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I
1065. Striga was different from most of the vampires Morana had met within at least the last two hundred years. There was something inside her. A burning fire, not of inspiration but determination. And even with everything she had been through there was still a warmth within her that only few retained. Maybe it was just her youth—she was after all only just about sixty years old—but Morana could not help but find it refreshing. Refreshing enough to accompany her on horseback down to the little ore mining village.
Their horses were moving along slow and steady on the rather steep mountain path, huffing in the late winter night. They were accompanied by soldiers, of course, even though Morana did not quite trust them yet. She would rather trust her, this unusual woman riding by her side.
Striga noticed her gaze and looked at her, smiling. She did not speak and neither did Morana, as even she was unsure what to say right now. But they rode by each other's side, just close enough that their knees were from time to time touching, rubbing against each other in the rhythm of the horses' step.
There just was a familiarity, a kinship Morana was feeling. The kind of kinship she had not felt for another person in a long, long while.
II
Morana was interesting to Striga, because her eyes were as deep as wells. She supposed that was to be expected, if someone lived for as long as Morana had. She liked to listen to those stories. Collected stories, the same way travelling people told them. But most of it lived through by just herself.
Only now that her life was settling down Striga could start to enjoy certain things in life. Things like reading, something that had evaded her for so long. It was not as hard as she had imagined—though learning all those new languages and old ones as well, that turned out to be decidedly harder. Still she was trying it. Ancient Greek, as so many great thinkers had apparently lived in that time, writing down their thoughts. Thoughts that had be transcribed by vampires, who at times had added their own thoughts to it.
Morana was sitting by her side, reading herself, through eyes quickly darting across the lines of text.
There was a fire burning in the sitting room, as the night outside slowly progressing. It was a gentle nudge against her shoulder, that made Striga look to the side, where Morana had skuttled up to her just enough that their shoulders would touch.
Striga did not say anything and neither did Morana, both of them just continuing to read.
III
1072. Carmilla was showing a new side to herself and this side liked to talk. She would talk about philosophy, but also about changing the world. For them, for nobody else. And it was fine enough, Morana assumed. Because this, right here, the realm under their control… It would not have been possible without Carmilla. Without her rage. She supposed it was a good thing that this rage was now burning so hot instead of being forced smolder hidden underneath the surface. She supposed it was good for her to. For Carmilla.
And maybe there would be a better future ahead. Like this. Even though there was a lot of things they still did not know. They still had to figure out how to better protect their borders, as the last time the wolves had attacked, they had almost made it to the castle. Cursed, dirty werewolves.
Morana sighed, looking out the window, where once more the snow was falling in heavy flakes. She could feel Striga's knee ever so gently nudging against hers, making her stretch out her hand to put it onto Striga's thigh. She liked feeling her, liked feeling those strung muscles. It was… reassuring in a way. So she just looked at Striga and smiled.
Striga did not speak and neither did Morana, both of them just listening to what Carmilla had to say.
IV
Striga soon realized that she was surrounded by a lot of prideful woman. Morana was prideful and so was Carmilla now, that she had finally gotten a chance to find herself. Maybe Striga was, too. She did not know. She was proud of her ability as a warrior, that was for sure, but she did not know whether she could be called prideful outside of this. Yet, she moved among them as their equal, just going with the flow. Because this was so much nicer, so much more comfortable than anything she had ever had before.
She still missed her family, her siblings, even though those were dead for now more than half a century, but she assumed this was family as well. And the home—a castle—most certainly being an upgrade to the hut she had been living in as a human.
It was funny to her though, that even as prideful as those two women were, they both had their moments of weakness, those moments where even they would fail. Moments, in which their… well, what even was the right word for it? Humanity? They were no longer human, no? And yet they almost seemed to be.
Like tonight, as Morana started to stumble, as she was striding down the long staircase in the eastern tower, only being caught thanks to Striga's quick reflexes.
She looked at her from those deep blue eyes, smiling ever so slightly, but she did not speak—and neither did Striga.
V
1152. They all were haunted by nightmares and maybe it was just part of who they were. At times trying to evade the sleep over it—as vampires never needed to sleep. But even though Morana knew her to have nightmares, Striga slept always surprisingly well, looking so much softer whenever she was asleep. When she no longer had to think about anything. Because other than what some people believe, Striga thought about a lot of things. She was rather thoughtful, philosophical, Morana would call it. She was a woman of so many opposites and Morana loved her for it.
