He’s tracing my scar again. One of the two significant scars from hundreds of years, on such an obvious spot on my shoulder. It stands apart against my pale skin -- a slightly-darkened sunburst that I never applied a healing spell to. There’s another scar on the back of my shoulder, dark and circular and smaller because it was the entrance wound. But he cannot see it, because I never allow him to see my uncovered back. So he settles with tracing the scar, laying on top of me in much the same way he did, a whole century ago…

A century. It seems like even longer.

I used to hold him and make love to him in a darkened room much like this. He would murmur sleepily after each session, and I would cradle him against me as he dozed off. I would watch him throughout the night, caressing those dark red locks and enjoying his body heat against me…

“Lover, I’ve always meant to ask…”

I look down into the youth’s curious eyes. His eyes are a shade of reddish-brown, a far cry from those intelligent emerald eyes that I once gazed into. I’m sure I will forget these eyes by the end of the month; they mean nothing to me.

“How did you get that scar?”

That question. At the beginning of our “relationship,” I told the youth to never ask me … or he would face the consequences. I’ve had him for almost two weeks, though … so I suppose he’s forgotten.

I don’t like little boys that forget easily.

“Would you like to know, little one? It’s a tale you may regret hearing.”

I tilt his chin upward and brush my lips against his as I speak. He makes a quiet, sensual sound, but I already know what his answer will be. I also know how I’ll react, because this won’t be the first time I’ve had to go down this road. It definitely won’t be the last time, as well.

“Tell me, lover. I’m dying to know.”

… Dying, indeed…

“I speak on behalf of the Bishop Sasarai, under the rule of His Holiness, Hikusaak…”

Five years had passed since that Grassland-Harmonia war. I forget what they call it now, since it was quite possibly the smallest-scale war I’ve been in for awhile. “Awhile” is relative though, so I suppose I’ll stay away from that…

His name was Albert Silverberg. He summoned me to aid as a strong-arm of some sort for the True Wind Rune Bearer of the time, Luc. The conniving young Silverberg betrayed Luc at the last possible moment, leaving to begin his occupation as strategist over in Harmonia. Albert thought he was so clever, being some sort of dual-strategist for two countries at the same time...

Somehow, I always knew that he would get himself into trouble. Politics are a dark and ugly business, even to someone like me. I just didn’t realize until it was too late that I would be affected so greatly by someone... Anyone…

I was lounging in the shadows at the time, watching Albert at his podium as he addressed the masses in the name of the True Earth Rune Bearer. He had become a well-known figure in Harmonia in five years, at the prime of his career… He was also still as beautiful at twenty-nine as he was at twenty-four.

I should have realized there was something wrong sooner, but I suppose my senses were dulled by my lack of decent killing in five years. I don’t recall what I was thinking about at the time, but--

No, actually, I do remember.

We had been talking about our contract the night before. According to the contract Albert drew upon summoning me, I only had to stay around until he obtained a position in Harmonia. He asked me, after we had made love, why I was still around.

“Hmm… Well, you amuse me to no end, Silverberg. Perhaps that would be reason enough?”

He had this … hurt look on his face. Like I had just punched him in the stomach and walked away. I kissed his forehead and shut his eyelids with two fingers, then let him fall asleep in my arms. I stayed with him that night, stayed motionless beside him in his bed -- our bed -- and held him close.

I remember it so well because it was our last night. Because it meant something, after he was gone. But at the time, on that day, I was thinking about why I stayed around. The answer I gave him did not satisfy me, and I was wondering why I chose to stay…

My thoughts were interrupted by a glint catching my eye. Something glimmered in the distance off the reflective walls of the pristine palace, aided by the sunlight from a skylight up above. I was tempted to investigate, summoning forth the energy necessary to teleport to the source of the spell.

And then an explosive sound rang out. A gunshot.

