Lady Mikhail's heartbroken laments echo around the stables, drawing the curious attention of young stallions, and the much less wanted attention of elvish butlers outside the stables, who raise their heads in voiceless surprise to hear such a delicate confession pass their way. The blue skinned vampire pauses for a second, gulping down tears quickly in an effort to compose herself, and for a second- just one second, my heart pangs with the restless chords of guilt.
I have to withdraw myself from the conversation for a moment to assess the situation logically.
One the one hand, this could be a trick, a guilty plea to give up Soren- vampires are known for committing much worse acts of fraudulence, yet her voice is raw with cracks of emotion, so much so that after this long time in the palace, even with the hardness of my own heart, I begin to feel inklings of sympathy towards her. And after all this time, whoever thought I would hold sympathies with a vampire?
