Noir

The question broke the spell the water had put me under and I jerked upright, water cascading down my body. I met his eyes, searching for a hint of amusement, but found none. Instead, he regarded me with an unreadable expression. "It's not my preference," I muttered. I felt self-conscious under his gaze, as if he could see straight through me.

Noir shrugged nonchalantly. "Suit yourself." He turned away from me, his powerful shoulders rippling as he lifted a hand to sweep his wet hair from his face.

I felt a strange mixture of annoyance and disappointment. He was right, of course. It wasn't as if his question had been anything other than what it was. Simply curiosity. I was the one who had read a sexual innuendo within the question. Still, there was something about his tone, the way he seemed to dismiss me, that stung. I clenched my fists and reminded myself that I didn't need him.

I turned back to Noir, but his gaze was fixed on something far beyond me. There was a weariness in his posture that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Was it regret? Boredom? Or was it something else entirely? "What are you thinking about?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Noir's gaze flickered over to me, seemingly startled by the intrusion. "Oh, nothing much," he said, his voice distant. "Just trying to decide which of my many regrets is the most insignificant."

His words hung heavily in the air between us. I didn't know what to respond and shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that there was more to Noir than met the eye.

"Care to clarify?" I finally asked.

Noir's lips curled into a half-smile. "Oh, you mean my choice of words? Or the fact that I even have regrets?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on the canopies of the trees.

"Both, I suppose. My words are often misunderstood. And as for my regrets, they are many and varied, but I've learned not to dwell on them. It only leads to suffering," I murmured.

I felt a strange mixture of pity and understanding for him. Here was a creature who had lived for centuries, seen countless tragedies and triumphs, and seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was almost impossible to imagine what sort of life he must have led, and yet here he was, sitting before me, as vulnerable and lonely as anyone else.

"You know," I said, hesitantly, "you could always try talking to someone. Maybe it would help."

Noir turned his head to look at me, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "Oh, really?" he drawled. "And who did you have in mind?"

It was a good question. As much as I wanted to believe that there was someone out there who could understand him, the truth was that most people wouldn't know how to deal with someone like Noir. They would be either fascinated or repulsed by his ancient wisdom and the darkness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

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Noir considered my words for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the sky. "Perhaps you're right," he said, finally. "But even if I found someone who could understand me, what then? Would they be able to accept me for who I am? Or would they grow to loath *what* I am?"

There was a long silence as he continued to stare up at the clouds, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps it is better this way," he said, eventually. "To be alone, to bear one's burdens alone. At least then, no one can disappoint you." His words struck me, and for a moment I wasn't sure what to say. For the first time, I realized Noir had loved and lost more in his lifetime than I could ever imagine. I didn't want him to be alone, but at the same time, I knew that there was nothing I could do to change who he was or what he had become. I didn't have the power to make him mortal.

Wading over to him, I reached out and placed my hand gently on his shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it was all I could manage. "I don't know if anyone could ever truly understand you," I said softly, "but I do believe that there is someone out there who would accept you for who you are. Maybe not everyone, but someone. And if that someone is me..." I trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the thought.

Noir turned his head to look at me, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile. "You are an interesting one, Lyra," he said, his voice softening. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it's better to have someone to share the burden with, even if it means that they might not always understand." He sighed heavily, and for a moment I thought he might say more, but instead he shifted his gaze back to the tree canopy.

We sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds the wind rustling through the trees and the distant call of a night bird. I wanted to reach out to him, to hold his hand, but his misrepresentation of *what* he was still stung. Trust had to be earned, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet.

**ETON**

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The words Noir had said about being alone, resonated deep within me. The life of a vampire was, quite honestly, lonely. It was a life filled with solitude and the weight of one's own secrets. I hated living this way. I wanted to have someone to share my life with, to love and be loved in return. But I knew that with who and what I was, that was never going to happen.

I turned my head to look at Noir where he stood in the small pool talking with Lyra, and studied his features in the dim light. There was an aura of sadness that clung to him like a second skin. We were ancient, powerful, and yet so alone. It was a bitter irony that I couldn't help but think about. Despite our immortality, we were still as fragile as the humans we wished to be.

Noir and I had been through so much together. We had seen empires rise and fall, loved and lost countless times, and witnessed the birth of civilizations. But through it all, we had always been there for each other. We had shared our burdens and our joys, and I couldn't imagine going through any of it without him.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

I glanced over at Lyra and wondered if she had any idea of what she meant to Noir. He was fiercely protective of her, sometimes to a fault. It was as if she was the one bright spot in his otherwise dreary existence. And while I knew that my own feelings for her were brotherly, I couldn't help but be envious of the bond they shared.

Turning, I began making my way back toward the camp. I'd watched Lyra leave earlier, and as I hadn't known where Noir was, I'd followed. I knew she could handle herself, but she couldn't handle more than one descendant of a Cyprian, alone. And if what we suspected was actually occurring, it wasn't just the descendants we had to worry about. No, far from it.

As I walked, I found myself thinking about what we were facing. I'd told Lyra a lot about the prophecy, about only an Eton Witch being able to find it. But I hadn't told her everything. I hadn't mentioned that the scroll only told of where the real key to ending this shit lay; The Book Of Blood.