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:) - Svetoslav Petrov
“We have found her,” said the lackey.
“The foretold one,” clarified his companion.
“Already?” said the Vampire. And, since vampires have very complicated and extended names, let’s call him Vladimir.
“Er. My ancestors and I have been searching for the chosen one for three hundred years,” said the lackey.
“Hm. Really.” Vladimir stretched and yawned. “And you’re absolutely certain that this is the chosen one who shall be my undoing?”
“Yes, master.”
He clambered out of his coffin. “Then I must do the only sensible thing,” he announced, “and meet her as soon as humanly possible.”
He expected a maiden of about sixteen or so. Chosen one prophecies tended to result in maidens with hidden gifts. A spark in the eye. The strength of an arm. A sanctified amulet. That sort of thing.
What he got was a perfectly ordinary girl of six. Clad in a pink, frilly dress and rumpled socks. Her gift, if there was any, was a complete and utter fearlessness combined with her eager smile.
He still gifted her the red rose, though he did teach her to grasp the stem between the thorns. “You may call me Vladimir,” he said. “And I am forever at your service.
He meant it. He became a benefactor to her family - all of it - since he had more than enough money to do so. Vladimir never needed to feed on them at all. No vampire had had to do so since the discovery of coconuts.
Though there were always a very bizarre few who were creepily too eager to volunteer…
In her formative years, she was Uncle Vlad. Whom you could set your clocks by. Reliable. Dependable. And more than a touch adorkable. He would attend her recitals. Her games - with a wide and gloomy parasol to protect him from the sun. He would cheer her on in all her efforts.
When teenager hood came, his home was her sanctuary from the cruel world. His immense library her usual retreat. His ear was hers to talk off whenever she had the need to rant.
Her name was Leela, and for ninety years, she unconsciously ran his life.
He and his minions protected her. Watched over her. Made certain that, whenever possible, Leela was kept from harm. Abusive boyfriends were warned twice… and never seen again. Muggers never touched her. Criminals never stole her things.
He made certain that she had a long and happy life. All the way to the end.
Vlad held her hand as she lay in the hospital bed. Watching her breathe. Ninety years was a blink to a vampire. Nothing. But it had been the most intense blink he had ever experienced.
“I could have turned you,” he offered. “Any time you asked.”
“…never needed to,” Leela crackled. “I already had everything.” gasp. “Wouldn’t change any day. Not for…” gasp “anything.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“No. Thank you.” And, without much in the way of fuss, she breathed her last.
Vladimir couldn’t move. Couldn’t make himself rise and leave her. Couldn’t abandon her to the cold and clinical hands of the medical technicians.
…didn’t notice the sun rising through the open window beside them both.
Didn’t protect himself when he started to burn.
When the hospital staff came to check on Mrs Foreman, she found a mysterious drift of ash over both her body and the sole visitors’ chair by her bed. And never thought about what it might mean.
Prophecies have a knack of coming true. Regardless of what the prophesied do about them.
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