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Gone.
It was all gone.
His coven all but destroyed. What few members remained, unwilling to obey. His way of life was no more.
And the snake who had brought it on, the one who had broken the fragile peace Armand had tiptoed over for — for how long? Centuries? — had skipped town, leaving Armand behind.
What was left? A handful of vampires who insisted on walking amongst the mortals, who disobeyed his every command? A theatre to learn to run? A whining violinist he had to hold from the fire night after night?
Perhaps it was his time to meet the flames. His era was gone. How could he live in this strange new world?
No, he had no place here.
Although.
When he thought of the fire, he could hear the desperate screams of his friends. Of Riccardo. He could smell the burning flesh, hear their bones cracking and the fat dripping into the fire.
He could see his master as the flames licked his face, and could feel the life he thought he would have, burning into smoke alongside him.
So, not the fire. Armand could not abide the flames.
The sun, then. He would see the sunrise one final time, then be done with it all.
Armand didn't tell anyone where he was going. It wasn't like they needed him anymore. They would find out soon enough that he was gone. While the pathetic remains of his former coven prepared for coffin, Armand slipped out, unseen, and instead climbed to the top of the tower to await the sunrise.
He wasn't sure when he last saw a sunrise. The days immediately before his turning blended together, his uncooperative limbs keeping him stuck in bed, and the confusion muddling his memories of his life.
But he did have one clear, shining memory. Sitting next to Riccardo at the harbor after the master had gone to sleep, both exhausted from a late night. Riccardo pressed close, the heat of his leg a searing line chasing away the chill of the morning. The sun rose slowly over the water, brilliant pinks and reds bathing them both in an eerie glow as they sat in silence watching the sun rise overhead.
That was the image Armand kept with him as he climbed. His life wasn't what he expected — he found disappointment at every turn; every time he settled into a life, it was taken from him — but when the morning came, he would finally be reunited with Riccardo. The two of them could sit together again, heated by the gentle warmth of the sun.
As Armand settled in on the roof of the tower, dawn was already coming, with hints of royal blue sneaking in at the edges of the horizon. He kept his mind carefully blank as the sky lightened around him. No need to wallow. The sun would embrace him soon, and he would know peace for the first time in centuries.
The first rays of light peeking over the horizon were a sight to behold. The light was more beautiful than he could have remembered, and the promise it held had blood-red tears streaming down his cheeks. Strange. He didn't feel sad.
Armand braced himself as the sun rose and the light began to warm his skin for the first time in many lifetimes. He would burn soon, and be reunited with his master and all his friends.
Any second now.
As the sun crept above the horizon, nothing happened. It felt a bit tingly, maybe, but it didn't hurt. He wasn't burning.
Maybe the sun's rays couldn't get him from so low in the sky. Maybe it wouldn't work until it had climbed higher.
He waited for the sun to rise more, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. What was happening? Why was he still sitting on the roof, watching the sunrise?
He'd heard stories, of course, of ancient vampires who could withstand the sun. But he had thought them to be only myth. His master had never mentioned being able to survive the sun, and who was more ancient than his master?
But what other conclusion could he draw? The sun was high overhead, and the worst he felt was an itchy heat.
What was he to do? He considered the fire again, but even knowing it seemed it was his only option, he couldn't stomach the thought.
He supposed he would just have to survive. He'd pick himself up, as he always did, and learn how to adapt. It wasn't the first time and, against his will, it wouldn't be the last.
Armand stood, dusted himself off, and began to climb back down from the roof. He'd throw himself into the theatre. He'd learn to direct. He could learn to love it.
But first, he had to do something about that damned whining violinist.