For what that is already dust

Chapter 3 : Convoluted

Vykaria's perspective was convoluted, has been shaped by eons of witnessing humanity's cruelty-so many wars, so much bloodshed, all in the name of power or greed. For her, morality isn't about emotions or righteousness, it's about cold, harsh logic. She's seen too much to believe in rewards or the universe owing her anything.

Mortals, with their endless capacity for hatred, are their own worst enemies. They don't need plagues or natural disasters-they bring disaster upon themselves through their own actions.

There was a deeper reason why she intervened Melissa's premature demise.

Vykaria lived with mortals too long,and met enough of them to read their thoughts process.

Melissa has been thinking of Landan their last conversation before he died.

Something along the lines 'It would've been too unfair if I died too. It would mean my entire family had disappeared from this world.' Thats what Landan confessed to Melissa.

And if Vykaria wasnt wrong,unbeknowest to him he got his wish someway despite dying,her perception too adept ,too sharp to go amiss, she knew this watching too many new beginnings occur within history.

By now Melissa was probably bawling her eyes out in disbelief and perhaps a twinge of relief in the hospital holding an ultrasound scan one week old ,when she discovered she wasnt the only host residing in her flesh. Seems like there was hope afterall despite both their regrets.

Apparently there was a piece of him left within this world in Melissa's womb, who almost destroyed it because of her illogical grief,if it wasnt for her quick intervention.

Though Vykaria would never admit it aloud not to anyone not even to herself. The dying embers of sympathy.

How utterly human.

Because despite everything, humans dont ever come back unlike herself,each story though repetitive, its uniquely their own individualy,and perhaps thats why Vykaria bothers to help them anyway even if its futile.

It makes her maternal.

She couldnt help but terribly pity them,a reminder of her fickle humanity.

Their detriment to find meaning...Purpose in their short temporary lives.

Their fragility,their grief,their pain,their compassion

Their joy

Their sorrow.

All trapped in one decaying flesh.

Was that envy? What a mundane thing for her to feel.

But she would never know,never will until she encounters her again, if Melissa remembers her at all that is.

Vykaria's fingers curl slightly at her sides, nails biting into the fabric of her sleeves. The thought lingers-unwanted, unbidden-that she might have just preserved something far more fragile than a life.

"A child," she mutters under her breath, "born from betrayal and grief." The irony isn't lost on her: Landon's final wish fulfilled through the very woman he wronged.

She scowls at nothing in particular. This is why sentimentality is dangerous. It makes you notice things-tiny cracks in your own ancient indifference where something dangerously close to empathy seeps through.

A pause as she stares out over the city skyline again (still not as tall as pyramids). Then:"...Disgusting." she says to no one but herself, "that I even care."

(And yet.)

(Somewhere beneath layers of apathy older than civilizations?)

(There it is.)

Maybe because she noticed she wasnt as alone as she anticipated. Whatever the case it wasnt her problem anymore,Vykaria had other matters to attend to,she had a family of her own whatever remnants of warmth remained in it at least,it appears she wasnt as detached as she thought.

So as promised,she decides to indulge Dale in his stupid endeavors. Why the hell was he taking her to a movie theatre? She saw better acting in a Greek coliseum and found Antobias's antique collection far more interesting.

But then again Dale was the youngest out of the two so his stupid line of thinking about the idea of some film to be amusing for an ancient being to the likes of Vykaria,but then again coming from Dale this was tolerable and to be expected.

Vykaria stares blankly at the theater screen, her ancient eyes reflecting the flickering lights of a movie she finds utterly beneath her. The dialogue is clunky, the acting amateurish compared to the dramatic flair of Greek tragedies or even Roman political scheming.

"Dale." She says flatly after twenty minutes, "this script is so poorly written that if I were mortal, I'd be asking for my money back."

Dale-ever oblivious to his elder's suffering-grins and shoves a bucket of popcorn into her lap.

"C'mon! Just let it wash over you!"

(He means well.)

(Somehow.)

(She hates this family tree with its absurd age gaps and misplaced optimism.)

A pause as some second-rate villain monologues onscreen. Vykaria pinches the bridge of her nose again (a habit she regrets learning). "...I could've been napping in a coffin."

And just when she thought this movie couldnt get any worse,is when a cliche villain whos apparently immortal takes on stage hungry for power,which makes Vykaria inwardly cringe this is not how ancient beings handle themselves nor did they sought power after centuries,they instead become rather resigned and distant.

But no to Dale she wasnt someone who was several millenia of age,just his older great great great aunt figure who needs a break from her boring bureaucracy apparently.

"This is how they see us? Callous and power-hungry?" She remarked

Mortals aren't very good at grasping what eternity can do to an individual.

"I mean its not that bad, compared to what I've seen in books about undead romatification." Dale commented in slight horror least to say he was mortified considering the fact his the target demographic,since well his a dhampire and the fact his father was a vampire who attacked his wife (Dale's mother) for his so called origin story,doesnt make things any better.

'Just wait until she finds out about twillight.' He gulped at that thought.

Vykaria's grip on the armrest tightens-just slightly-as the villain onscreen snarls something about "eternal domination." A muscle in her jaw twitches.

"Romantification of the undead? Dale...Tell me your joking..." Her voice is dangerously quiet, the kind of tone that used to make Roman senators freeze mid-sentence before they were fed their own teeth.

"This is worse than I thought" she mutters, voice dripping with ancient disdain. "If immortality was this pathetic, I would've let Rome throw me in a pit of lions millennia ago or let England burn me to ash in the salem witch trials." The words alone makes something deep and ancient in her stir-not rage, not disgust. Just pure, unfiltered secondhand embarrassment

Dale winces beside her, clearly regretting his life choices as he fiddles with a loose thread on his sleeve. His face cycles through stages of mortification: first horror at the villain's theatrics,then dread as he realizes Vykaria might start critiquing.

(She will.)

(He knows it.)

A beat passes. Then: "...I have seen better acting from drunk Satyrs during Dionysus' festivals."

(Dale makes a choked noise that may or may not be suppressed laughter.)

(The theater lights flicker ominously overhead-whether from faulty wiring or Vykaria's rising irritation is unclear.)