Vengeance Through Passion

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, bathing the room in a gentle golden glow. The light seemed to dance across the walls, shimmering over each piece of furniture and pooling softly onto the bed. Aricia squinted, gradually opening her eyes, adjusting to the brightness that now filled the small room. She blinked, allowing her vision to clear before sweeping her gaze around the quiet space.

The room was still, yet something felt... different. It took her only a moment to recognize what was missing. The girl was gone.

"Hello… child?" she called, her voice barely breaking the morning silence. Though she didn’t expect an answer, the emptiness confirmed her suspicion.

Aricia sat up, pushing her hair back from her face, her fingers brushing against the bandages on her hand. Her thoughts raced. She knew little about children, true, but she knew enough to realize that no child would remain in one place for long, especially if given the chance to wander.

“Flying monkeys,” she muttered, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “How on earth did I fall asleep?”

She pushed herself out of bed, her movements brisk as she flung the door open and stepped into the bustling street. Her heart thumped with a strange sense of urgency. She scanned the faces of those passing by, hoping to catch sight of the small, familiar figure.

She grabbed the arm of a nearby passerby, a man with a bundle of bread in his hands.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice sharp with an edge of desperation. “Have you seen a child? A… a girl, about this tall,” she gestured with her hand at a height close to her waist, trying to convey the urgency without letting panic slip into her tone.

The man shook his head, mumbling an apology before slipping away into the crowd.

As she turned, frustration began to rise in her chest, she found herself face to face with Vincent. His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, and he looked past her as if she were a ghost standing in his path.

“Excuse me, you,” she said, trying to catch his attention.

He halted, glancing down at her with an amused expression, a laugh tugging at the corner of his lips as if finding some private joke in her demand.

“I’d like to think you’re not referring to me,” he replied smoothly, his eyes shifting away as though regretting something.

She knew he was arrogant, but he was observant, and she could use another set of eyes in this frantic search.

“Have you seen a little girl?” she asked, her tone faltering with a mix of frustration and hope.

Before she could continue, he turned, already walking away as though the conversation was over. Anger flickered in her chest, and without thinking, she reached out, her hand brushing against his arm to halt him. Immediately, she pulled back, instinctively checking her bandages.

Vincent turned, one eyebrow raised, clearly irritated. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone colder than the morning air.

For a brief moment, she considered voicing the suspicion that had plagued her—whether he had been the one that stole her gloves, if he did for what reason. But she dismissed it, her mind returning to the immediate concern of finding the girl. She didn’t want to concern herself with anyone from the Fire Clan, much less involve herself with someone as irritating as Vincent.

She wiped her hand on her gown, dismissing her lingering thoughts with a muttered, “Nothing. I just… never mind.”

Vincent’s mouth opened slightly, as if he were about to say something, but after a moment, he seemed to reconsider and remained silent. She caught a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps guilt, or maybe just indifference. Either way, it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Taking a steadying breath, Aricia straightened her posture and asked, “Have you… seen a child? A girl, about six to eight years old?”

Vincent’s brow furrowed in the slightest manner possible, and he simply replied, “I haven’t.” With that, he continued down the street, disappearing into the sea of people.

As the hours passed, Aricia roamed the marketplace, her eyes scanning each face, every corner, hoping for a glimpse of the girl. Despite the noise and activity, an eerie sense of responsibility weighed heavily on her heart. She couldn’t shake the thought that this child, whoever she was, needed her. Perhaps it was because, in some ways, Aricia saw herself in the girl—alone, without a soul in the world looking out for her.

Elsewhere, Vincent was making his way back to the small brothel at the edge of the city. As he approached, a familiar voice called out to him from across the street.

“Brother!” Caelric’s voice echoed above the crowd, clear and filled with urgency. Vincent’s shoulders tensed, but he stopped, turning with a weary sigh as Caelric bounded over, his face flushed and his breath labored.

“What is it, Richard?” Vincent muttered dryly. “Did you fall into a pool of your own saliva?”

Caelric ignored the jibe, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “It’s Gwen,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I think… I think she’s missing.”

Vincent’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean, missing?”

“I don’t know,” Caelric stammered, his voice filled with frustration. “She’s not anywhere in Zephyriion. I thought you might know where she went.”

Vincent’s mind raced, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. "A girl. Six to eight". His memory flashed back to his encounter, and a gnawing unease settled in his chest.

“Are you listening to me, man!?” Caelric’s voice rose, his anger barely contained. “It’s today. We have to find her no matter what.”