Shrieks and screams filled the enclosed area, and yet my initial reaction was not one of pleasure… Fear. It gripped my heart, and my eyes averted immediately. My feet were moving before I realized, and I propelled myself towards the lone figure standing onstage. People were standing or ducking at the sound of the gun going off, but I was drawn towards those startled green eyes…

I reached him within a heartbeat’s passing, and I pressed him against my body, my back to the source of the gunshot’s sound. His body tensed as I held him close, and I felt his gloved hands clutch my arms in shock. I could feel his warm breath against my chest, his forehead pressed against my shoulder…

Something bit into my left shoulder. Something pierced my jacket, skin, and muscle. I jerked my head back in startled agony, eyes wide and mind unwillingly concentrating on the new pain. My left arm went dead at my side for a moment before reliving the initial pain, and I had to grit my teeth to suppress a shout. It took me a moment to concentrate my attention back on Albert. I looked down at the young man, breathing raggedly against the stinging pain.

His entire body weight was leaned against me, and I soon discovered why. Hands slack to his sides, liquid warmth against the side of my jacket… I shook my head in disbelief, grabbing hold of the smaller body as it slumped.

No. No.

The bullet had gone right through my shoulder. The evidence was right before me now. Eyes wide and sightless, dull without the flicker of life… Blood trickled down the middle of the forehead, parting over the bridge of the nose and staining pale cheeks. Red hair limp, head lolling back without any strength keeping it from doing so… Dead … so dead. Like everything I killed in my centuries of living…

It was no longer Albert. I would no longer to see those cool, calculating eyes … that faint smirk that replaced the normal frown … that unabashed smile after every session in the bedroom…

It shouldn’t have mattered to me, but it did.

I found myself unable to simply drop the corpse; I cradled the quickly-cooling body, ignoring the pain in my shoulder as I knelt down. With an amount of … tenderness I wasn’t aware I was capable of, I set the redhead on the floor and brushed his crimson locks over the killing wound. Once more I kissed his forehead and shut his eyelids with two fingers, my insides numb with something akin to … despair, I suppose. I have not felt the emotion since then, so I cannot give it a proper name.

A moment later, I was on my feet and turning on my heels, eyes searching wildly for Albert’s killer. My blades were drawn even as I teleported, my concentration willing me to the rafters on the second floor that overlooked the lower floor. A lone Gunner was on the rafters, already fleeing from the murder scene. Amongst the raging thoughts of murder streaming through my head, I could hear the screams of people down below as they exited the building. I paid them no heed as I advanced, hands clenched and teeth gnashing.

Bastard. Killed him. Took him away from me.

The Howling Voice Guild assassin’s death was even more inhumane than some other torturous deaths I had made in my life; fingers sliced away, extremities mauled and torn asunder, face literally ripped to shreds, entrails strewn across the pristine floors of the Harmonian building… No mercy. No restraint. There was no joy. No restitution. Just blind anger and the need to kill.

After that day, I never stepped on Harmonian soil again. I never looked to see what they did with the body, or what became of the Silverberg name in the eyes of the Harmonians. All that mattered to me was that I had lost something very important, and there was no way to get it back.

Mourning the shell was nothing like mourning the lost spirit.

The scent of blood is still strong as I fling back the sheets and climb out of bed. I lightly touch the sunburst scar and flick my sword to run its length along the soiled bedsheets. Cleaning the weapon, I flick it back out of existence and gaze down at the broken body half-covered by the sheets. His pretty throat cleanly slit, his eyes wide with something akin to shock and hurt…

Like I had just punched him in the stomach and walked away.

I think of the name Silverberg, of the emerald eyes of a strategist that never lived to see old age. Even with the short span of a mortal life, someone dared to make his even shorter. When at war, the span of mortal life becomes meaningless to me; it only hurt when the victim had a face … and was mine.

I think of kissing that forehead and drawing those eyelids shut over eyes that were naïve even with more book-knowledge than normal men. I think of red hair, dry wit, and a smile that was always a bit slow in coming.

A century ago, I lost Albert and gained scars on my body and heart.

They say that all scars fade with time but never truly go away.

All those that shared my bed after him have met with death at my hands.

Despite my bloodlust, my agelessness, my demonic intentions for this world…

I never want these scars to fade.