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As Eva brushes out her hair in front of her vanity mirror, she tells herself it’s nothing. It’s just a dress, just a color—nothing to overthink or over-analyze. She’s simply been missing color more lately—the world is dark, the peace is tentative, and she hasn’t seen herself in anything but white for so many years.
She hadn’t dared before tonight, hadn’t thought to try. A bit of ribbon, a lace choker, a few flowers in her hair—those had been safe enough—but blood sorcery can be tricky and she hadn’t wanted to press her luck with this curse. Recently, though, something in her was longing to return to color in a way that felt far more tangible than it did just a few years prior.
Whatever presumed risk she’d attached to it after her curse doesn’t scare her as much as it once did.
So, when Eva awoke for the evening, alone in her bed—a rare occurrence these nights, now that she tends to fall asleep in Jasper’s arms—her first conscious thought was that tonight she wanted color. She had dug through the endless white lace and gauzy shawls of her wardrobe to find something she’d tucked away long ago: the dress she’d thrown into the bottom of her bag on a whim when she'd run away from New York. She’d had no need for it then—didn’t think, at the time, that her curse would even let her put it on anymore—and if she’d been smart, she would have taken only the essentials to make the trip as easy to manage as possible. But she’d always been a sentimental girl and they had already taken so much from her.
She didn’t want to let them take everything; they couldn’t have this.
Now she sits in front of her mirror, wearing a dress she hasn’t touched in over a decade. When she first worked up the courage to step into it, she was almost surprised it still fit her—but of course it does, she’s been the same size since 1969—and that the soft velvet hadn’t burned her on contact. But with each passing moment, those fears are proving less and less necessary. She remains unharmed and unchanged, if still a bit nervous.
She picks up Jasper’s necklace from among her scattered jewelry, the glass bottle pendant a familiar and comforting weight in her hand. She fastens it around her neck, straightening out the chain and smiling to herself as the charm settled against her pale skin, exposed by the low neckline of her dress.
Her pale reflection stares back at her as she finishes applying the last touches of her makeup—just a hint of red powder around her eyes—and places her usual flower crown on her brow. Her skin, her hair, her flowers—all the same ghostly bone white they've been for decades—but for the first time in over forty years, she wears red again.
It feels good to have color back, to have reclaimed something that felt so out of reach before. The lush fabric is soft against her cold skin, the color still vibrant after years in storage, and Eva smiles at herself in the mirror. Her white fangs poke out from between painted crimson lips. The return of red doesn’t make her look anymore human, but it does make her look powerful—dangerous and desirable. It calls up old memories of lightning and blood and red glass in silver frames—everything her lineage and willpower is capable of.
My crimson petal.
Part of her wants to rip it all off and return to the safety of floral lace and white chiffon—that facet of soft femininity that she’s taken refuge in for so many years—but she forces that terror down. Eva wore red long before her death—lots of colors back then, bright flowing skirts and bold patterned tunics bathed in sunlight—and she can wear it now without becoming what she fears. They can’t claim a color; she won’t let them take this from her, too. She’s still herself, no matter what she wears—white lace is part of who she is and so is red velvet, if she wants it to be. It doesn’t mean anything more than she let’s it mean.
It’s nothing, she reminds herself, just a dress, just a color. Just a choice she’s making for tonight.
She closes her eyes and forces her undead lungs to take a deep breath. She lets the air out in a slow exhale and when she’s finished, her reflection looks softer, less deadly—more like her and less like bad memories.
Tonight, she is the rose, not the thorn, and Jasper will be here any minute.
---
Jasper steps out of the shadows, letting Obfuscate fall once he stands before the entrance to Eva’s haven in Griffith Park. He knows where to find her now and he carries a single pale pink rose in one hand, his grip delicate to avoid snapping the stem out of nerves.
He doesn’t always bring her flowers, but tonight it feels warranted. Victor’s been keeping him busy during this truce and he hasn’t seen Eva in three nights. He feels a bit ridiculous at the thought that he now considers seventy-two hours a long time to be away from her—they’ve been apart for longer in the past and he spent most of his unlife alone without much complaint—but ever since they got together, his bed feels oddly empty if he isn’t falling asleep next to her. He doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, doesn't want to put her on the spot, but a small token of his affection seems like a decent enough way to show her he’s missed her while he was gone.
After straightening his hood one last time, he knocks.
When Eva opens the door to her haven, Jasper’s jaw nearly falls to the floor.
She looks gorgeous—that’s nothing new, she always looks beautiful—but it's different, tonight. Her white hair falls down around her shoulders in long, loose curls, framing her pale face. There’s a bit of red around her eyes, making their blue seem even brighter. And her red lips are turned up in an amused grin that she’s trying her best to keep under control.
It’s the dress that renders him speechless, though: red. Red velvet, hugging her curves, the color standing out sharply against her bone white skin. The glass bottle necklace he gave her months ago is around her neck, and his eyes follow the chain down to where it ends at the center of her chest, the pendant resting at the base of the deep V neckline.
And it shouldn’t matter. He’s seen her in more revealing outfits, has touched so much of the soft skin that’s hidden from view now. And people wear different colors all the time—it’s not uncommon; she’d even told him she used to wear a lot of red before her Embrace. But he’s only ever seen her in white, and this… this is something different.
“Wow,” Jasper finally manages to say on a shaky exhale.
Eva giggles, trying to bite back a smile as she looks up at him through frosted white eyelashes.
“You like it?” she asks.
“I—you... you look… incredible,” he answers, trying to get his nerves under control.
