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Something in August was missing. Not just his eye. He’d lost his sight too.
A part of him had been hollowed out, stripped away. Chloé could see it from the moment she found his shadow stumbling in the library. Something about the way he walked, the way he held himself—(or rather wasn’t quite able to hold himself)—the way his other eye—which has always been so bright and full of hope and zeal—had been shadowed, like a cloud across the sun.
August. The name had always felt so fitting. He was like summer days. The best of summer days, with a nice breeze carrying flower petals upon it, whispering sweet words that everything would be alright in the end. He could be...a lot at times, but he was altogether sunny, and warm, and wonderful to be around.
But when you take away the breeze, and the wonder…August is just heat. Sweltering, agonizing heat.
August is ending. August isn’t just the summer, it’s summer ending. A last hurrah, and a last word, and a last sigh.
She missed the summer. The breezes and the flower petals, the small vacations she took from her safe and lonely castle.
When she met Marquis Machina, she was afraid. Afraid for what had happened, and what it had done to August. She missed him then. She wanted to see him, to know he was alright.
She missed him more seeing him now.
When he spoke, his words were like glass cracking. Beneath them, a tremble, and a low groan. A barely-contained madness, a simmering I am about to break.
And she was even more afraid. Not afraid of him. Afraid for him. For what he had become. For what they had done to him, ripped away from him…and if he could ever get himself back.
She wasn’t sure she could help.
Sometimes he would tease her, as if she were as young as her body betrayed, but it was all in jest, and good fun.
When he grabbed her face, and lifted her into the air, pressing her against the bookcase, it was the first in a long time she truly felt like a child. Powerless and confused. She didn’t even really know what was happening at first. ...It’d never happened to her before.
She…never really noticed his fangs before.
He was the only other vampire she’d ever met. She knew of vampires, because, well, she herself was one, and she knew of vampires from books, and stories, and warnings. She knew that they had fangs, and liked to bite people. Humans seemed to think this a terrible thing, a sign of violence. But it wasn’t something Chloé herself needed, and it was never a thing of darkness, and violence, and predatory instinct.
She’d never been bitten by a vampire before.
She never really noticed August’s fangs before. She knew he was a vampire, but that was almost more of an instinct than seeing any clear evidence. He was a vampire, and that was that, and she didn’t notice much if he had fangs or not.
When a vampire grabbed her, pinned her against the wall, and bit her neck, without permission or pretense, she understood. She understood those stories, and the humans' fears. She understood this could be cruel, and this could be vicious.
And when he did this she knew this wasn’t August. Not the one she knew. The August she knew was soft, and warm, and bright. This vampire was sharp, and his fangs were cold, and eyes were dark. August was full of hope, and love, and a desire to create peace. This vampire had been filled to the red line with hatred. This vampire was broken. And he wanted to cut her on his pieces.
And it hurt to be bitten. To be prey. To be—
She didn’t know what was happening at first. The feeling, the sound of him drinking her blood was violating. Like watching vultures peck at a corpse, except the vultures were your once-friend, and the corpse was you. It sent shudders and horrors through her too-small form, and all she could do was grab at him feebly, say feebly,
“N-No! No, don’t! Stop it! August!”
All she could do was call his name, and hope August was still in there.
And his words were hissed, and his words were not words, but rather the things witches mutter to themselves when they’re stirring potions alone in their cottages; the thing church-goers proclaim when they want you to know you are a heretic--and God may be love but he doesn’t forgive everyone; the thing that heretics shout at the sky when they don’t know what else to do with their remaining words.
To be eaten. To be used. To be cursed.
No. She may be small, and weak, and unknowing of the world, but she knew at least she wasn’t going to be used or cursed. She knew her family’s research, and that didn’t belong to the outside world. If nothing else, she would give herself that.
She wasn’t sure she could help. But she definitely wasn’t going to let them all be hurt. Because she may not know much about the world…but she knew from stories at least, that handing broken people the keys to the universe is a very bad decision. And handing over something that meant everything to her personally, to a vampire that wasn’t in full possession of his mind—(though it pained her to think it)—wasn’t something that interested her in the slightest. The research was for him to respect, and peruse. Not to steal away.
She was his friend. Not a thing for him to consume--and worse, control.
She didn’t know why he fell to his knees. Why he said such strange things. It scared her. Yet, it almost gave her hope for a moment, hope that this wasn’t him talking after all, hope that she could get through to the August that was kneeling on the floor crying out for help.
It almost sounded like he was going to say he was sorry.
He left.
And sometimes that’s all it takes to end a friendship. The failure to finish the word ‘sorry.’
But it’s a little different when it’s your first friend. The person who was once her only friend. The only person who shares your affliction, who understands you.
And maybe it was because of that, maybe she was naive, but…
She forgave him even so.
But she knew, even if she forgave him, she had lost him. They wouldn’t be able to see each other again, because the only thing he would want from her now was the ability to change the world. She had lost her August. The August who would come to see her, for fun, for her sake. Who would enjoy reading about her family’s research for curiosity, for its sake. He’d died in the shell of whoever this was. Summer must end at some point. She had hoped this one wouldn’t end so violently.
“In other words…you’re telling me to be careful of you, you mean.”
She knew she had lost him. She lost him before he even walked in the door.