This was just another of those seeming contradictions. How Striga, who was always the strong protector when awake, would cuddle up to Morana in her sleep, as if asking to be held. Maybe Morana was reading into this too much, but it did not matter. She held her, wrapping her arms around her and running her fingers through that long, long hair.
She was so thankful for what they were having. For having found love once more after so many centuries. For having found safety and stability as well. She barely remembered the kingdom she had once ruled in a past the humans had long forgotten, but she was finally a queen again.
Striga was mumbling something in her sleep. Something Morana could not understand, but of course she could not ask her. So she did not speak, afraid of waking Striga up.
VI
Striga knew it to be somewhat childish, but she liked having this. Holding onto Morana just a bit, as they were walking the castle grounds. Not even taking her hand, but just her pinky in her own. Just doing the things she had never gotten to do as a human—even though humanity now seemed a long time ago. She had been a vampire for more than a century now. Every human she had ever known was by now dead, this much she knew. Well, except for the slim chance that any of them might be turned into a vampire as well, but she rather doubted it. Who was there, after all? Those normal folks living in her village. But why would anyone turn them? Her siblings were all dead—she had seen the bodies, as were the other mercenaries she had served with. Them, too, she had seen die.
But she was immortal. She could live… Until someone killed her. Given she was the warrior the likelihood was there, she assumed. But in the end she had survived them all—had survived even her sire. So, either she was just extremely lucky, extremely favored by the fates or was just that good of a fighter. She did not know. She did not. And maybe… Maybe she did not need to know it either. Because in the end this was enough, walking through a giant castle side by side with the woman she loved. Not arm in arm, not hand in hand, but their pinkies intertwined.
They did not even need to speak, because they already knew each other's heart.
VII
1197. Morana liked those simple things, the simple moments they shared. When they would bath together, Striga would fix her hair, first using the herbal lotion on it, before combing it. She had a lot of patience, Striga. Just sitting there on the little stool by the bathtub, her hands and comb running through Morana's long hair again and again. It was such a strange thing about their undead existence. Even though they did not age any longer their hair would grow and needed care. It would not stay perfect and smooth forever.
But she was almost thankful for it, because it allowed her this. Leaning against Striga's knees and looking up at her and those vibrant green eyes. She could get lost in those eyes, that at times could be so determined, while at other times were still so warm and kind.
She loved this woman in a way she had not thought to be able to love. She stretched out her hand, caressing Striga's cheek, before letting her hand fall again and closing her eyes, as she allowed Striga to continue her work with the comb. Slowly and steadily weaving through every strand every single hair, while Morana just closed her eyes and breathed. She was happy, she was content, and neither of them did speak, because there was just no need to break this wonderful silence.
VIII
At times Striga was content with just the little touches, those little moments they shared. But at other times she needed this. Holding Morana's hand while they were mustering the troops. They had heard news that one of the other vampire lords was going to attack in the following nights. So they needed to be ready. It was a thing that happened again and again, every other decade. She agreed with Carmilla on that—on how the vampire men somehow were unable to leave them this. Their own little kingdom.
Her heart had never grown as cold as Carmilla's she supposed. As there were enough male vampires serving under her, that she knew that enough of them were reasonable, were able to respect them, to follow their command. There were some of them she respected in return. Though she probably would not have liked to serve under them. No, things were good as they were—with the four of them ruling… Well, mostly the three of them recently as Laura was right now somewhere far off in France.
But still, it was good the way things were. Stable. It was the thing those vampire men could not see: The value of stability. She supposed it was to be expected, given how many of them had been nobles and knights in their human life, learning from a young age that they had to grab more and more, had to be in constant war.
Yet, she knew she could win. She knew she could lead her own troops to victory. Most of all, because she had something to fight for, something she was not willing to lose. She pressed Morana's hand, as she raised her voice to adress the soldiers. Knowing they would win again.
IX
1249. This was not their usual way of dealing with things, but Morana knew it to be right. They could not go against Dracula, who seemed so much more powerful than any other vampire—even though she did still not know how. There were vampire forces gathering, because the man had foreseen an attack—and so they were meeting at his castle, that big, lifeless thing powered by magic, able to move freely through the realms. So here they were, preparing to meet the man and Striga had wanted to meet him like this. In a way fancier than how she would usually present.
