currently down there, but, then again, it was too early for even the birds.

True to her word, Mircalla had left a tiny bowl of greenish salve on the dresser. There was a note next to it, but I didn't bother to attempt to read whatever language it was written in.

I inspected the scalloped bowl; it was barely the size of my palm. The edges were ringed with a stunning teal that faded into a pastel blue the closer it go to the center. The ceramic was cool to the touch and smoother than a pebble shaped by the river. The salve, on the other, looked a lot less inviting and smelled even worse. It squelched when I dipped my finger into it.

Against my better judgement, I started to rub the goo onto my burned skin. Hopefully the illegible note didn't say that applying this directly to skin would instantly kill me. That would be just my luck. Thankfully, my burns immediately started to feel better. The salve dried thick and flaky, like aloe vera.

The grumbling of my stomach compelled me to leave my room. I could faintly smell bacon and eggs, but that might have been my tired brain imagining it. Yesterday's lack of sustainable food left me feeling famished.

I wasn't even about to guess how to find the kitchen. Instead, I followed yesterday's leaf trail back to Mircalla's study. After a full night's rest, I didn't get light-headed going up that infernal staircase.

This time, I made sure to knock on the door frame to announce my presence. Mircalla was sitting exactly where I left her last night. Judging from the looks of it, she was still using the same candle as before also.

She looked up, startled. "Is it already morning?"

"Yup." I gave a big yawn and stretched my sore limbs. "Do you ever sleep?"

She tracked my movements with her raven eyes. "Of course not. It is one of the few perks of being immortal."

"Lucky."

I strolled over to the room's one window and gently tugged aside the corner of the drapes to peep out. Even though the light got nowhere near her, Mircalla flinched slightly.

"Sorry," I apologized, dropping it quickly. "I forget that sunlight kills you."

She held up a bloodless hand. "It is me, not you. I forget that normal humans are drawn towards the light like moths."

I snorted and crossed my arms. "Yeah, well, this moth needs breakfast and can't find the kitchen."

"You came all the way up here to ask me where the food is?"

"Bruh, I don't live here. How can you expect me to know where everything is? I'm lucky if I can find the way back to my room."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, revealing a polished, razor-sharp fang. "You have a point. I guess I shall summon the energy to guide you to the kitchen."

"You're the best." I stepped over a small heap of books that had been tossed carelessly onto the floor. Something that sounded an awful lot like a cockroach crunched underneath my sneaker.

She led me down the stairs—I don't know how she managed to this all the time—and through some random corridors. My leaves were nowhere to be seen, so I knew we were going down a path I had never been on before.

The silence started to bother me, so I quickened my pace until I was walking side-by-side with Mircalla. "What's it like being a vampire?"

She looked at me with a frown and raised a single thin eyebrow. "Do you really wish to know?"

"I mean, you're immortal. I'd imagine that would be pretty rad, outside from outliving your loved ones."

She clasped her hands behind her back. The clicking of her heels reverberated through the empty corridor. "It is not as 'rad' as one would imagine. As I have already told you, I have had to watch all of my loved ones die while I remain more or less the same. My mother and father, only twenty years my senior, died of old age, and yet they were cared for by their teenage daughter. My sister, five years my junior, died in my arms after stabbing herself through the heart because she could no longer bear to live in isolation any longer."

"Oof." That probably wasn't the best thing to say, but it was all I had.

"'Oof' indeed," she mused, watching me out of the corner of her eye. "As for the physical side of things, while it is true I am immortal, I possess no regenerative abilities; any injury I sustain remains with me. Every cut and scrape, every tiny nick, is still on my flesh. The wound I sustained at the hands of my grandfather is as fresh as the day I received it. Should I be so inclined to expose my chest to you, you would see a circular gash between my breasts. That is part of the reason why I wear such conservative clothing, to decrease the chance of injuring my already hideous skin."

I watched in awe as she pulled back the hem of her sleeve and exposed a patchwork quilt of lesions of varying sizes. Had I not known better, I would've assumed she'd recently had a fight with a pack of feral cats.

"Does it hurt?" I asked. I quickly reached out and poked the exposed skin, surprised at the iciness.

She lowered her sleeve and grasped her hands again. "I feel no pain. When you just now touched my skin, I could feel your finger. Were you to pinch me, I would only feel my skin being pressed, not the pain that usually accompanies it. It is a benefit, yes, but it is also a nuisance. My left elbow is severely burned because I accidentally held it over a flame while cooking."

"This whole immortality thing is starting to seem more like a curse than a blessing."

She nodded. "My body functions in an odd way, to say the least. Blood does not flow through my veins, but pools there instead and leaves me with red streaks that can be seen through the skin. Air enters my lungs only if I force myself to inhale. It has been so long since I've done that, that I fear my lungs may have rotted away. My hair and nails do not grow."

