I'd never known the circumstances of my mothers death. Of course I had asked many times, which eventually faded in to never asking again. But I was always told she died in child birth. The fact that was seemingly untrue should have shocked me, and yet I feel like I've always known that wasn't the case. The confirmation of long dormant suspicion bristled at the edge of my mind, as uncertainty of how to react warred on. Do I feel happy, victorious that I was right? Do I feel resentful that nobody had told me? Or am I angry?

Despite a day or two passing since I had interacted with the spirit, it didn't feel like enough time had gone by for me to have process it. As a Vampire now, one could say I have nothing but time. It wasn't like I was going to die of old age any time soon.

But today was the day of Victoria's funeral, and I couldn't help but feel the poisonous spike of guilt at the subtle hope I have that enough drink would loosen the lips of those I would be able to gain information from about it all. Damn, I was selfish.

Family, friends. Layered in veils of black and white, grasping at flowers that burst with the vibrancy of their colours, stood attentive in the expansive garden of Tithe Manor. The death shroud lay upon the form of Victoria, like fabled royalty of yore, and she was placed upon a pyre of dried, white, wood. A kindling castle built in her honour. A gentle breeze tugged lightly at the various garments people wore, causing them to drift like a congregation of ghostly spirits in mourning.

Death was something that everyone experienced. For us there was a strange dichotomy about it all. We mourn the loss heavily. Like a freshly ripped wound starting to fester. It never feels like it would heal. And yet we celebrate their return to the earth. Giving back the life that was borrowed so that more and new life can spring from the absence. We celebrate who they were, their impression that they left, and with our memories we forge bandages and stitching to close the wound their death had opened. For us, nobody really dies. Nobody is really gone. They've just transitioned into something new. A new path to walk.

Words were said. They were pretty, and comforting, I know that much. The crack of each voice apparent in their grief as they spoke. Yet I was numb. Awash with a sadness that muted my surroundings until all I could focus on was the pyre. On her. Like one would pull off a scab, a grip of sorrow caused me to lurch forward, my hand reaching for my mouth the stifle the whimper that sought to escape, as with a gentle breath, Auntie Janet blew into life a swath of gentle flames.

Higher, and higher they shimmered their oranges and yellows like the swimming scales of tropical fish in an aquarium of people and a backdrop of verdant green. They climbed up the wood with crackling snaps that were louder than the melodic sobbing from a few individuals of the crowd that had gathered. I couldn't help but swallowing hard at the lump that had formed in my throat as I struggled to choke back at the tears that threatened to spill as the flames eventually enveloped her body in a warmth that felt like treachery, but looked like peace.

The cries of those that mourned Victoria, once more breaking my heart as in the grip of the fire that carried her, I knew the death of love.

*********************************

 Father was not at the funeral. I couldn't see him at all at the after party, despite my searching as I ducked away from grieving family, and people offering their condolences. There was a few looks shot my way that seethed with calculated judgement, offering answers I did not care to know. Did they hate me for killing Victoria? Or were they judging me as a Vampire now instead of one of their own? They could take their judgement and shove it for all I cared, although it did sting somewhat when I stepped outside for a cigarette, approaching a group of familiar faces with the hope of companionship, only for them to miraculously all finish their smoke at the same time and head back inside.

At least it gave me some privacy to read the letter Auntie Janet had given me. It was left by Victoria, apparently having been sent on the day of her death I now knew she saw coming. The more paranoid version of my brain filled me with dread that it was a certificate of banishment from Tithe Manor and the coven. But Auntie Janet would never allow that. In fact she seemed ecstatic when I told her I'd be okay to come back home soon, before pulling me into a hug I didn't realise how much I had missed.

To V2... My V2.

