Chapter Text
Love can be fleeting.
Where a moment comes when it will bless itself upon someone lucky. That being can do nothing but think about the love bestowed upon them that it carves their way into their entire core and shapes who they are now, or in the future.
Although, just as quickly as it arrived, it can come crashing down from the gentlest movement or presence. Like a tower of bricks, it can fall and possibly take itself and others along with it. Day after day you build and destroy this tower of ever-changing bricks, where every block is nothing like the other and you have to balance hundreds of materials into a simple chain. If it falls, you best hope you can bend down to pick a brick up again.
Poe decided today would be the day he tried once again.
When he woke up to a brand-new twilight to signify his new day, he got himself dressed in scruffs and began.
He had placed his phone on the counter beside his sink to play some classical music to try and clear any doubts. He pulled out the rest of what little food he had onto the sides while frantically flipping back and forth a long-forgotten cookbook for something to create with what he has.
Sleeves up, oven preheated, he grabbed an old, stained apron from his bottom cupboards. He stuck his head in through the frayed hole and followed the automatic motions of tying the familiar fabric around his waist once, then again. He found a hair tie and, using what mop of hair he could grab, tied it in a low ponytail while using a headband to push his fringe back.
As a warmup, he diced little fruits and vegetables into little strips and put them in a child’s bowl. After throwing a couple mealworms into there, he placed it on the little dining table for Karl to hop up and rummage his way through – hopefully to give him time before the demanding raccoon wanted something else.
Then he got to work.
Rushing back and forth, he dashed all around the kitchen for knives and cutting boards and checked the recipe again and again. There was a kind of chaotic peace in the recognisable task of cooking. If he didn’t have stubble dusting his face or grown over the years, this would be so awfully like a young, teenage Poe doing this exact same thing all those years ago.
The way the wooden spoon bashed against his thighs as he moved around, or the smell of freshly cooked meat, reminded him of a much simpler time.
Poe found it kind of funny how 200 years of life can affect your memories. How those dearest to your heart long ago start to fade. How their faces dwindle in details until they become nothing but an outline – a shadow – of what once was. It was similar to spending months on a painting, only for someone to make you recreate said painting over and over with less time. The details slip and become blurry, until all you can manage is a single stroke of a brush.
While he danced around the kitchen making the soup he decided on, he could almost feel the brush strokes of memories hover around him.
He could almost see the thicker, shorter brush stroke patting him on the back for how well he cut the vegetables. That lingering smell of rum and wine which brought a little smile on his face. Maybe that was from the almost silent conversation in his head of this stroke retelling a story he’s heard before about something. He wasn’t sure what.
The thinner line cut into his subconscious and told himself to check on the slowly overcooking meat. It rolled its eyes, being a grouch over something or another but never at him. He never got the burden of its problems, nor could he ask to share the weight, but the ghost of a memory of the stroke giving him little tastes and bites of what it was working on always made him feel better.
He felt safe. At home. The same rhythm he fell back into like playing piano after years without.
When he opened his eyes, he pulled the spoon away before it hit his lips. No point risking it halfway through!
With everything neatly combined in the pan, he turned to a little fridge in the far corner of his kitchen. Poe took out the last little container and closed the door.
His hands trembled as he slowly walked towards the pan, now off the stove. Slowly and carefully, he poured the contents into the soup and stirred, watched the rich golden colour fade into red like a bottle of food dye. Watched how it ruined the entire meal. The perfectionist in Poe screamed to remake the dish, but he knew how he couldn’t.
It would be a waste.
Still, he used a ladle to fill a bowl of the soup and grabbed a spoon before sitting opposite Karl, who was finished eating. Poe sat there with his hands between his legs taking deep breaths. Who knows? Maybe after it settled inside him, he could finally consume it. He wasn’t the same as 100 years ago, so maybe. Maybe.
Karl watched him intensely with a slightly tilted head. “Oh, Karl. Please do not give me such looks. I can hardly bear this as is without your judgemental stare.”
Karl just chirped and lay down, looking at his owner with a steadily increasing, pitiful gaze.
Still, Poe sat looking at the bowl, following the steam into the air like it would encourage him to get this over with. He couldn’t conjure any semblance of his past for a false sense of comfort. Nothing about this is comfortable.
He sat. Waited. Hoped.
In the end, it was just him. Same old him.
Deep breath in...
