Even though the guards had cleaned the cottage twice in the last day, Violet could still smell the stench of her vomit lingering in the air. At least she no longer felt sick to her stomach. Instead, after many hours of rocking on the ground and beating her head with her fists, she was now calm. She looked at her life to date almost like an outsider now; an observer.

First she was born. She had known nothing. Had talked to her doll and stared at the paintings that lined the hallways of the mansion she called home, making up stories. Those first seven years, she had lived in a world of make-believe. And though she did not have a father, and her mother's rare visits were painful at best, hadn't known any better, so she hadn't been sad.

Then came the day of her blindness, and the week that followed where she had coward under the covers and eventually been forced to run for her life.

Two days into the woods as she lay down on the roots of a tree, she had almost given up; almost wished for death. And she would have stayed there, immobile until it was all over, if it were not for her hatred. Her hatred for Ismail had forced her to walk, until she came upon the tavern. And her hatred for Ismail had forced her to fight her way out of that very same place two years later.

The Gypsies had found her only hours after her flight. They had stopped their caravan for her, taken her by the hand and seated her beside Boris who was then a little boy. She had asked no questions and neither had they. But she had never let go of the knife she had stolen from the tavern kitchen.

She had never let go, until four nights ago, when her hatred of Ismail had nearly cost the life of the man she loved.

And now she knew all of it had been a lie.

And after crying twenty years worth of tears, she was calm, because for the first time in her life she could see what she had become; bitter, enslaved to her mission, and blind to the world.

Now, it was finally time to wake up.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Violet ran her hands over her cold arms. After three days on water, she was exhausted and cold. The hunger itself didn't bother her too much, it came and left in waves. 'If the brain is strong, the body will not give up' the Seer had told her many times.

If she ever got out of here, she would go back to Scotland, back to her gypsy family. But first, she had one more thing to do.

The sound of carriage wheels alerted her to visitors approaching. She breathed rapidly, and among every other smell, his was the strongest.

Her heart beat quickened and she allowed herself to feel, only for one small moment, the wonder of her love for the blood drinker. His hand, strong and warm around hers, as they wondered the halls of the botanic gardens...His lips soft on her brow, his voice in her ear; 'Is it wrong that I have become obsessed with trying to make you smile?' 

She had had no answer for him that day, but if he asked her  now, she would say: no. A thousand times: no. But he wouldn't speak to her like that anymore. He hated her. And as much as it hurt her, she would not fault him for his hate.

The door to the cottage opened, letting in the cold air, as they walked through one by one. First Patrick, then Ismail and Angelica...

"We have come to speak with you," Angelica said, as the door closed to the outside world.

Violet wet her dry lips. She had done Angelica wrong as well. The Princess had befriended her and helped her, as had her brother. She had betrayed them all.

"I am glad you have come," she replied, "There is much I wish to say."

"There is?" Angelica sounded surprised, and judging by the sound of shifting beside the woman, so were the others.

"Yes, and I will be grateful if you listen to me."

"Well, I see hunger has worked wonders on your disposition," Patrick remarked.

His bitterness was understandable, but it stung nevertheless. "I have gone hungry many times in my life, that has nothing to do with it." Having faced him, she took in all the scents that clung to him. Horses, wood, smoke from a fire. She breathed deeper, and it became apparent that he had not drunk blood in many days. In fact, the distinct scent of hunger clung to his words. Why had he not eaten?

"I found something out yesterday, that made me realise  I have made a grave mistake."

"A mistake?" Patrick cut in, his voice full of derision.

"Patrick, please, let her speak," Angelica said softly.

Violet bit her lip. It hurt so badly to know she had wounded him to the point where he no longer wanted to listen.

"I am sorry," she said, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. But it felt good to say the words, because they were true. "You all deserve to know the truth, but I don't know how to begin..." It was encouraging that no one interjected, that now, all four of them were waiting for her explanation. Yet now more than ever, the words stuck in her throat. 

Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, and sat before them. "It will be easier, if you look."

"You want us to look into your mind?" Ismail asked, surprised.

Violet nodded, "Please. You need to believe me as  you are in danger."

"All of us?" it was Angelica who asked this question, and that surprised Violet. The Princess was no blood drinker, but it was not the time to ask questions. They needed to be warned.

"Yes."

A moment later, Violet felt the soft push in her head, and a momentary pain in her mind. She had always practiced blocking blood drinkers from reading her thoughts, and the instinct to push against the invading minds was difficult to quell. Slowly she managed to relax her guard, and as she did, the pain lessened to a dull ache.

She felt the presence of the three others with her, was surprised  as she had only expected two, but she relaxed nevertheless, allowing them to dredge up memories of the past.

She was a child, running about the gardens of her home in Scotland. She was with Cook as the woman told her stories of her father in front of a fireplace in a room with high ceilings. She was looking down at a bowl of white water, her mother's voice ringing clearly in her head 'Ismail murdered you father.' Then she was running into the woods. She was in the tavern, hands reaching for her. Then she was running again. And dancing in the gypsy camp. Her fingers were bleeding from pressing on the violin strings. Her knees hurt from falling. Always falling. She was practicing with her knife. She was learning to trust her nose. There was the Seer and Boris and the women she shared a caravan with. Then she was performing at the circus, and there was Sarah.

And there was Patrick. Always Patrick. He was holding her hand. Giving her his jacket. Reading to her. Laughing with her as they drank tea at Angelica's home. And they were in the park, with Bess and she was happy. So happy.

Violet shook her head, as if to clear it from the thoughts that she knew the others were seeing. She concentrated instead on the day before. On Daniel. And she remembered the conversation. Remembered what he had said, and how she had shivered when he touched her arm. And how she had vomited afterwards and the guards...

Violet's headache grew  and she realised with surprise that she was breathing heavily.

"That's all. Please, stop." Her hands were digging into her scalp until one by one she felt them leave her mind and the ache disappeared. The cottage was quiet until Patrick spoke:

"I will take care of Daniel."

"No, you can't," Violet protested as she rose from the ground. "You need to know who the True Vampires are. Even if Daniel could no longer harm you, and the other leaders and this Blessed one... whoever that is. One of the others might."

"I am the Blessed one," Angelica said, sounding worried. "And you sound as though you have a plan."

Violet did not understand what was meant by Blessed, but now that she knew Daniel and his group were not only after Patrick and Ismail and other blood drinkers, but also Angelica, she was even more worried. "Yes, I have a plan. I am not asking you to forgive me, or to let me go. But for now, take me out of this cottage, pretend as though you believe in my innocence, let Daniel contact me and I will meet the True Vampires. I can identify them for you before they have the chance to hurt anyone."