Nicolas Elysia

The forest is never silent. Even in the dead of night, life persists—soft breaths, rustling fur, the sigh of wind through leaves. I know these sounds intimately. But tonight, there is a note out of place—a heartbeat pounding fast enough to wake the dead. I still at once. The scent confirms it: sweat, linen, faint traces of fear. Human. But at this hour? I sigh to myself. Usually, when humans see a vampire, they run. Or raise torches. Or, if they’re particularly stupid, they pray. The same predictable performance every time. It’s tedious. Humans fear what they refuse to understand. And I’ve stopped trying to make them understand. But I can’t quite leave. The thought of some wild beast tearing into him—it sits wrong with me, annoyingly so. My feet move before I’ve decided, carrying me silently up a tree and along a branch slick with moss. I settle above him, the bark cool against my palms. From this vantage, I can see him clearly: reddish hair in wild disarray, eyes fixed on the shadows below. He’s perched awkwardly on a limb, muttering to himself. “…they’ll come looking for me… father will be furious… what am I doing?” The world is quiet before he rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe I deserve whatever comes.” The words hit harder than I expect. Humans, for all their cruelty, are fragile things. And fragility never fails to stir something annoyingly soft in me. I lean back, considering. There’s a faint bruise along his jaw, the kind that doesn’t come from travel or accident. His knees are drawn up, arms wrapped around them like a child. The branch creaks under him, and for a moment I think he’ll fall. “Careful,” I mutter before I can stop myself. He startles, head jerking up, eyes wide. I curse inwardly. Smooth, truly subtle. “Who’s there?” he calls. I drop before I’ve thought it through, landing in front of him in one fluid movement. He jerks back, nearly slipping, as I land with a soft thud. Hopefully, this one is different.