Lifting up her hand, she removed the gloved. There were no fingernails, only raw stubs, like if a nail-biter didn't stop chewing once they reached skin. I reeled back at the grotesque sight.

She hurriedly put the glove back on, avoiding looking directly at me. "That is the reason why my hair is so patchy. When something falls out, there is nothing to grow in replacement. At one point, I had the most beautiful, silky hair in the whole village; now, it has simply been reduced to this."

Looking at her, I tried to imagine myself in her position. My looks had never been my strong suit, but they were decent enough and even attractive when I wore makeup. If Mircalla wasn't a living corpse, she would be exponentially more beautiful than me. Just the way she walked was that of a beauty pageant queen.

Shame followed close behind my disbelief. My first impression of Mircalla was that she was hermit who had neglected her appearance so much that she was hideous. Instead, she was a super model who had been turned into this against her will and left with no way out.

We didn't talk the rest of the way. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make me look like an asshole, and I think she picked up on my awkwardness. My eyes kept drifting over to her gaunt face, only for me to panic and then stare at the wall.

Finally, we rounded a corner and I saw a simple wooden door at the end. Beautiful curving iron designs covered the worn wood, centering on a door handle shaped like a spoon.

Mircalla stopped a few feet from the door. "I will leave you here. Andrei always leaves the kitchen windows open, and since I do not wish to die, I will not enter. Come get me if there is anything else you need."

I gave her awkward finger guns and made to open the door. I stopped in my tracks when I got a look at what I was wearing. "Could I maybe get some new clothes? These kinda smell and I'm worried they're about to fall apart."

"Of course. Do you prefer dresses or pants?"

"I don't care."

"As you wish. I shall get them to you as soon as possible." She bowed like a fucking weirdo and turned on her heels. I watched her disappear into the shadows.

Shaking my head, I pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen. My senses were immediately assaulted by the assortment of strong smells and thin cloud of smoke that enveloped the fire. The window—open just like Mircalla had predicted—cast a sunbeam directly onto the small corner table. Andrei, book in hand, was settled there. Adela was crouched over the fire, moving stuff around in a pan with a wooden spoon.

"Good morning!" Andrei set down the book and gestured me to join him at the table.

"Don't mind if I do." I pulled out a chair and winced at the scraping sound it made against the floor. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like this chair was going to collapse under my weight.

"Andrei," Adela called, "come help me put this stuff on plates."

He rolled his eyes and flashed me a coy grin. "I thought you said I never helped out."

"I know where the table is. Don't make me come over there." She waved the spoon in our direction and put a hand on her hip.

"Coming, love." With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He glanced at me over his shoulder and said, "I hope you're hungry. We made a lot more than usual."

Adela held the plates out as he scooped unidentifiable goop on them. "Even if you aren't hungry, you're going to eat everything on this plate. I can't have you withering away on my watch."

I laughed and held up my hands in defense. "You don't have to worry. I'm starving."

As soon as Andrei set the plate down in front of me, I was ready to rescind my statement. Calling this stuff gross was a massive understatement. What must have been eggs at some point had been scrambled into oblivion and looked the same color as cat vomit. The meat next to it was from dubious origins and slightly green.

Andrei and Adela didn't seem to notice my disgust; they both tore into the food like they hadn't eaten in weeks. Following their cues and trying not to be rude, I used my weird-ass looking two-pronged fork to pick up the squishy mess.

The food was thankfully surprising. This goop tasted better than any other eggs I'd ever had. Aside from the funky texture, they were seasoned perfectly with a blend of spices I couldn't put a finger on and less runny than I expected. The meat wasn't quite as good—it was a little too chewy for me—but I had no problem swallowing it.

Andrei finished up before Adela and I. Setting down his fork, he patted his wife's shoulder. "Wonderful, as expected. Now, I must get ready to go into town. I'm going to run up to my room and then head out that door over there to go to the stable and ride the wagon to the village. It'll probably take me a good five minutes to get back." Before he left, he gave me a subtle wink.

It took me longer than I would like to admit to figure out what Andrei was hinting out. He was out the door before it dawned on me the opportunity that I was being handed.

I shoveled the last of the food into my mouth and jumped to my feet. "Goodbye, Adela!" I said, hustling to the door Andrei had pointed to.

"Goodbye, child! Have fun." She continued her mushy food.

I squeezed past the cutting table and a rack of pans to get to the far wall. The door was heavy and wedged in tight, so I had to brace my foot against the rough cinder block wall. It creaked open and sent me stumbling back. As soon as I caught my balance, I was sprinting outside to freedom.