Poe slowly lifted the spoon from the soup and hovered over the bowl, lips ever so slightly parting as he felt the warm, smooth coating of the soup brush against his lips. He was doing it! He had ensured a correct squat in front of the brick covered in dust. Touching it, it almost felt a little squishy like a sponge. Poe slowly lifted it up to his shins, relishing the details he could have never seen from the depths of darkness it was shrouded in. It almost looked grey.
To his thighs now. Squinting, he could see almost flicks of paint across every surface. A warmth gently radiated from it. Once at his stomach, he noticed how the spots were little holes going deep into the brick. The heat grew like a gentle fire kissing his unnaturally cold skin. A weird smell when it reached his chest, a distant memory trying to scream its presence in a sound-proof room. Every undead breath made a confetti of dust blow all around him. The heat scalded like just too hot coffee. Under the light, it looked sickly. It almost... Moved? A soft expansion before returning every now and again.
As it reached his chin, he watched what was gentle and happy crumble. He could almost hear the shouts and complaints. The way it made him grit his teeth to just hold on.
No. He’s not giving up. Not now. He’s so close to starting to rebuild!
And then, the softness of potatoes mushing against the top of his mouth, the crunch of carrots became dwarfed. Any semblance of seasonings and flavour are completely lost to time.
Texture, texture, texture.
Through willpower alone he swallowed. It was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not good, not bad, not, not, not. Still, he lifted this painful, almost disgusting sponge higher still.
Until it happened.
That greed.
He shoved and shoved it away from the brick he was so close to placing down on his pedestal. It didn’t matter, never did. When that greed tried to throw the brick onto it, not caring if it went on or not, he once again lost his control. Poe felt like he was watching his body move through a one-way glass at a police station. He watched as this monster of a person tore through the brick he had worked so hard to lift. As his blunt nails clawed into it and that smell blossomed inside him. How his mouth watered as his trembling hands held onto the bowl, that simple smell and feeling of ecstasy as he gulped down what he could. He felt away with the birds. How that rich warmth caressed every vein and made him shudder in such pleasure. Colours swirled in his vision like a dance of harmony as his breath stuttered while he trembled a new way. Every flavour blooming on his tongue made the whole meal felt worth it.
With the bowl empty, he simply chucked it to the side and leaned back in a blissful, sleepy daze. If Karl had the capability of human emotions, he would be very concerned right now. He’d probably leave him alone out of fear for his safety. But as was, he just sat and watched for a few awkward minutes as his owner lay there with closed eyes and a pinkish drool running down his chin. In that time, Poe felt weeks go by in his high. But in reality, almost as quick as it came, it went; Poe was starving.
Hunger ripped him back into real life as his entire mouth fell on fire. Doubled over, he yelled at nobody in particular as bone forced its way through his gums. Canines grew longer as his hunger traded for agony. Instead of a gentle rumble of the stomach, or perhaps a stomach ache as it begged for food, Poe’s body decided to once again drag his body through Hell itself for any hope to glimpse at heaven again. He could taste his own tainted blood as gums ripped open and teeth were forced to move. As he stood up, his vision started to cloud. Not bothering with proper footwear, clothing or brains to think logically, he went outside grunting and groaning.
First rule of hunting, you must be quiet and still for the perfect moment to get a clear shot- less risk of the creature getting away and less effort. When Poe had nothing but his next meal on the brain, that rule was thrown out the window and dragged to the depths of the sea. He could get kicked in the crotch and would register nothing but the fact there is something alive close enough to reach.
Too young. Too skinny. Too, too, too. The animal pushed the bangs out of its face as dark, desperate violet eyes searched high and slow, back slumped forward so far that if it reached a bit further it could brush its hands across the ground. Its mouth hung open wide with drool pooling down his chin, slowly feeling any humanity slip away from him. Poe caught the sense of an adult deer not far from his current position and made a beeline for it, last ounce of energy spent closing the distance. It became almost sickly sweet as if he could get high off the mere air. He stood in the shadows staring at the doe for a few moments. He didn’t really understand why he froze over a perfect kill – the humane part of him will think it was the fawn nearby – but something did not seem right.
That was answered when a giant light blinded him to his left, causing the deer to run.
“Yo, dude, you good? Quite late.” The youth tilted his head at the strange man, barefoot, dishevelled and almost foaming at the mouth. He gripped the metal bat tighter as the guy turned towards him. “Hey... I won’t hurt you, but I really think you need a doctor. Come, our camp isn’t too far. You just need to, uh, seriously cool it.”
