Perpetual Life
The blade bites her neck sharp but doing nothing to aid the girl holding it.
She has no blood to be spilled.
That had stopped coursing long ago.
She almost thinks that, her own lack of blood is what creates the craving for it.
The human brings the dagger in again and then once more. And one more time after that. She is rather relentless. Much more so than that baby face would have let on. She throws Azula to the floor and comes down on her again. The dagger slips into her chest a few times. She can see The huntress’ distress grow with each attack that leaves Azula unfazed.
She could throw the girl off of her. She could end things so easily. The girl is only a human. She is breakable and she doesn’t understand why the church would send such an inexperienced hunter after her.
But she lets the girl continue her desperate and fearful lashings. Pearls of moonlight glint over Azula’s pale skin, revealing to the human that she has done little damage at all. Azula laughs, the poor thing isn’t even using a stake. She hasn’t even laced the blade with holy water. That would have been more effective than what she is trying now.
The fall of the blade is becoming less frequent and she is certain that the huntress is losing her fight. Still she lets her keep it up. At first she thinks that she is merely toying with the girl. She realizes with loathing, that, that isn’t so.
No, she is letting the girl go at her with the slim hope that she will finally meet her end. The centuries were becoming duller as they passed. There is less bloodshed and less plague to entertain her. People aren’t so primitive and vicious anymore. They handle disputes with cunning and tact, more like herself. It is no fun to watch.
She has tried to find something else to keep her attached; but lovers die to soon and friends just as well. At one point in her life she had looked to nature, but this was growing less as time wore on as well. The forest life that is left isn’t as splendid. It is pollute and bares the weight of human production. For it she finds less solace in nature. Technology was fun for a while but it is beginning to lose its charm too.
Her dagger falls one final time before the girl gives up and falls into a mess of sobs.
It is a shame, she had really hoped that someone would take her out of the world.
It seems that this child won’t be the one to do so after all.
Not that she showed any promise to begin with.
The girl was too soft.
“You fool.” Azula sits herself up.
The girl’s sobs grow in volume.
“You didn’t even bring a stake. No holy water. Not even garlic.” Granted garlic was more of a nuisance than anything else. “Were you even trying at all?” She brings her hands to the human’s neck. “No crucifix either.”
“I’m not the one the church sent for you.” She replied. “She had a heart attack last night.”
Well there was something that hadn’t happened up to that point.
“I’m here because…”
“Let me guess, I killed someone important to you.”
The human looks away. “That would be a good reason.” She mumbled. “I’m here because all of my siblings have killed at least one vampire and I’m the only one who has failed every time. I wanted to prove that I could do it.”
“Does your family do it for recreation or profession?” Azula had to know. These days, vampire hunting was as fun a sport as hunting for deer.
“Both.”
“Interesting.”
“Are you going to kill me?” She asked.
“Would you like me to?”
“No!” The human says too quickly.
“Then I won’t.”
“Wh-what?”
“I already fed today. Once is pleasantly. This new generation of vampires has no control. They’re reckless and greedy. Absurdly and pointlessly sadistic.” It is just another reason she has to hope for her own vanquish. She loathes being among the last of the old world vampires. The lot of her kind have been long slain, leaving behind only the new, cruder vampires.
She begins to feel as ancient as she is.
“How old are you?” The girl asks.
“Rude.” Azula feigns offense. “Do you mean physically or chronologically?”
“Both.”
“I have lost track of my real age a long time ago. When you get passed a thousand, it all feels the same.” She paused. “I was turned when I was fourteen.”
“How?”
The girl has too many questions, but Azula has nothing better to fill her time with. “I don’t quite remember. I think that my father had been turned first and I didn’t want to believe it, so I let him hold me. And then he bit me.”
“Is your father still around?”
Azula is quiet for a long time. “I don’t remember.” She supposes it doesn’t matter. She has traveled so much, seen so many faces and years that she can’t even recall what he looks like.
“It must be lonely.” The human comments.
“Yes.”
They are quiet for a while. She watches bats flutter about the mausoleum until they find their roosts. She knows that the sun will rise soon. She misses the sun; she finds it terribly ironic that she can no longer be in it. Back in the age of benders, the sun had been her closest alley. She misses the full power of her fire. For a moment she lets it burn hot blue in her palm until it sputters out, too weak to burn on.
“What was that?” The girl asks.
“A lost art.” Azula replies. She wishes all over again, that she had died in the era of benders. Her birth era. She looks at the girl in front of her. Her wide grey eyes, her soft features. Her childlike curiosity.
And she knows why she has spared this human.
The girl reminds her of TyLee.