Loneliness is a cold, empty space, but the warmth of friendship fills it with light and life.
Under the Crescent Moon
"Hudetz," he answered the phone.
"Hi," I said. "I'm done."
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"Did you get them? All of them?" he finally asked.
"Yes," I confirmed. "But I left one for you. If you want him, please meet me at the pub an hour before opening."
"I'll be there," he said and hung up.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and took a drag from my cigarette. Simon approached me without making a sound and sat down beside me.
"You are cruel," he declared.
"Is that so?" I asked, feigning surprise.
"You're handing him a man who had nothing to do with the murders while you're hiding the real killer. What is that if not cruelty?"
"I need Mazen," I said.
"I know," Simon sighed, resting his head on his knees. "But it's still not right."
"No, it's not," I said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "But at least it'll satisfy everyone. The guy was going to die anyway, so at least his death will have some meaning."
At the time, I believed that. I thought it even as I met Hudetz, who promptly put a bullet in the mage before I could say a word. All he asked me was what I wanted in payment, and I told him I'd collect it someday. He nodded and left. Little did I know that I'd never get the chance to call in that favor.
By eleven o'clock, I heard the first whispers of an ambulance and police converging on Hudetz's house. Curious, I paid a visit to the police chief's residence. Yellow ribbons, detectives, and police officers greeted me at every turn. With a reassuring glance, I coaxed one of them into revealing that Hudetz had killed himself after he got home.
It was then that I realized revenge does not always bring redemption to a human soul. I couldn't quite understand humans. As I stared at the black body bag, it hit me: all my efforts had been in vain.
The sterile environment of the police scene seemed almost suffocating, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned within me. I felt an emptiness I hadn't anticipated.
Later that evening, I returned to my room.
Simon entered without waiting for an invitation, his usual composed demeanor slightly shadowed by anger and maybe concern.
I gestured toward a chair but remained standing, my frustration barely contained. "What do you want, Simon?"
Simon took a seat, his gaze steady as he watched me. "You seem… distracted."
I sighed, feeling the weight of his observation. "Distracted doesn't quite capture it. Hudetz died."
His eyes were as dead as ever. He knew. That was why he came to me.
"His death..." I continued, "It just feels hollow."
Simon's eyes softened, though his voice was firm. "You're trying to rebuild from the chaos. And sometimes, in that process, the line between right and wrong gets blurred."
I shot him a glare. "So, you think I'm making a mistake?"
Simon leaned forward, his tone earnest. "It's not about right or wrong. It's about the consequences of your choices."
My anger flared. "I'm not a child who needs comforting. I'm doing what's necessary to secure my position and my future."
Simon stood up, facing me directly. "Securing your position isn't just about eliminating threats and tying loose ends. It's about making sure you don't lose yourself in the process."
I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my composure. "I don't need a lecture on morality. I need rest."
Simon's eyes narrowed, but his expression remained calm. "And I need you to be honest with yourself. Maybe you need both."
The room fell into silence as I grappled with Simon's words. I turned away, staring out the window into the dark night, trying to make sense of my actions and their consequences.
As Simon left, I stood alone, the weight of his words settling heavily on my shoulders. But as I stood there, something caught my eye—the reflection staring back at me from the window.
The image was distorted at first, but as I focused, it became clearer. My silver hair seemed to glow under the dim light, catching the reflections of the street lights like threads of liquid metal. The contrast of the black eye whites against my pale, almost translucent skin was striking. My eyes, once clear and familiar, had taken on a chilling intensity.
I leaned closer to the window, my breath fogging up the glass slightly. The cold, dark pupils seemed to absorb the light around them, creating an unsettling contrast with the silvery blue of my irises. The gaze that met me from the other side of the glass was cold and commanding, holding a depth of authority that was both alien and inherent.
My reflection seemed to morph subtly, the lines of my face sharpening, the expression hardening. It was as if the window was not just showing me who I was but also reflecting the essence of the Hueless King within me. The transformation was more than physical; it was an embodiment of my role, my power, and my isolation.
I reached out a hand to touch the window, my fingers pressing against the cool surface. The feeling of the glass against my skin was a jarring contrast to the warmth of the room. The reflection seemed to mock me with its detachment, highlighting the distance between who I had been and who I was becoming.
I pulled back, shaking off the unsettling feeling. The image of the Hueless King in the window remained etched in my mind, a constant reminder of the path I had chosen. The night outside was dark, but it mirrored the cold clarity of my new identity. I walked away from the window, leaving behind the reflection of the Hueless King, but carrying its essence with me.
While I was intent on building something great, I couldn't afford to lose sight of my own humanity in the process.
I hadn't meant to stay away for so long.
The cemetery was silent as I walked through the gates, the familiar path leading me to Jo's grave. It was late, and the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft, silvery light over the rows of gravestones. The air was cool, crisp, and carried the faint scent of earth and fallen leaves.
I approached Jo's grave slowly, each step weighed down by the time that had passed since my last visit.
When I reached the gravestone, I stopped, staring at her name etched into the cold stone. For a moment, I just stood there, the silence pressing in around me. Then, finally, I spoke.