At the word “today,” a chill swept through Vincent, a wave of dread that settled like ice in his veins. His grip on the loaf of bread he held slipped, and the bundle dropped to the ground, forgotten.

***

Vincent and Caelric separated, each taking a different route in their search for Gwendolyn. Vincent pushed through the crowded streets, his eyes scanning the faces around him, his heart pounding as the day slipped closer to twilight.

His search led him to a modest cottage, he burst the door open where he found Freya in the kitchen, hands smeared with sticky red currant jam, her cheeks puffed with a stolen mouthful of bread. She turned, wide-eyed, as he entered, her mouth frozen mid-chew.

“Why’s he here?” Freya muttered under her breath, eyeing him suspiciously. She swallowed her bite, then crossed her arms defiantly.

“Wait,” she said with mock indignation, “aren’t vampires supposed to be invited before entering a new home? I suppose that checks out the most logical explanation.”

Vincent cast her a withering look, ignoring her comment as he strode deeper into the house, searching each room. But as he exited, frustration gnawed at him.

Freya, watching his every move, piped up sarcastically, “Looking for someone? Maybe Ricia? She’s probably at the community library. Or out to find a job” She smirked, adding under her breath, “Though that’s as impossible as me marrying Arthur Wainwright.”

But Vincent was already halfway out the door, her words barely registering. As the sun began its descent, the sky darkened, casting long shadows over the city. His anxiety grew, his mind racing with possibilities, each more ominous than the last.

***

As the final traces of daylight began to fade, Vincent’s thoughts returned to an old legend, one he’d tried to dismiss many times as mere superstition. There was a well—sealed by both his mother and the Queen Mother, the Yazaki of Mukazi. According to ancient scriptures, this well held a dark power, one tied to the fates of their firstborn daughters. It was said that the spirits of these two clans would unite, returning to the water from which they came, in a final, eternal peace.

But there was a condition, a chilling stipulation: if one of the daughters went before the other, her sacrifice would be accepted as a token of goodwill, bringing peace… at a terrible cost. He recalled the words, etched into his memory:

“And so, both souls shall unite and become one. A peaceful rest they have never known will befall them. They will return back into the water just as they came, but I tell you if one of them decides to go before the other, the sacrifice of the one who comes first will be accepted as goodwill, and eternal peace shall befall them.”

Aricia wandered through the woods, her steps soft against the leaf-strewn ground. Her eyes scanned the landscape, catching sight of a small figure near an old tree. She approached cautiously, and as she drew closer, the figure turned to face her.

It was the girl.

“Oh, there you are! Hello, child.” Aricia raised a hand, relief flooding her chest as she approached. She moved closer, studying Gwendolyn's expression, which seemed strangely distant, a look of both curiosity and… something more profound than a child’s typical gaze.

Gwendolyn glanced at her, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “I’ve been here before,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost like a whisper she directed to herself. Her eyes held a peculiar sadness, as if she were peering through Aricia rather than at her.

Aricia felt a chill creep up her spine, but she forced a gentle smile, kneeling down to the girl’s level. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice softer, gentler than usual. Gwendolyn gave a small nod, though her gaze remained unfocused, lost in whatever thoughts held her captive.

“I asked Brother to bring me here once,” Gwendolyn continued, “but he left to buy… protection instead.” She chuckled, though the sound was hollow. “But I don’t have it anymore you see.”

Aricia watched her carefully, a flicker of unease settling into her heart. The child’s tone was unusual, weighted with a wisdom that seemed well beyond her years. She reached out a hand, her fingers brushing the girl’s arm.

“Let’s go back to the cottage,” Aricia urged softly, trying to keep her voice steady.

Gwendolyn turned away from her, looking out across the forest as though seeing something beyond the trees, something only she could sense. “I don’t want to,” she replied, her voice carrying a haunting certainty. “I’ve waited a long time for this.” Her expression softened, almost sad. “And I finally understood that saying, some things are better left unknown.”

A shiver ran through Aricia. The air around them felt colder, heavier, like the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting. Gwendolyn’s words seemed to echo through the silence, each one weaving an invisible tension into the space between them.

Without warning, Gwendolyn lowered herself to the ground, lying down on the soft grass as if she were settling in for a peaceful rest. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing slow and calm. In that quiet, still moment, a strange question rose unbidden

in Aricia’s mind—one she’d had when she first met the girl, but now felt unavoidable.

Who is this child?