…..

. . .

“Will I ever rid myself of you?” I asked. Cassian had already made his way into the sofa and turned on the plasma television set to see what shows were on at the moment, and I was still clutching my head, trying to get some writing done. No inspiration. “ You’ve classified me now as some kind of disease?” He laughed, flashing his fangs boldly, crossing his legs, and flipping through the channels with a speed not even close to that of a human. He’d already made himself comfortable in the comfort of my black leather couch. Wait. How on earth did he— did I leave the gate open?! “I told you before. My intention is not to annoy you, and it seems I’m not interrupting anything, so I thought I’d drop by. I was around the neighborhood, as you say, or don’t you mortals drop by every so often out of the blue for a small, pleasant visit?” He smirked, not even looking at me, his blue eyes plastered on the television screen, as his thumb came to a sudden halt, and the TV screen went black.

“Could you put on one of those old radio shows? The CBS Radio Mystery Theatre? I want to listen to ‘Cat’s Craddle’.” He was now only centimeters away from me; he was sitting on the black rolling office chair behind me, and his chin was resting on the space between my head, and shoulder. “Wait, no. I want to listen ‘Lady Macbeth at the Zoo’. Remember we never finished listening to that one.” I could feel him breathing down my neck, and that made me awfully uncomfortable. A shiver passed through me, and he merely chuckled. “I’m not going to bite you. I have outstanding self-control, and I’ve already fed.” He whispered in my ear. Another shiver crawled its way down my spine, and I pushed my chair backwards so he’d bite his tongue, or hit himself, or simply hurt himself. “You’re being far to bold, and I don’t like it. You’ll either behave, or get out of my house.” I hissed, refraining from looking at those pale blue eyes of his. From the moment he’d come in, I’d noticed they didn’t have that cute ‘puppy-dog’ expression they usually had, and I knew that wasn’t a good sign. His eyes were narrow now, fierce. They were overflowing with dominance, confidence, and control.

“There’s no need for you to be discourteous, my dear.” He nodded, brown eyebrows perking up in slight surprise at my overall attitude towards him. “What are you doing here Cassian?” I sighed, rolling my eyes, and switching the song from something classical, to “Monophobia” by Malice Mizer. Symphonic Metal— my anti-drug. I let out a deep, pleasant sigh, and rolled my shoulders. Standing from the chair, I stretched my limbs. I walked over to the couch, and plopped onto it; head resting on one of the arm rests, legs spread across the cushions. Taking a deep breath, and closing my eyes shut, I took in the strong smell of leather that plagued the couch. I loved that scent. “ Ugh… you’re just like Lilith, listening to that ruckus! Doesn’t it annoy you?” He lowered the volume on the speakers, and sat on the couch adjacent to the one I lay on.

“Like I said, just a small visit. I’m actually showing a fellow Nightling, around the neighborhood.” He smiled; glad to see me in a better mood already. “…And you left him alone just to come say ‘hi’ to me?” I asked in disbelief, mocking him. There had to be another reason for his visit. Yes, he did come by often without calling, or informing he’d drop by, but I’d seen him but a couple days ago at the coffee shop we both frequented— the Midnight Lounge. “ First of all, my dear, it’s a she. And second of all, would you think me as insensitive? Of course not. I take pride in my manners, and chivalrous character.” I let out a sudden laugh in spite of my self. “Samantha, I would like you to meet Cytherea.” He prodded my shoulder, so I’d open my eyes. In front of me, sitting on the armchair opposite to me, was a young woman, not much older than I was. A waterfall of long, cascading blonde curls flowed all the way covering her mid-back— a beautiful golden veil. Mediterranean features chiseled into her marble face, she surpassed by far Cassian’s level of preternatural beauty. Her skin was as white as those ancient Greek marble statues. She was, in fact, a living, breathing statue. She was a Nightling, all right— Sandro Boticcelli's Aphrodite herself! “You flatter me, young one.” She spoke, giggling slightly; her voice soft, and melodious. Young one? There seemed to be a realm of wisdom behind those four words, though they meant absolutely nothing; a realm of insight.

I didn’t want to be rude, I wanted to shake her hand— give her a hug, or a kiss on the cheek, as I often did when greeting someone, but something didn’t let me. I was paralyzed. My eyes would not cease their square-inch analysis of Cytherea’s features. Cassian prodded my shoulder again, and Cytherea shook her head, closing her hazel-colored eyes for a moment. “Don’t be frightened, child.” She approached me; Cassian offered his hand to lift me up from the sofa. There was something horridly intimidating about her. Her physical appearance was simply the paragon of preternatural child beauty, clad in a gorgeously embroidered white cotton dress, with an embroidered belt wrapped around and tied in the back. She opened her eyes, and smiled at me, as if understanding all to well my reaction—as if all this time, she’d expected this from me. Was that the reason she didn’t show herself earlier? “Well, don’t be rude, and greet her properly, Samantha!” Cassian scolded me. “She’s an ancient one. Show her you’re not an ill-mannered young mortal woman, and sit up.” He grew tired of extending his hand in a failed attempt for me to grab it, pulled me himself up to my feet. “I-I’m sorry…I…—” An ancient one. An ancient one in my home. I couldn’t believe it. How old was this child, and what were Cassian’s intentions in bringing another of his kind into my study like that?