She laughs again and Jasper glances down self-consciously at his own clothing. A black t-shirt and dark jeans, his heavy leather boots, a newer hoodie and cowl—the things that have started to replace what got ruined when he was taken by the Camarilla, but nothing fancy. What he wears tonight is clean and free of rips or tears, the fabric is soft—if Eva wants to cuddle, he wants her to be comfortable leaning against him—and he tries his best to look well put together these nights. But it’s nothing compared to her. He might as well be wearing rags next to this vision in red.
“I feel a bit under-dressed,” he admits with a growled laugh.
“I think you look very nice, Jasper” she replies, taking his hand to pull him across the threshold into her home, “Come inside.”
The door clicks shut behind him as she closes it, the heavy lock sliding into place along with the extensive series of invisible wards that Eva’s added over the years.
Her haven is cozy and familiar to him now. It’s smaller than his own and cluttered with decades’ worth of trinkets and plants and blood sorcery supplies. But the fairy lights she has strung up along the walls and draped across the ceiling lend the space a soft, almost ethereal glow.
But he’s not really looking at the room tonight. He can’t take his eyes off of her—blood red and just as tempting.
“Jasper,” she says with an amused grin, drawing his attention away from the dress and back to her eyes, “You’re staring.”
“Sorry, I—sorry,” he chokes out, glancing down at the floor and trying to get a hold of himself.
She laughs again. “I don’t mind.”
“H-here,” he manages, holding out the flower he’d momentarily forgotten about, “For you.”
“Thank you, it’s lovely,” she says, taking the rose from his outstretched hand. She lifts it to her nose to breathe in the scent and the juxtaposition of white, pink, and red in utter contented stillness makes Jasper think she looks more like a painted goddess than a being of flesh and blood. “Let me put this in water first, and then we can read together.”
Right. Reading. That’s what they'd planned to do tonight when he'd texted her that he was free earlier this evening. He'd forgotten; all thoughts of what chapter they’d been on the last time they had the night to themselves having fled his mind the moment she opened the door, replaced instead by thoughts of wandering hands and soft lips and quiet moans.
He's failing miserably at getting a hold of himself.
Jasper watches, feet rooted to the floor, as Eva walks over to the makeshift kitchen she uses as a blood sorcery work space to fill a small vase with water for the rose.
“So, what… what prompted this?” he asks while her back is to him.
“I’ve been… wanting to try something different lately,” she says as she walks back toward him, placing the vase near to her small indoor garden as she moves through the space, “I woke up wanting color and date night seemed like a good excuse to dress up a bit.”
Until this moment, it had never occurred to him to even ask if she could wear other colors. Her life in the Pyramid had always felt like such a sensitive topic and he could never seem to find the proper way to ask about the specifics of her curse without feeling like he was overstepping.
“So… white was always a… choice?” he asks, trying to find the right words.
“Not exactly,” Eva answers slowly, choosing her words carefully as she approaches him, “The white is… complicated. A topic for another night. But this dress, tonight, is a choice.”
“It… seems to agree with you,” he says, his hands settling on her hips, careful not to snag his nails on the soft fabric as he touches her, “You look happy.”
Eva’s hands move against his chest, her painted nails scraping lightly against the textured fabric of his hoodie.
“I haven’t worn this dress in… ages,” she says with a slight laugh, “I missed the color, I think.”
Then she smiles up at him and goes up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“And I missed you,” she whispers, her mouth only a bare few inches from his.
Jasper smiles, a happy growl rising in his throat as his grip on her tightens. He pulls Eva in close for another kiss, deeper this time. He can feel her lips curve up in a smile as she kisses him back, her petite form pressed to his chest and one of her hands gripping at the back of his neck to pull him down toward her. Her tongue traces the sharp point of one of his fangs and he groans into her mouth, low and wanting.
He forces himself to pull away just enough so he can speak.
“I know I just got here,” he says, giving her another quick kiss between sentences, “And I know we were planning to read together.” Another kiss. “And if that’s all you want to do tonight, that’s fine.” He moves to her jawline to place a soft kiss against her skin. “But I missed you.” His lips against her neck, teasing a bite but still careful of his fangs. “And you look amazing.”
Eva touches the underside of his jaw and just that feather-light brush of fingers against skin is enough to lift his gaze back up to her striking blue eyes. She’s smiling, coy and flirtatious, as her hand settles back on his neck.
“And you just want to go make out in my room until dawn?” she asks playfully, voicing the question before he has the chance to bring up the idea.
“Or on the couch. Either works for me.”
“You really like this dress,” Eva responds, laughter lingering at the edges of her voice.
“I really like you in this dress.”
“Would you like it even more if you got to take it off me?”
Jasper growls at that and leans in close, his wandering hands returning to her hips and holding her firmly.
“Maybe I want you to keep it on,” he rumbles low in her ear.
“That could be arranged,” she whispers back.
“Bed or couch?” One of his hands trails up her spine and even through the fabric of her dress, he feels her shiver beneath his touch.
“Bed.” Eva pauses then and he can see the flash of mischief in her eyes before she adds, “Carry me.”
Faster than a human could follow, Jasper has her in his arms. Despite her seductively commanding demeanor only a moment before, she dissolves into bright laughter at his eagerness, burying her face in his neck as he carries her through the doorway to her small bedroom. Jasper lays her out on the patchwork quilt that covers her bed—her form a splash of deep red amid all those time-faded colors—and settles his body over hers, leaning down to kiss her again.
His hands trail up her sides, savoring the feeling of the soft fabric against his palms as she arches into his touch. As Jasper's lips brush against her neck before capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss, Eva thinks that perhaps red does not have to be only bloodshed and anger and hate. Red can be passion and heat and even love—if she wants it to be, if she lets it—and Eva is more than willing to spend the rest of the night discovering all the wonderful things red can call to mind.