---
I wake to the feeling of soft, small hands gently brushing through my hair.
For a moment, I don't move.
Then I open my eyes.
Liesel is leaning over me, her expression filled with quiet worry… and something softer.
Care.
"Liesel…" My voice is weak, barely more than a whisper. "Why are you…?"
She pauses, as if searching for the right words.
"You were crying," she says gently. "Shaking. It sounded like a nightmare." She hesitates, then adds, "I just wanted to help."
Before I can respond, she reaches for a bowl beside her—porridge, the same as always—and brings it toward my lips.
I don't argue.
I open my mouth and take small sips, the bland taste barely registering. After a few, I pull away, too tired to continue.
"Thank you," I murmur. "You don't have to be so kind to me. I haven't done anything to deserve it."
She gently brushes her fingers along my cheek.
"No," she says softly, "you haven't done anything to deserve what's happening to you either."
Her hand lingers for a moment before she pulls it back.
"We're both here against our will," she continues. "That makes us the same… whether we like it or not."
She exhales slowly, then glances at me again, hesitant.
"Do you… need blood?"
I blink.
"I've seen what happens when you don't have it," she adds quietly. "So… if you need it…"
She lifts her wrist toward me.
"You can take some."
---
I stare at her, caught off guard.
"Are you sure?" I ask. "I wouldn't ask that of you."
She nods.
"It's okay."
---
I hesitate.
Then slowly, carefully, I take her wrist.
I'm as gentle as I can be when my fangs pierce her skin.
Warmth spreads instantly as I drink.
Her blood is…different.
Softer. Sweeter.
It fills me in a way that goes beyond the hunger—settling something deeper inside, something restless and aching.
For a moment, everything feels…quiet.
Peaceful.
---
I pull back quickly.
Carefully.
I press my hand against the small wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
"Thank you," I say softly. "You're…too kind."
She smiles faintly, though there's a flicker of pain in her eyes as she rubs her wrist.
"It's nothing," she says.
---
Silence settles between us for a moment.
Then the question that's been lingering in my mind finally surfaces.
"Liesel…" I say. "Why are you here?"
---
Her gaze drops immediately.
Her fingers return to her wrist, rubbing it absently.
"My mother," she says after a moment. "She was like you."
I frown slightly.
"She had an ability," Liesel continues. "I didn't know it at the time… but it makes sense now."
She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
"She could heal people," she says. "Not instantly. Not like a miracle. But wounds would close faster. Fevers would break sooner. People… recovered."
Her voice softens.
"She worked in the medical tents during the war."
A pause.
"I didn't want her to go," she admits. "I begged her to stay. I was so afraid something would happen to her."
Her voice begins to tremble.
"But she went anyway."
Her eyes glisten.
"And then… she didn't come back."
---
The words break her.
Tears spill over as her body starts to shake.
---
I don't think.
I just move.
I sit up, ignoring the protest of my body, and pull her into an embrace.
For a moment, she stiffens.
Then she collapses into me, clutching at my shirt as her sobs deepen.
She buries her face against my chest, her tears soaking into the fabric.
---
We stay like that.
For a long time.
---
Her breathing is uneven at first—ragged, broken by quiet sobs—but slowly, it steadies.
At some point, the tension leaves her body.
Her grip loosens.
And she falls asleep in my arms.
---
I look down at her.
Her face is peaceful now, though faint traces of tears still mark her cheeks.
Something twists in my chest.
A quiet, steady ache.
---
I shift carefully, trying not to wake her, and lean back against the wall.
I don't let go.
---
No matter what I am…
No matter what I've done…
I know one thing.
---
I don't want her to suffer here.
---
I close my eyes, holding her close as the darkness comes again.
Sleep takes me slowly this time.
Not peaceful.
But… quieter than before.