Eternity Ends Among The Roses

The manor was quieter than it had ever been. Amara Delacroix stood atop the staircase, regal and tall, her head heavy with the weight of the Delacroix crown’s lineage. She gazed out the window, watching somberly as the rain streaked the stone walls of her family's centuries-old stronghold. She filtered through the tapping of rain against the stained-glass window, listening intently for the sound that mattered most to her: the slow and tired heartbeat of her beloved Claudia Giorgini. Amara stared out the window, watching the Rose Garden gleam with dew in the moonlight, admiring the blossoming sanctuary she had built for Claudia. The roses bloomed wild and red against the cobble-stoned fencing, and a green moss had settled atop the walls, beautifully weathered by time and rain.

She turned and descended the old stairs in quiet reverence, her pale hand gliding along the banister as her fiery red hair billowed behind her. The candlelight flickered across paintings that adorned their hallway—Delacroix family faces long since faded into myth, their secrets locked away behind a somber gaze. She thought of them less and less, her priorities having shifted, now that the light within Claudia smoldered so dimly in the next room.

The kitchen glowed with a warm, inviting light, something foreign to Amara’s life before she had met Claudia. The air smelled thick with the scent of rosemary, beeswax, and roses that she had plucked from the garden. Claudia sat at the marbled table, bundled in a shawl she had crocheted years ago, back when her hands had yet surrendered to the cruelness of age. Claudia smiled softly, tiny and silver-haired, her body weathered from time, but graceful nonetheless. Her beauty was untouched by age, at least in Amara’s eyes. She had witnessed every decade of Claudia’s slow journey from a young ballet dancer in her twenties to her beloved wife in old age, yet cherished her in every form.

Claudia’s face brightened upon seeing Amara, her hazel eyes alight with love and mischief, even now. “Hello, my love,” she whispered, her Florentine accent still making Amara’s heart flutter after all these years. “Have you been pacing the halls again?”

Amara kissed her forehead, her lips soft against the wrinkles of her beloved’s skin. “Perhaps. The storm’s been restless tonight.” A small lie to mask the truth, which was that Amara could feel Claudia’s life waning, and with every second, she was forced to confront the choice she’d spent decades dreading. Live eternally without the only woman she had ever truly loved, or abandon her entire lineage’s legacy for one final dawn together.

Claudia squeezed Amara’s hand and smiled faintly. “Restless, ageless, and still incapable of sitting still. I suppose some things never change…even if the rest of us do.”

Amara returned a smile, a tremor lingering within her chest at the weight of her words. She slid into the chair beside her, caressing her hands—cold as ice. The difference between the warmth of Claudia’s and the frigidness of Amara’s had become less stark with every passing year. Amara, unchanging and immortal; Claudia, now fragile like glass, her body had bowed under the weight of time, yet her spirit remained intact.

“Did you finish your painting, my love?” Amara asked, as she gestured to the canvas perched near the garden's entrance.

“Almost. It’s the garden at dawn. I wanted you to see it the way I see it,” she said, a somber look in her eyes. “You’ve seen almost everything in the world, but this is the one thing I’ve seen that you haven't. I want to leave you with that memory.”

A gloomy hush covered the room as Amara pressed her eyes shut, the pain of a life without Claudia too much to bear. Outside in the garden's darkness, the storm had finally softened as moonlight crept out from behind the darkened skies, illuminating the roses' vibrant colors. Amara rested Claudia’s head against her chest, letting the warmth of her mortal presence fill her with a bittersweet ache.

“Let’s go to the garden,” Claudia said suddenly, cutting through the quiet tension.

“My love—You’ll catch cold,” Amara protested gently, brushing a small, silver strand of Claudia’s hair behind her ear.

Claudia shook her head as her gaze lingered on Amara. “I’m not sure that matters much now, my love.” Her somber smile accentuated the crinkles of her eyes. “No….I’d like to see the roses. One last time. Will you carry me, my love?”

Amara hesitated, only for a moment, and then gathered her tired beloved in her arms. She was lighter than ever, almost weightless now, a truth that quietly shattered her inside. She carried her through the threshold and out into the garden. They settled themselves onto the stone bench, Claudia next to her, closely wrapped in Amara’s arms. They sat in silence, allowing the world to fall away until there was nothing but the sigh of the wind, the hush of night, and their heartbeats—one unbeating, another fading.

Claudia looked longingly into Amara’s eyes, and for a moment, Amara saw her as the young ballet dancer, spinning across a sunlit stage in Florence, fearless and alive. “I think it’s time, love. Are you sure you want to do this?” Claudia whispered.

Amara caressed her face. “My darling, I've never been more sure of something in my very long life,” she vowed, her voice breaking. Claudia nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance shared between the two.

Amara stood with Claudia in her arms, and they made their way back into the kitchen, ready to do what no one in the Delacroix family had ever done before.

The kitchen was full of shadows from the candles’ flames as they flickered faintly, now melted down to stubs. Amara sat Claudia delicately in the chair near the table, propping her up with pillows, and tucking the shawl more tightly around her frail shoulders. 