He lowered the torchlight to the floor. The longer he looked at the man the more he felt unsettled, like his coat and hoodie were choking him while the figure stood there panting with little growls between breaths. The high was something Poe hadn’t experienced for decades. He felt all his senses heightened where every shuffle and smell made him feel almost orgasmic. A savoury delight, coupled with the sweet, juiciness of the meat melting in his mouth as he chewed; he felt so full. His eyes glazed over as he took another bite into the tender flesh, he made what fuzzy of a mental note he could to hunt this creature more. Was better than a hibernating bear he had years ago. It took a while for the high to calm down enough he could spot the outlines of trees than sparks in his eyes. He must be close home; Poe heard the familiar beating of Karl’s sleeping heartbeat.
A few more moments in bliss, he looked up at the moonlight between the trees. “Thank you, old friend. I will not let myself go this hungry again.” Poe mumbled to himself with a smile, reaching his hand up as if trying to touch the moon. “Suppose I should drag the carcass while I still have strength-”
Poe froze... No, no, no... He crawled up to the body with trembling hands and teary eyes, he gently placed his hands on the person's chest. Not that there was any point. Poe couldn’t really think of an animal or monster who could survive with a skull caved in so far that the face was impossible to make out, or having their brains leave a mushed mess in a trail from wherever he was originally killed. Nor a creature who could survive their chest cracked open. Poe started to hyperventilate, no amount of high could distract him from such grief and pain. No amount of time could pass where he could enjoy or not grieve such an inhumane act.
Every animal he slaughtered to survive he felt nothing but sorrow for, where he ensured a proper burial once he butchered all he needed and left some for the other wildlife he took food from. This was different. This was a young adult. Someone just starting their life. Where black and white becomes grey, where you explore new things, where you find you... Poe slowly lowered his head to the ground beside the corpse, physically unable to bow any deeper, if he could he would.
He had stopped believing in any kind of God in the first decade of vampirism. Why would he believe in a deity who is so cruel and unfair? That didn’t stop him from praying to every god he could possibly think of. Asking for them to look after this soul, to give him a life he never had in the afterlife. When he finished, he was sniffling from crying, exhausted with such a heavy conscience and the sun was due to rise. Poe quietly apologised, as if that would make a difference, and gently pulled the wristwatch from the corpse’s wrist. Standing, he bowed once, then again. He ran home with the watch pressed protectively against his chest. He ran and ran, even vampirism couldn’t stop his legs from aching. Feeling as if he had not another moment to waste, he fought through. Wheezing and coughing by the time he barged through the front door.
Karl chirped grumpily, wondering what the hell his owner was doing. Easing his way out of his cat bed, he watched as the man ran around in circles. Up, down, in one room, then the other, moving and moving. With a wooden box under his arm, Poe bent down and patted his shoulders with a hand full of blueberries. Well, who was Karl to deny free morning treats?
With his beloved companion satisfied, he grabbed his umbrella before hastily walking away from the house. How vibrant the world looked with a sliver of light caressing its beauty, where he could slowly define every tree by the ever so slight shadow from the rising sun. It just meant every second he could admire what he never sees he’s in increasing danger. Maybe he should just let the sun take him, stop the tight knot of guilt and sorrows once and for all.
He slowed down and stopped. This wasn’t living... Of course it wasn’t. In 200 years of living he’s barely experienced anything. Just cramped up in that dark, ghoulish house, hoping one day his conscience silences and there is a cure to being a vampire. A more humane way of living that meant nor animal or human blood soaked his arms red. Maybe he should just step into the sun and-
“Ow! Karl, you little devil that hurt!” Poe winced at the bite mark on his neck, this one from a bored raccoon than the vampire bites on the other side. Snapped out of his spiral for the moment, he pushed through the shadows of the trees into the cave nearby. He dodged the stalagmites using the light on his phone until he was deep enough to ensure no light would touch him.
Poe laid out a bunch of snacks he stored in his pockets for Karl, stroking his back a few times when he jumped down. And so, Poe bundled his coat in a heap to make a pillow, curled up as tight as he could and stared at the wooden box in front of him. At the faded green paint with remnants of the golden spirals.
How could Poe possibly try to rebuild his love of life when this exists?