The Last Chance (sequel to A Hundred Lifetimes)

Four

A somber melody played by keys and strings could be heard even before Chiara opened the door. The sound of it alone already warned her of what she was supposed to expect—Dorian had always been transparent with his emotions. With her memories much clearer now, she remembered Dorian back when they first met—youthful, sprightly, ever so in love with life. He had lived for so long and experienced nearly everything there was to in life, much like Chiara, yet he remained to feel emotions very deeply—an admirable feat, especially to Chiara who had become lost to see the spark in living quite a number of times. Slowly, however, she was beginning to regain it.

“Dorian?” she softly called out as she knocked on the door. When there wasn’t a reply, she slowly turned the knob and carefully opened the door. “Are you here? I brought tea and snacks.”

She found Dorian sitting by his usual corner by the window with a book in hand, staying right next to the music player that surrounded the entire room with a slow and sad song. “Ah, Chiara,” he said as he saw her come in. He rushed to slightly lower the volume, then went to her to take the tray from her hands. “Thank you,” he said with a small smile—his eyes travelling from her forehead to her eyes to every inch of her face as if it were the first time he was seeing her. “I have to say,” he muttered in fascination, “I have yet to get used to seeing your face.”

“It’s a face,” Chiara awkwardly remarked, feeling a bit self-conscious under his stare. “Does it feel weird?”

Dorian placed the tray on a table by the side, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. He shook his head in response. “It feels like a dream. Chiara Baker in the flesh,” his smile went a little bit wider as he cupped her face gently with his hands. “I feel transported back to all those years ago—back when I was human.” He stayed like that for a few more seconds, just… appreciating. Chiara tried her best not to let the blood rush to her face, that she had to avoid his eyes and discretely fidget with her thumb. She was not used to this—especially with her old memories and feelings for Dorian fully integrated in her current mind. She was not used to this, but she definitely didn’t mind it.

“How are you feeling?” Dorian asked, taking his hands off her to grab the book he was reading; and suddenly the moment was gone.

“Completely normal, actually,” Chiara managed not to stutter while Dorian walked over to the shelves. Chiara sat on a chair, watching as he climbed up a ladder to reach the higher levels. “When I woke up, nothing hurt,” she added.

“That is good to hear,” Dorian replied as he found the space for his book. He then proceeded to jump down from the ladder and walk back to Chiara.

There was something different with the room, she noticed. There were still the endless rows of books, the encased displays, the old parchment on the tables… ah, but what used to be the centerpiece was missing. Clara Stonewall's large portrait painting in the middle was gone.

“You… did some redecorating?” Chiara carefully asked, trying to not make it like she sounded so happy.

“Of course,” Dorian said with a proud smile as he drew up the curtains to let some of the sunset glow in. “I thought you would like it. I am working on a piece of art much more important now.”

Chiara wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and she didn’t really have the time to think it over when he sat next to her and laid out his palm. She frowned at him but he pointed at her hand, so she reluctantly placed it on his. To her surprise, he held her hand and turned it over, as if inspecting her fingers and her palm.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a light chuckle. “You know, I remember you from back then more clearly, and you’re much more weirder now. You were a bit of an airhead back then, but more of a gentleman.”

“A century can change a man.” Dorian returned her laugh. “I’m just checking if it is really you. I’ve never had a proper portrait of you so I had to draw you entirely from memory, did you know?”

“I remember. I saw the small portrait you made of me, and If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a creep,” she said in jest.

Dorian stopped looking at her hand but held it still and placed their hands on his knee. “I seem to recall that it was you confessing your love for me just a few days ago,” he teased, making Chiara scoff.

“I was on the brink of death, Dorian.”

“Which makes it even more true, I should say,” he said with a wide smile. “You truly bared your soul out. Never in a million years did I think Chiara Baker could do that.”

Chiara pulled her hand away to point a finger at him. “Hey, you were the one who was crying on my face that time.”

“I was,” Dorian admitted in embarrassment with a laugh and a shake of a head. He held his hand out again as he stood, and this time, Chiara instinctively took it. With a smile, he pulled her up and close and placed his other hand gently on her back. When he pulled her slightly closer, she realized that he was initiating a dance, so she placed a hand on his shoulder without saying anything.

“I had just gotten my best friend back and she was so suddenly taken away from me. Who wouldn’t cry?” Dorian asked, beginning to move his feet slightly to the slow rhythm of the music.

“I was your best friend?” Chiara asked incredulously. “Me?”

Dorian let out a breath and nodded. “You were always the first one I had gone to after every travel. Whenever I would find something I thought you might like, I would always try to buy it for you, and if I can’t, I would hurry my way home so I can let you know about it. I was always passing by your house even when I am always late for whatever I had to do, that at some point my men found it useless to warn me of the time.”

“Weren’t you just looking out for your Clara back then?” Chiara accusingly asked, even though she knew his words to be true.

“She was rarely even home,” Dorian reminded her with a chuckle. “As much as I was… momentarily blinded by her then, did you think I would waste my time waiting around for her? I really thought I was going to lose you for the second time. I do not think I would’ve been able to bear it. If Mary had not been there and the Council hadn’t showed up, I think I would have gotten rid of Callahan on the spot for hurting you.”

“The Council,” Chiara quietly repeated as she rested the side of her head on his chest. “Are those the vampires that don’t like it when humans meddle? At least that’s what I’ve heard. Was that what got you in a bad mood?”

She could feel him let out a sigh. “It is true. The Council, they are… they think highly of themselves. They are not happy with what happened with Callahan and the fact that you and Mary were involved. It was all a big mess and I received quite an earful.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“I hope not. How about you? I sensed something different when I came in. Did anyone visit?”

“About that. There’s this group of women who just suddenly came in, looking for me.”

“Were they part of an Order?”

Chiara slightly pulled away just so she could look up at him. “How did you know?”

“The Council asked me about it, and since I did not know anything, that is what I said. I just didn’t assume they would be looking for you.”

Chiara’s eyebrows furrowed, which proceeded to bring worry on Dorian's face. “They said I was a Chosen Vessel or something,” she said, “and that’s why I’ve been shifting into all of these people—never dying—not because I had a promise to keep to you, but because it was part of my duties. Do you know anything about it?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “It is like a folktale passed on from person to person for years until no one can differentiate what has been added to the original version of the story anymore. All I know is that they are powerful, and the Council seems wary of them.”

“Vampires scared of something? That’s pretty unheard of,” Chiara chuckled.

“That is true. So, what did they ask of you?”

“That I go and train with them to uncover my full potential,” she answered. “Whatever that means.”

“You sound hesitant,” Dorian observed, slightly leaning away to get a better look at her face. “Haven’t you always wanted to go and explore the world?”

“I have done that the past few decades already,” Chiara sighed, placing her head back onto the comfort of his chest. “I’ve lived more than a person could ever in their lifetime.”

“Not in the literal sense—explore a world of your potential.”

“Maybe,” she muttered. “But right now, I’m contented. I want to live in the moment and appreciate what I have first, before looking for anything more.”

“Very well.” Dorian nodded and pulled her closer; and for a while, they stayed like that—swaying slowly to the music like they had done a century ago, living in the moment and appreciating every second of it.