“My homeland has changed a great deal since my exile,” she said softly. “Its name is not even the same anymore… let alone its beliefs. Where witches were once revered, they are now feared, looked upon as something dark, something unnatural.” A faint, almost melancholic smile touched her lips. “But I suppose that is the nature of things. Time moves forward… and with it, people, culture, meaning. Everything shifts.” Her gaze lingered on him. “Still… culture is something deeply personal. Something meant to be cherished. And perhaps… preserved. Passed on to someone worthy of carrying it forward.” Her fingers intertwined with his, guiding his hand upward until it rested gently against her chest, where her heartbeat, faint, but present, echoed beneath his touch. “You are… someone worthy,” she murmured, her voice soft, yet certain. “You make me feel… you make me want. You make me desire in ways I have not allowed myself to in a very long time.” Her eyes held his. “You make me wish to be seen… rather than linger in the shadows. And for that… I intend to honor you.” Slowly, she released his hand, though her gaze never left his. “One day,” she continued, her tone returning to something slightly more composed, though still intimate, “I will show you my collection… my grimoires… the dark objects and artifacts I have crafted over the centuries…. There is much I could teach you.” Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful.
“It is not out of line, Luis,” she said softly, a faint smile touching her lips. “In fact… I would very much like for you to come with me to Italy. It would do you good, I think. To be away from this place… from the hunters, from the noise, from all that lingers here. Umbria offers something different. Peace. Beauty. A slower kind of existence. The sun, perhaps, is the least appealing part of it… but even so, I find myself longing to return.” Her expression softened just slightly. “You would love the gardens,” she added, almost fondly. “I have always had a… talent for tending to them. There is something grounding about it.” There was a subtle invitation woven into her words, unspoken, but present. “I do not imagine I will remain here for very long,” she continued. “Whether I continue to travel… or finally return home, I have yet to decide. But I would not mind having you as company. And I will say this… the hunters there are far less abundant. And those who do exist…” she tilted her head slightly, amused, “taste far richer. Almost like fine wine. A noticeable improvement compared to the… rather unpleasant flavor of the ones here.”
At the mention of Mexico, her expression brightened with recognition.
“Mexico…” she repeated, thoughtful. “Yes, I have been there. Though it has been a very long time.” Her gaze drifted, recalling distant memories. “I arrived first in Cabo San Lucas… and from there, I found myself further along the coast, Barra de Navidad, if I recall correctly. I have always had a weakness for coastal places. There is something about the sea… the air… it lingers with you. I did not stay long,” she admitted. “The companion I had at the time insisted on taking me elsewhere. She was from Brazil, and she wished to show me every place she had ever loved.”
“So… I followed.” Her eyes returned to him. “But perhaps you could do the same for me,” she said gently. “Show me the places that matter to you.”
“Your home. Your memories… I would like that.”
Medina’s gaze drifted over the park as they walked, quietly taking in the details most would overlook, the arrangement of the flowerbeds, the health of the trees, the subtle way nature settled into itself when left undisturbed. Of course she noticed. She had meant it when she spoke of her gardens. Tending to them had always been one of the few things that grounded her, one of the rare spaces where she allowed herself to be gentle, to be patient… to simply be. And now, as they walked here, there was a similar softness in her attention. At his question, however, that softness shifted.
“I was close with her,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Very close. I had a brother as well, once,” she added. “He was kind. Protective in his own way… though he never truly understood me.” A faint, almost distant smile touched her lips. “He was not a witch. Or perhaps he could have been… but in those times, such things were not for men to explore. Magic belonged to the women. At least… that was how it was decided. Times were very different then.” She let the thought linger, though it was clear she had no intention of delving much deeper into it. Instead, her attention shifted back to him.
“You truly do not know what became of them?” she asked, her tone softer now, more curious than judging. “Did you run from them… or were you taken from them?” There was no accusation in her voice, only quiet understanding. “Not that I would fault you,” she added gently. “Circumstances have a way of deciding such things for us.” A brief silence settled between them as she considered his words.
“Family…” she murmured, almost to herself, “is rarely simple. It can be a source of great comfort… or something far more complicated… Often both.”
When they stepped inside, Medina’s curiosity was immediate and unguarded.
Her gaze moved slowly across the space, taking in every detail, the stark contrast of black and white, the richness of the dark wood beneath her feet, the quiet intimacy of it all. It was not her usual style, no… but there was something undeniably him about it. And that alone made it appealing.
“What a lovely place…” she hummed softly, her voice carrying genuine approval as she stepped further in. For a moment, she allowed herself to settle, until her attention was inevitably drawn elsewhere.
As though pulled by instinct, she rose again, drifting toward it with quiet fascination, her fingers hovering just above its polished surface without quite touching.
“And what a beautiful instrument…” she murmured, almost to herself. “It never ceases to amaze me, the kind of devotion it takes to truly master something like this.” Her gaze flickered back to him, softer now. “It is rare… and rather special. Though then again… you are rather special yourself.” There was a brief pause before she finally allowed herself to sit, though her eyes lingered on the piano just a moment longer.
“A glass of wine sounds perfect,” she added lightly, her tone turning playful once more. “Especially if it comes with a performance.” A subtle glint of anticipation crossed her expression. Then, after a moment, her curiosity shifted again.
“Tell me…” she began, tilting her head slightly as she studied him, “have you ever invited another vampire into this space? You mentioned before that most you encounter are not particularly… welcoming, or eager for company. I suppose that is often the case, especially among the older ones. Always guarded… always watching.” She leaned back slightly, one leg crossing over the other. “Though I imagine I would fall into that category as well,” she added with a faint smile. “Even if I would argue I am not quite that old. I have encountered those who have lived well beyond a thousand years… and sometimes I wonder if the weight of it all eventually reshapes them. The loneliness… the blood… the centuries. Though, if I am being honest… I do not often find myself enjoying the company of other vampires either. So perhaps we simply share that sentiment.”
Another beat passed before her curiosity deepened.
“What about other creatures?” she asked, her tone light but inquisitive. “Have you encountered anything beyond our kind?”