I am Uncertain how writing letters go. Do I be overly formal? Do I pretend I'm using my professional phone voice? Fuck if I know. What I do know is No matter what: know that I love you. I never told you enough. Clearly I am a terrible person, but know that I tried to fight whatever it is that I am doing. Losing you is a thought that at one time was impossible. Yet this is Exactly what has happened. In time, I hope that all will be revealed. Dying was not part of the plan, but there is no other way this ends for me. Sorry about that. But I Can't help myself. Fortunately One more thing is Now set in To motion, Revenge Only feels empty if you Lose. And Losing Is Never Gonna happen with Me. Especially if it comes to you being hurt, not even death can restrain my wrath. I wish you nothing but happiness from here on out, Avery. Also, as stupid as it sounds, Jace likes to be scratched behind the ear. Isn't that just fucking adorable? I hate how much I am smitten with him.

I love you. With everything I am, and everything I will be.

V1

xx

It took me a minute. Furrowing my brow at the sheer nonsense of the letter even if it did cause me to chuckle towards the end. What was clear was that Victoria was telling me something, yet it was only when I noticed that certain letters were emboldened that my hand clenched into a retributive fist around the paper.

It was impossible, and yet was the only thing that made sense right now, all I knew is that I had to have a word with my Father.

It took but a few seconds before I was at the soft oak wood of his office door. Avoiding people seemed much easier now, and maneuvering between people was simple when being able to move faster than untrained eyes was at your disposal. The bronze door knob glistened in its invitingly tempting manner. Whispering at the answers that lay within. There was no noise that came from within the room, if father was not in there I shouldn't have need to go in, and yet I was pulled to twist the handle. I thought that when it stopped about halfway, signalling that it was locked, I'd be able to snap myself out of going any further, but instead I gripped the handle and twisted further. Wincing when the lock was forced open by my Vampiric strength with the crack of wood and a dull "pop", I entered the room.

The gentle waft of biblichor and whisky met my nose as the door clicked behind me. His office was immaculately in order as it normally was. Shelves of books arranged by volume, genre, and even size. Draws of papers, rich with the stench of ink and pen. A single, circular window, cascaded whatever light it could into the room where motes of dust danced absent-mindedly within its rays.

Something else caught my nose as my eyes scanned the room. It was a strange mixture of floral, and spoiled vegetation, what I'd imagine an old, vintage, wine to smell like. But this was definitely out of place in here, and despite how funny I must have looked with my nose pointed upward and sniffing around the room like a bloodhound, it only spurred me on to find its source. It seemed stronger around his desk which sat central to the room and facing the door. It's darkened cedar wood was an antique, and is one of those things that got more valuable the older it got. Something I'd never understood.

I immediately began searching the drawers as instinct instructed of me, baring no mind to the carefully lined papers atop the desk that I had now messed up. The first one I pulled immediately bearing results as when I pulled it open; a bottle of crystal, and frosted, glass, rolled to the front with a thud. A dark, blue-green, liquid sloshing about inside. I didn't have to open it to know that it was the source of the stench, and I didn't need to study it to know what it was. Nocte Ruptur. It felt heavy within my hand, like it was the source of everything and nothing at all. It was an answer to a question I hadn't dared to ask.

"You shouldn't be in here." His voice, deep, caused me to slowly raise my eyes from the investigation to look at him. My father. The sleeves of his pinstripe shirt rolled up to his elbows as he closed the door behind him with a gentle click. He looked tired. Heavy, darkened, bags hung beneath his eyes that seemed to swing from the crows feet at their creases. Messy stubble stuck to his cheeks, and the hair atop his head sprouted in maddeningly unkept directions like a salt and pepper spider plant.

"I know. I know it was you." I responded, anger masquerading as confidence, refused to allow my voice to shake as I presented the vial of poison. "I know you were controlling Victoria. I know how mother died. I know, everything."

He laughed, rubbing his tired face with his hands as he circled the table, to which I circled the opposite way in order to keep distance. A precautionary measure I knew would mean nothing if he meant me harm.

