The hour before dawn had long since become James Norrington’s least favorite part of eternity. The quiet after. The stillness that came once the screaming stopped, once the pulse beneath his hands ceased its frantic fluttering and the body slackened into something useless.
It left too much room to think.
The manor was silent as he entered through the rear corridor, boots tracking rainwater and diluted blood across black marble. Somewhere beyond the storm-dark windows, the city continued in blissful ignorance, unaware that one more unfortunate soul had vanished into the night for the crime of being inconvenient enough to catch his attention and picking another's pocket.
Once, there had been restraint.
Once, Commodore James Norrington had believed deeply in justice, in mercy, in protecting the innocent with unwavering conviction. He had agonized over every death laid at his feet. Even after his turning, remnants of that man had lingered stubbornly within him like embers refusing to die.
Now the monster wore his face more comfortably than the human ever did.
James removed his gloves with slow, practiced motions, tossing the leather onto a nearby chair. Blood had seeped through the seams again. A nuisance. The scent clung to him thickly, copper and salt soaked into cuffs and skin alike.
He crossed toward the wash basin, pausing only long enough to glance at his reflection in the mirror above it.
Nothing stared back. A vampire had no soul, nor reflection in silver backed mirrors. That, at least, spared him the indignity of witnessing what he had become. The body may walk but this creature was the façade of the spirit once inhabiting it.
The water ran crimson as he scrubbed his hands clean because dried blood was difficult to remove later. There had been a time he would have recited prayers during moments like this. Begged forgiveness from a God who surely stopped listening centuries ago.
Tonight, he only felt tired. The pull of the sun threatening him as it had done for some time now.
