“He is.” Her gaze trailed to the marble ground and a soft smile embraced her lips, lightening hereyes as the memory of her father's face slowly emerged in her head. “I believe we’re actually two halves of the same soul. He's always by my side, giving me the best advice. He's wise, funny, and the reason I believe you can achieve anything if you don't give up. He’s the one who told me stories about this place. He’s a writer.” She raised her head with a gentle smile. “He read me all these fairytales when I was a child, taking inspiration from these stories and breathing a new life in them.” Violette's voice acquired new softly flowing tones. “I remember when I was little I always asked him to read the new chapters he’d written because I was too curious about what happened with his hero since the last night, did the knight defeat an evil sorcerer or not.” Her eyes sparkled with jollity as she dropped them back to the ground, reminiscing about her childhood. “And what amazes me now – he always listened to my ideas. He used them in his stories, polished and improved but…he listened to me.” Her hands wrapped around her knees as her shoulders sagged. “He always valued my opinion, even when I was just a little kid. It means so much to me, especially now when I grew up,” suddenly she felt silent, realizing she was carried away with the memories. “Sorry, I went too much with it, I–”
“No, it's fine. He seems like a really great father,” Dante said and for the first time she saw a truly gentle smile on his face, its edges lost their sharpness for a moment. However, he looked very tired, half delirious as she could suppose. He didn't even try to joke or say something playful to annoy her. He was truly listening.
“Did he publish hisbooks?”
“Oh yes. Some of his novels are quite popular on the Magic Lands. I remember when he released his most anticipated story. I was nine at the time. He took us to his favorite bookstore in the city. The window display was fully filled with his new book. He was so happy that day, I don't even remember what we did after, only his joyful face.”
Dante's features softened. “What about your mother?”
A smile slowly faded from Violette's face and she drifted her gaze to the ground again.
He immediately realized his blunt mistake. “I didn't think you wouldn't like to speak about her.”
“No–no,” Violette blew. “I love my mother and I love thinking about her. She was…” it took her time to think about the word that would describe her the best, “a magnificent witch,” she breathed. “I was always impressed by her sharp mind and perseverance. She was always so calm and she knew how to fix anything. She was very determined, and had a temper for sure.”
“Oh, and I was wondering who you got this from,” he softly chuckled.
It caused her eyes to squint, gracing him a faint smile.
“She introduced me to the world of potions and encouraged my desire to learn it. But the most important thing – she was a dreamer. I think this is what my parents bonded over. They believed that withgreat effort you'll reach the greatest peaks. It can seem that it's very easy to be a dreamer when you live in a place where magic is blooming around but, I met so many wizards who take everything for granted. Magic and their lives is just a regular thing to them. While my mother was grateful to be born in a magic family, she valued her charms and was proud to be a wizardling.”
She looked at Dante, though he didn't share her gaze.
“You know, I think I told you too much,” she uttered, however she didn't think it was a bad thing. To be honest, she could talk about her parents all night: it was a nice feeling to dive into such beautiful memories. About her parents. Her home. It seems like it was the only connection she could have with all of it right now. And it'll be forever the only way to feel her mother near. The full closet of memories is all that Violette had and she was grateful she left it to her – she didn't know what she'd do without it: if every scrap of her mother would be completely erased from this world. Fromherworld. And even when it felt like the time she gave to her was not enough – memories were not enough – she still was happy she had at least this; some people didn't even have a glimpse of the happiness her mother brought to her feet.
“Don't worry, Little Witch. I am so out of my mind right now, I probably won't remember anything you said later.” He waved her away.
It didn't bring her relief as it would to him; she wasn't that reticent, but it might be for the better.
Suddenly her thoughts slipped away with Dante's moan. It was the loudest he was since they entered the crypt.
“Very painful?” she asked, unwillingly showing her concern.
“What's the matter?” He chuckled, side-glancing at her. “Worrying about me?”
She glared and then grinned. “Not even a bit. Even more, the grave in the crypt is empty so it's available for you to use.”
“So youdowant me dead?” His brows pulled together, a mischievous smile twitched his lips.
“No, at the end of the day, I am not you. I don't like hurting people. And I don't wish them death.”
Violette took her gaze away, not wanting to show him any other emotion, especially worry. She shouldn't feel anything like this. Not for him. Maybe it even will do him good and he'll feel how it is to be in pain. Perchance, he'll think before he’d hurt anyone else.
Dante didn't say anything more, only raised his head to the ceiling, leaning over the wall. What he was thinking was a pure mystery for her and for the first time she wasn't much bothered with what it was about. Instead, she chose silence.
Some time after their conversation Dante fell asleep. The same couldn't be said about Violette, she wasn't feeling that safe and comfortable to fall asleep in the crypt, at the cemetery, among the dead. Perhaps, after all,Dante was feeling himself more in place here: he was certainly closer to death than life.
She wrapped her arms around her knees tightly and lowered her chin. It was cold and lonely. And even if she really wanted to sleep she wouldn't be able to close an eye.
Violette started thinking about her conversation with Caidas tonight. She went over it in her mind repeatedly, examining every detail. When words said by him started to turn into nonsense, she realized she needed to stop. She needed air, and she didn't know what time it was. Is the sun high in the sky or was it still morning and the time didn't pass as quick as she'd hoped? Dante was sleeping despite the harsh cold stone beneath him, and she felt like she had to move to not turn into a stone herself.
She stood outside the crypt, absorbing the view of the foggy forest. The sun, meanwhile, tried to escape her direct gaze, hiding behind the gray clouds. Her eyes dropped to the graves. The snow was melting, revealing the stone surface.
She took a step forward and placed her cloak on the stair to sit. It was slightly better than in the cold and dark crypt, at least she could feel herself a little bit more alive, even if there were more dead than inside.
She breathed in and breathed out – the air, fresh and bracing, filled her lungs. Everything around was gray and sad as the passing autumn was taking away all the paints with her. Even the sky was lacking colors. Only the pine trees remained invariably green.
She raised her head. As much as she loved night, she couldn't imagine how it is to live a whole life not seeing sunshine like Dante and other vampires do. She wondered if they ever missed it. Their skin didn't let in either cold or warm but were they missing these feelings? When a ray of sun slightly touches your skin and the warmth spreads throughout your body. For a second she felt sorry, their lives must be so miserable, and she sensed some of them didn't even realize it. She was happy to be alive, not in a million years she'd trade this life for immortality, even if it makes her vulnerable. She would rather feel everything than completely nothing.
