Page 23 of We Were Eternal Once

Fraternal, platonic companionship.

Here it was at last, the thing I’d been chasing without realizing it. Two hunkering bodies, dirty and poor, feeding on a human in the streets of Rome.

“What are your names?” I asked.

“They’re feeding, leave them be,” you said.

No—I couldn’t. What if I never found them again? Would it really be another two hundred years before I saw another like us? If I stepped away now, I knew finding them again would become my singular focus. I’d never pass another dark alley without stopping to stare, hoping for the decrescendo of a dying heart.

The woman stood, dropping the limp woman’s wrist on the ground. She slumped against the man, dead.

“Livia,” she said, wiping a bit of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Gaius,” she added, nodding to the man. He shoved the dead woman off him and stood next to her.

“Melinoë,” I said. They slid their gaze to you. You didn’t answer right away, taking a long look at my face before answering. “Aletheia,” you said.

“Surely not Aletheia the Elder,” Gaius said, his laugh too loud in the small alleyway.

Your lips flattened.

“Elder?” Livia asked, her head tilting as she regarded you anew. “There are no Elders left.”

“No,” you agreed. “There are not.”

An errant breeze filters through the alley, bringing with it the smell of smoke from a nearby fire. Outside the alley, the humans continue their treks through the street, oblivious to the four predators that stood just inches from them. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, much the same way it did the first time I met you.

“Salve,” I greet. Be well.

“Salve,” they say in unison. They look to each other, a wordless discussion. I search your face, trying to understand. Did you always know there were others? Have we passed them time and time again, unbeknownst to me? What is an Elder?

You take a step toward the entrance to the alley.

Here I teeter on a precipice. I can follow you into the night and forget about the couple. I can return to our beautiful home full of riches and quiet merriment. I can worship you every day as I’ve promised I would, reminding you why you chose me, why you love me. I can return to my repentance.

Or.

Or.

I can stay. I can befriend the others. I can fulfill the writhing need that pulls me away from you.

How can I repent if I do not fix what caused me to stray in the first place?

“We are going to hunt a few streets down, if you’d like to join,” I offer. You go rigid, your back to us. They notice, and they exchange another wordless glance.

“Another time,” says Gaius.

“Of course,” I say, and back out of the alley.

That morning, I stay up for an hour after sunrise. I’ve been practicing, forcing myself awake as the sun rises, gaining a minute here and there. My lashes flutter against your collarbone as I fight sleep.

“What is an Elder?” I ask.

“There are no Elders,” you say as sleep finally takes me.

For It Holds Knowledge

Every quiet street in Rome draws my attention. I strain for the failing heartbeats, for the sound of struggle. Rome is not without its vices. These are sounds so common I have long-since ignored them. Now I tune myself to them, straining to hear Livia and Gaius.

But they never appear again.