Her hair made and held back in a thick braid, while the dress and cape she was wearing where underlining her femininity. Morana was working on something else, though. Putting make-up on her to hide those bags underneath her eyes, to smooth out her features and highlight her eyes. She barely ever got a chance to do something like this for her, so she had to admit she was enjoying it. Carefully—very carefully—she drew the line along Striga's eyelids, being very much aware that the other woman was holding back a chuckle.
It was this held back chuckle, that made Morana grin as well, though she did not say anything to it. And be it just that if they spoke this might take even longer—and they really did not have the time for that.
X
There was an awful quiet, that followed this battle. Because they did not know, whether they had won or not. They did not even know what it exactly was that they were fighting. It was just creatures. Creatures that were neither vampire, night creature, nor demon. Something else. Maybe a sort of fae, but all of that was just guess work. For once Striga found herself wishing for their own castle to return to, but instead it was just the menacing shadow of Dracula's castle she was walking towards.
The blood of the creatures had been green and it was covering her armor. It smelled funny—she could not really say what exactly it smelt like. Vaguely it reminded her of the smell left by rain on stone on a hot summer day—but there was something else in there. Something that was more biting to the nose. She did not know. Well, it turned out that she did not need to know, what she was fighting to kill it. By now she had fought so many battles, had so much experience. She should not be afraid out there and yet she was.
But it was over. If not the war, at least this battle was over and as she returned to that dark and menacing castle, there was a figure dressed in blue waiting on the castle steps. Morana's eyes lit up, as she saw Striga's figure and she ran towards her. For just a moment she did not care about either the green blood on Striga's armor, nor any sense of propriety, just wrapping her arms around Striga and holding her close. And Striga understood. Because in the end not even Morana with those one and a half millennia of knowledge had recognized what they were fighting and for once she actually had been afraid.
Striga returned the gesture as well as the armor allowed. She did not say anything, though, because she was just too tired for it.
XI
1308. At times it was still hard to believe that Laura was gone. Well and truly gone. She was not the first or only vampire Morana had sired—but just like the others she was gone now. Truly gone. It was the memory of her that had led Morana out here in the night, out into the forest that the other vampire had loved so much. Striga was by her side, because Striga understood her. How could she not after almost two and a half centuries spend by each other’s side? And Morana was thankful for it. She was unable to speak about it now, just as she was unable to think about where they were to go now. It had always been the four of them—even if it had been just an illusion, because Laura had never actually wanted to rule. She had wanted to explore, had wanted to see the world that had been kept from her as a human. She had seen a beauty in it that Morana had grown numb to over the many years. Even now, standing here in the forest, the leaves slowly turning orange—visible at night only to a vampire's eyes—she could not really see it.
And then there was the fledgeling of course. The fledgeling that was barely more than a child, even in human terms. Just a frightened little girl, who had made her way to Styria, because she had not known any other place to go. Morana did not know what to do about her either—and her mind was racing.
It was Striga's hand on her shoulder, that got her mind to stop. Softly Striga turned her around, her fingers gripping for something in Morana's hair. A leaf, as she realized. A leaf that had fallen and settled there.
Looking at Striga, she sighed, pressing that strong hand against her own cheek, trying to center herself. She did not speak, because right now words were evading her.
XII
After two and a half centuries, Striga understood Morana, even if she did not speak. Thus, she understood how hard the loss of Laura was hitting her, because more than anything Morana desired stability—the same stability that had evaded her for almost a millennium after her old kingdom had fallen. The worst of it was, that all Striga could do, was to be close to her, to hold her when she needed it. That was all she was able to do. Maybe though, it was enough, because she could feel Morana calm down whenever Striga pulled her close. She could see it in her eyes as well. Those blue eyes turning more focused whenever Striga held her wife. While there was no heartbeat to slow down, Morana's breath did. Becoming stronger and more even, as Striga put both hands onto her shoulders, leaning her forehead against Morana's. And thus, they stayed like this up here on the tower, where they would always flee to, when the castle became too claustrophobic.
They were just standing here, the autumn wind wafting through their hair, as Striga cupped Morana's face with her hands. After all feeling her so close did center her as well, did help her stay connected to reality. And that was maybe all she could ever ask for.
Their breaths intermingled, as they were standing there up on the towers. Close and silent, just listening to the wind rustling in the forest bellow.