"I'm sorry, Jo," I said, my voice low, almost a whisper. "I haven't been here in a while. Things have… changed."
I crouched down, my fingers brushing the base of the gravestone. The cool stone beneath my touch was a stark reminder of the reality I still struggled to accept.
The wind rustled the leaves around me, and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sound fill the silence between us. "There's something I need to tell you… something I haven't said out loud until now."
I opened my eyes and looked at the grave, the weight of my words heavy in the cool night air. "I'm a king now, Jo. The Hueless King."
The words felt strange on my tongue as if admitting them made the reality even more daunting. "I never wanted this. I didn't ask for it. But it's mine now, and I have to bear it. I'm trying to do what's right, to protect everyone."
I reached out and pulled out the bottle of her perfume that I had left here in the intricate box.
Unscrewing the cap, I sprayed a little into the air, the scent immediately evoking memories of her — the warmth of her presence, her smile, the way she could light up a room just by being in it. It was almost like she was there with me again, if only for a fleeting moment.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of the perfume with it, a lingering reminder of her. "I know this isn't what you'd have wanted for me, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my life simple, that I couldn't just… be the person you knew. But I'm still here, Jo. I'm still trying."
I placed the bottle of perfume back in the box, a small token of remembrance. As I stood in the cemetery, the night sky stretched endlessly above me, the stars twinkling like distant memories.
As I turned to leave, I heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Coffee approaching, a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. She gave me a small smile as she walked up beside me.
"Hey," she said quietly, placing the flowers next to the perfume bottle. "I thought I'd find you here."
I nodded.
Coffee had become a constant in my life, someone who understood the pain I carried because she carried her own. She didn't say much as she stood there beside me, but her presence was comforting, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this.
We stood in silence for a while, just the two of us and the memories of the one we both missed so much. The night was cool, the air crisp with the scent of earth and leaves, mingling with the lingering fragrance of Jo's perfume.
"I heard you," Coffee finally said, her voice soft, "I think she'd be proud of you. Of everything you're doing."
I glanced at her, surprised by the words. "You think so?"
She nodded. "I know so."
We stayed there a while longer, the silence between us comfortable, filled with the shared understanding of loss and the slow, steady process of healing.
Coffee remained silent for a while, her gaze fixed on the gravestone, lost in her own thoughts. The flowers she had brought lay next to the box with the small bottle of Jo's perfume, a simple, heartfelt tribute to someone who had meant so much to both of us.
She finally spoke, her voice breaking the stillness of the night. ."Shay, I've made up my mind. I want you to know that I'm not just here to offer my support—I'm here to serve you."
I turned to her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were steady, filled with a quiet determination that I had come to respect. "Coffee, you don't have to—"
She cut me off gently, shaking her head. "Let me finish."
Coffee took a deep breath before continuing. "I want you to know that I'm with you. I'm loyal to you, and I'll stand by your side, no matter what. You are my King, and it's time I made that clear."
Without warning, Coffee took a step back and gracefully lowered herself to one knee. The motion was fluid, almost reverent, and it caught me off guard. She bowed her head, her dark hair falling forward to frame her face. But then, in a gesture that felt both ancient and instinctual, she bared her neck to me—a gesture that, among vampires, symbolized complete submission and trust.
My breath caught in my throat as I realized the significance of what she was doing. This was more than just a declaration of loyalty; it was a pledge of her life, her strength, and her very being. In vampire culture, such a gesture was reserved for those they deemed worthy of absolute allegiance, a vow that could never be broken.
Coffee's hand rested on Jo's gravestone, her fingers brushing the etched letters with a kind of familiarity. She didn't speak right away; instead, she took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the ground as if gathering her thoughts.
"Shay," she said, her voice unwavering, even as she remained in that vulnerable position. "You are my King, in blood and in spirit. I pledge myself to you, not just as a friend, but as your knight, your protector, and your servant. My life, my strength, they are yours to command."
The way she touched the gravestone, the way her voice softened, made it clear that this moment wasn't just about us. It was about something bigger, something deeper. A promise not only made to me but to the one who wasn't there to hear it.
I stared at her, the weight of her words and actions pressing heavily on me. This was not something I had ever expected, not from Coffee, not from anyone. But in that moment, I understood the depth of what she was offering me. It was more than loyalty—it was her absolute trust, her belief in me as a leader, as someone worthy of such a pledge.
"Coffee… you don't have to do this," I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. "I never wanted—"
"You don't have to say anything," she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. "This isn't about what you wanted or didn't want. It's about who you are now. And I choose to stand by you, to serve you."
I felt a surge of emotion, a mix of gratitude, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Slowly, I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to rise. She looked up at me, her eyes shining with a fierce determination.
She rose to her feet gracefully, the moment of submission passing. Her gaze met mine, and in it, I saw not just loyalty, but a deep, unshakeable faith. Her eyes met mine with an intensity that caught me off guard.
"You are my King," she repeated, her voice firm.
I nodded, the gravity of her words settling within me. As we stood together in the deepening night, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. The kind of peace that comes not from words, but from the silent agreements made in places where memories linger and where the past and present seem to meet.
Jo was our witness. It felt just right.