"You know nothing." He spat. "For years, I mourned your mother. For years, we lived in peace. When the Vampire clan first moved in, I was apprehensive, sure. Their kind had ripped the love of my life from me, I think I am afforded a little apprehension in that regard. But I put it aside. I am the Witch King of Tithe Manor. I have an example to set, and a war helps no one. Especially if its a personal vendetta. When you had first contact with one of them. Again, I was worried, and again I put it aside for the greater good of the coven." He leaned forward on his knuckles over the desk. "But then one of those fiends attacked you. It was then I knew that something had to be done, to prevent them from taking something else from me." It was then that he slowly sat down on the leather chair that was at the desk, it creaked with his weight as his tired frame relaxed somewhat.

"War was never an option. I had to be rid of them by other means, and knowing of Victoria's tragic previous unfortunate involvement with them, it was easier to influence her on to my way of thinking."

"You still lost. Revenge is only empty when you lose, father. Look at what you have wrought. Victoria is dead, by my hand, thanks to you. I am a Vampire, one of them, because of you." I snarled, forcing myself to relax when I felt the poison vial in my hand begin to crack. "She wouldn't have wanted this. Victoria would never have taken things this far."

"No. She wouldn't. She loved you far too much for that, so she needed more hands on guidance. Such spells I am well versed in." He said looking up at me from weary hands now done with guarding his face. He seemed defeated, and saddened as he seemed to study his son. To study me with such a conflicted sorrow, that amidst the anger and lust for revenge I now felt, still a spark of empathy began to take hold. I should have predicted that my body would begin to tighten at this moment, like choking would be a possibility had I have a direct need to breathe, my eyes widened with surprise as I was gently lifted a foot from the floor at the stiffening of every limb of my body.

"I am sorry, Avery. My sweet, sweet, boy. But I cannot bare you to be one of them. Through my failure as a protector, as a father, I did this to you. And I am so very sorry." He gestured with his index finger and my body was instantly pressed against the far wall with a loud thud, shaking some of the books on the surrounding shelves from their place, and sending them clattering to the floor with a flutter of pages. I could barely strain my eyes to look down as he walked slowly towards me, his feet barely lifting from the ground as the scuffed in their travel. The callouses of his hand felt disgustingly, comforting in the familiar warmth they pressed against my cheek, and I could smell the tears that were slipping down his cheeks as he embraced me in as tight a hug as my paralysed body would allow.

I tried flexing and kicking, my instinct to escape pounding through the veins in my head and chest. But it was as if every part of my body was in a steel clamp, every inch held in place in such a way that the slightest attempt at movement only caused the to painfully restrict tighter. Like being in the bands of a constrictor, every breath meant a tighter hold, every twitch hastening your end. Even at the heaving of his shoulders as he sobbed against my neck, I tried to plead and talk, ask him to let me go, but not even my vocal chords were allowed to move for they too were held in place by his magic.

Reluctantly, he stepped back. The clack of his shoes against the wood of the floor, signalled the ticking of a clock. Counting down to my final end, they echoed louder than they should as he sniffed once or twice, before clearing his throat.

"I'll never be over this." His voice trembled "I love you, son."

Suddenly I was released, I landed on my feet with a coupled thud as I looked up in surprise to see Auntie Janet standing over the body of my father, a rolling pin wielded in her hand as she held it aloft, her eyes connected with mine in silent anguish.

I hadn't the time to register completely what happened before I was embraced in a hug by my beloved Aunt.

"Everything's going to be okay, love. I promise." She cooed softly, stroking at my hair, although I've no doubt it was to calm her own nerves more than mine.

Soon there was a veritable crowd that had gathered. My father had been shackled in cuffs heavily enchanted to nullify his magic. The inlaid runes, glittering like star light, as they circled his wrists that were tied behind his back. He had yet to regain consciousness, Auntie Janet had hit him hard, and I was unsure of whether she meant to or not. I was never left alone, something I found myself thankful for. Suddenly everybody had, had a change of heart and were showering me with attention and hugs, to the point that it got overwhelming, but no matter how hard I tried I wasn't left alone long enough before getting pulled into another apologetic hug. It was... Nice.

A strange weight, like a heavy shadow, had been lifted from my shoulders, and despite how unsure of my own feelings about all that had happened today, for the first time: I found myself breathing a little easier.

A/N: Happy New Year!