When an Immortal Dies, What Remains for Those Who Were Meant to Share Eternity?
It was strange to look at the coffin and know there was nothing inside. Funerals are for the living—never for those who've already left us. And that, perhaps, is the greatest tragedy of all.
What was left unsaid in time will now settle like a thin layer of ash in the mind, spinning endlessly like a broken record, reminding you of the moments you missed—when you could have embraced once more, or simply said goodbye.
When you live among vampires, you grow used to the thought that death isn't something that lingers on the threshold, waiting for permission to enter. Illnesses passed our clan by, and accidents never left scars on the skin of its members to remind them how fragile flesh can be.
We looked deceptively human.
We walked among others, built corporations, and yet stayed close only to our own. Every vampire clan is a closed society, its laws dictated by its head. An eternal ruler walks a fine line—protecting the clan's existence while punishing those whose actions might endanger it.
But if the clan's leader is dead…
That was the last thought I wanted to entertain—yet it refused to leave, circling in my head like an unrelenting storm.
In nineteen years of life within the clan, I had grown used to the idea of my own immortality. I just never thought it would so easily fool me into believing that everyone around me shared it.
Sooner or later, castles in the air always shatter against reality. I stood among the ruins of my certainties and watched as the sealed coffin was lowered into the ground, my heart aching from the emptiness left behind by someone I had loved.
If only I knew what had brought him to this town. Why had there been a fire that left nothing but ash?
The vampires of the clan stood aside in the front row—it was my turn to cast a handful of earth upon the coffin lid. None of us truly knew why we were doing it; after all, it had been centuries since we'd last buried one of our own. But we tried to imitate human customs. You never know who might be watching.
I stepped to the edge of the grave and scooped up a handful of soil. Damp earth crumbled between my fingers, pleasantly stinging my palm. Sunlight reached down into the pit, dissolving the darkness. On the coffin's flawless surface, glimmers danced like rubies.
It was time to say goodbye. I should have spoken—something, anything—for we had been close. But a knot rose in my throat, choking the words before they could form. Everything about this felt wrong.
A coffin with no corpse.
A fire that left no trace of a body.