Ved'ma

Curiosity was such a human trait; even Inna was not immune to it.

After she'd shut her hovel away, locked the doors and the windows, and said goodnight to her sprigs of rosemary and lavender hanging from the rafters, she climbed the stairs toward the singular room that she occupied.

Out of habit, as she did every night, Inna shut the door behind her and stripped down to her chemise that she'd fashioned herself. Out of habit, as she did every night, she stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror by her washing basin.

Her brown skin was sallow in the moonlight, as it always was. Her brown eyes were bloodshot -- with many thanks to the drunkard that's been harassing her for three days -- and her black, curly hair was frizzed and in dire need of a good washing.

Neglected, she thought, running a hand through her hair, worsening the state of it. Distracted.

Distracted -- that's what it was. Through the stupidity of the last few days, something long gone had sunk itself back into Inna the Ved'ma's heart. Something sickening that she missed, but wished she wouldn't. They was no need to wish for it, no need to think of it--

Don't, her mind said as she took up the cup of rainwater sitting on the windowsill.

Don't, her mind repeated as she swept her hand over the candle on her bedside table. The tiny room was quickly illuminated by the flame.

Do not--, she heard in her head, but the voice silenced when she removed the small knife from under her pillow and sliced one clean line into the heart line on her palm. The wound bubbled up immediately. The appendage shook as she squeezed her hand shut, dripping blood into the rainwater in the cup.

"Show him to me," she said. "Show me Rabe the Koldun."

Her heart slammed against her sternum, something that she was least expecting. This had been a considerable temptation as of late, but she'd always ignored it, always been smarter than to give into temptation. Temptation was the liquid heat in the pit of her stomach as she said his name, as the one who was not there anymore had begun to leech into her thoughts again.

Once, long ago, where Inna was, Rabe was there, too. He was the roughness to her softness, the chaos to her good, the ice to her fire. He made her feel a way that her other lovers never did; he knew how to bring her to a point where her vision blurred at the edges and they were one with each other. Attempting to replicate this exact feeling with her next lovers proved fruitless. The humanly curiosity burned within her, even now, for all these centuries. She thought of him, still, sometimes, a few times too many.

The edges of Inna's vision blackened as the swirling image of blood and water spun into flames.

"Kochanie," the whisper came from the recesses of her mind, burning her insides, frying her brain. It came again and again: "Kochanie...kochanie...

Then, right in her ear, teasingly: "Kochanie Inna."

Inna yelped and the flaming cup fell from her hand, shattering on the wooden floor. Splinters of clay cut her toes and ankles as a cold wash fell upon her.

"Oh, Inna," Rabe said from against the closed door, his image in this form like that of an aristocrat, black and elegant and rolling cold waves into the room, like the snow outside. His black cloak hid his body from her. All she could see was his face -- sharp angles, icy hair, her opposite -- and a gloved hand outstretched toward her. "My Inna. I missed you."

The wound on her hand dripped into her chemise. It had been centuries.

"You're bleeding," he said, hand still outstretched. Silently telling her to take it.

"Go away," she said, realizing the gravity of her mistake. Showing herself to him -- this is what she wanted to avoid for all of these centuries.

His smile froze Inna's core as he lowered his hand. "You summoned me."

"No, I--" and she was silenced by his hand on her throat. Rabe brought her face closer to his, close enough to kiss her.

"'Show me Rabe the Koldun'," he said, his icy breath filling the small space between them, filling her nose. He regarded her for a moment before letting her go. Inna stumbled back, coughing into her hand. Her throat burned from his touch, icicles in her mouth.

"Go away," she said again.

"Admit it, you miss me," he said.

"I don't."

"You're a terrible liar," he said. "Just like those filthy humans that you help."

"Away with you," she said. If he were anyone else, she could reverse the spell; but he was not anyone else and she could not reverse it. Bile rose up her throat as she realized how much she didn't want to reverse it.

She did miss him.

Rabe, in all his glory, knew this, and felt it, too. He said to her, "Your other lovers were pathetic -- they did not pleasure you as I do."

"Don't flatter yourself," Inna said raggedly.

"Flatter? You'd cry for me," he said. "We both know this."

Of course she knew this and it brought tears to the Ved'ma's eyes to admit it to herself. He was her weakness; where she existed, as did he. They could easily move in the same circle, but it was easier to move in parallel lines, never touching again.

"You're a demon," she said, finally, too cold in that blasted room, when the snow outside the hovel never bothered her.

His expression was that of sadness, a slight twitch of his mouth. "So are you, Inna."

When she blinked, Rabe was gone. The only evidence that he was even there was the residual cold, the watery blood on the floor, and the frozen bruise on the Ved'ma's throat.