The secret family recipe, The Delacroix Requiem Ritual, lay atop the table, as if it had been waiting for them. The parchment, now yellowed after being locked away for centuries, seemed to pulse with power. Amara unfurled the parchment, observing the faint text scrawled across the page. It appeared ancient, most closely resembling French and another language she couldn't quite place. The Delacroix family crest stared back at her along the top of the parchment, its edges curling inwards from the weathering of time. The seal of the family crest was stamped into the blood red wax, a reminder of all who had come before her. The guilt briefly needled at her heart, knowing what she was about to do.

Amara read the instructions in silence, her lips moving carefully, digesting every detail delicately. She made her way to the manor’s library and retrieved the Delacroix family chalice from inside a locked, black box, hidden behind a painting of her great-great-grandfather. The chalice was an ancient, cursed relic to be used only in this particular ritual. She returned to the kitchen and placed it atop the table between them, careful not to mishandle it. Amara wasn't sure how many hands had passed it down throughout time, but she did know that no one had used it—until today.

The recipe was quite simple:
A single nightshade blossom
A lover’s tear
Blood of the last of the line
Signature by blood, to bind the contract
Stirred in the cursed chalice and drank in whole

Amara plucked the nightshade blossom from a glass jar, dropping it carefully into the chalice. She turned her gaze to Claudia, who looked back at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

A weak smile spread across Claudia’s face, the memories of their life dancing inside her. “Do you remember what you told me back then…When I had asked you to turn me?”

“Of course I do, my love.” Amara caressed Claudia’s cheek, the memory always fresh in her mind. “I said that I could never damn, that which I love the most, to an eternity of this cursed life—even if that life were forever with me.” 

A tear slowly rolled down Claudia’s cheek, and Amara caught it with her finger, slowly letting it fall into the chalice. She then picked up the silver knife, its blade glinting back at her as it caught the light. 

Now, the last of her lineage’s blood was owed. She held her finger above the chalice, pressing the sharp edge into herself. The knife sliced deeply, the crimson ichor now released from behind the pale walls of Amara’s skin. The blood welled, rich and crimson as it dripped into the chalice. The faded words on the parchment immediately bloomed into a renewed clarity. A signature line appeared across the bottom, hungry for the next step of the ritual.

Amara pressed her bloodied finger to the parchment, the feeling of finality surfacing within her. Instantly, her name—Amara Delacroix—bloomed in crimson red script across the page, as if written by her own hand and quill.

The chalice shuddered for a moment before it settled into stillness, and the runes etched on its side gleamed a deep violet. Her signature glowed hot, like flames of a raging fire, as it slowly lifted itself from the page and funneled into the chalice, where it coalesced into a dark liquid. 

Amara turned to Claudia, the final step at hand, and without a moment to spare. The sunrise was imminent, and she could barely hear the blood beating through Claudia’s heart.

She carried Claudia and the chalice to the stone bench in the blink of an eye. She watched Claudia’s tired eyes stare back at her—her breath thin and ragged. “One final rest in the garden together, my love.” She cradled Claudia in one arm while she slowly raised the chalice to her mouth, cold and unyielding against her lips. “For love,” Amara whispered, as she drank the ancient concoction, feeling the reassuring grip of Claudia’s hand. The potion was bittersweet—metallic and earthy, tinged with a hint of nightshade, and the blood of thousands of years of her family's lineage. It’s magic rushed through her. To her surprise, there was no burning or pain, just a welcomed relief that gently embraced her soul.

The feeling flooded her senses all at once. The hunger for blood that had cursed her life now faded away, and in its place—warmth, love, and peace. The chalice dropped from her hand, shattering into dust on the garden’s cobblestoned ground. The contract left on the table burst into flames, withering to ash. Amara’s entire body began to shimmer in a golden light, the unraveling of her immortality coming to a completion—her vampiric contract severed.

Claudia stared up at Amara as the sun began to peek over the horizon—the sky was a riot of orange and violet hues that reflected in the tears that had begun to well inside her eyes. For the first time in her life, Amara could feel sunlight on her skin. It welcomed her as she basked in its gentle glory and smiled through her tears.

“It’s beautiful…” Claudia murmured, her face softening, finally letting go of her fears. “Is it time to go, my love?”

Amara smiled through her tears as she embraced the woman who had made her unbeating heart feel so alive. “I’ll see you soon, my dear beloved Claudia. I have loved you in this life and will continue to in the next.”

Bathed in the golden glow of magic and sunlight, Amara’s form blurred and dissipated, dissolving into a flurry of dust and rose petals that danced away on the breeze.

“Farewell….my love.” Claudia exhaled softly as her eyes fluttered shut for the final time. Claudia Giorgini’s soul, once so reluctant to leave, now drifted freely, wrapped in eternal love—ready for the next adventure with her beloved Amara Delacroix.

In the garden, the roses bloomed brighter than ever—petals glistening in the dawn, the only witness to a love that would outlast an eternity.