When it comes down to it, life in New York is pleasurable — here autumn is crisp and soft; a carpet of crimson leaves a crunching thud-thud-thud with Drift’s every step. Almost all the blooms had already begun to wilt and die, but Drift is used to that, so she smiles at the sight of the familiar grave, now at arm's length. Standing next to her is Scott, as Shelby had taken a moment to grab a scarf (to look prettier, they said, as if their looks were not drop dead gorgeous already!) and flowers.
It's been around one hundred forty four years since the beginning of their annual visits, the only everlasting chore in the ever-changing life of a creature of the night; to stop would be a breach of the vow to herself.
Scott is silent for most of these — out of grief, or wistfulness, or anything else; he doesn't talk about Avid, and Shelby doesn't talk about Avid, and therefore doesn't Drift. They rarely bring up Avid now. Except for the times when they do — just the two of them, pressed together skin to skin on the couch in Drift's place, chattering about everything that matters and not under the heavy blanket while fairy lights lit up the room.
November isn't chilly here, but sometimes feels so; leaves dripping red and red and red and everything is so vivid and crimson and it's not a colors she's very fond of. Apples are red, and they are tasty — or more so were red and tasty. Drift used to love apples, and she used to love color red, and she used to love a lot of other things, too.
Ah, what wouldn't she do to feel the creamy taste of her beloved Pumpkin Soup, perfect for this season, to not feel like ash on her tongue!
There are a lot of things she still misses, honestly. Drift's not that good at the whole vampire thing, is she?
"Don't you feel at least a liiitle bad?" comes up the question on its own. "About Oakhurst, I mean."
Scott hums and looks up at her, tone light and friendly. "What about Oakhurst?"
"Maybe— turning me, for an example?"
Scott raises an eyebrow. "I mean— no? Why. Why would I. You seem to be enjoying everything quite a lot."
"Well," Drift says. "I didn't really... want to be one? You know," she drawls.
"You were basically asking to be a target," he sighs affectionately. "Do you really hold some old petty grudges? It's been centuries. And either way, you... have chosen this life? You literally decided to stay a vampire. What do I have to do with this?"
"I," she sighs. "Suppose so? I just—"
I just miss the warmth of my own body, she thinks, and soft bread, and sweet berries, and the pie Avid baked for me once, in Oakhurst, back when I was so scared and he was so scared and we all were so scared. But we had each other.
They always had each other.
I just miss being alive, sometimes. A little. Even if it was my choice.
And— well— Scott is not wrong in any way. Drift had chosen to live in his castle. Drift had chosen to stay with him and Shelby. But— but—
There really is no "but" here, is there? it was her choice, wasn't it? Now she just feels silly!
...She wants Avid back. She wants her friend back.
"I get that being a vampire probably can be hard or lonely at first," he placates, steps a little bit closet, and places a gloved hand on her scalp, playing gently with the hair, fingers running through the strands, like an animal searching for prey. "But I really was just helping you in the end, wasn't I? You could have died, but now you're immortal and have cool powers. You're better than ever." He says softly and pulls away. Drift mourns the loss of the touch.
"I suppose so!" she smiles, teeth chattering from cold, but it feels like sandpaper in her mouth. She takes a look at the graveyard — the nearly dead trees, soon to be covered in snow, and then—
And then, as she realizes, arms suddenly squeeze around her tightly, pulling closer, and—
"Drift?" Shelby asks softly, burying their hand in the back of her neck. Drift exhales too dramatically for her own good. Shelby! Good old Shelby! Who else could it be?
"Oh— Shelby! You're back, I— I didn't notice you," she cheers, voice wavering a little.
Shelby's gaze lingers on her for a long moment. "You're shivering — here, take this," they take off their scarf, crimson red and soft, and, fingertips lingering on the cold and paper-white skin, wrap it around her neck, as if she's a cute little Christmas present. "Aww, just look how good it looks on my girl!" they giggle, and Drift wishes she could take a look in the mirror, to see what picture of her brings such a lovely smile on Shelby’s face.
She can't, though.
"Took you some time," Scott snorts. "I was starting to get bored."
"No need to rush!" Shelby smiles, sweet and saccharine. "We have all the time in the world." Drift smiles back. They do. They really do. All the time in the world; eternal freedom, free off chains of fear.
Drift doesn’t have to be scared anymore, not when Shelby holds her hand like it's the most important of all treasures, not when Scott stands beside them in all his quiet reassurance, and not when every year there are new flowers on Avid's gravestone, and they're all loved, and everything keeps moving forward. Drift is not scared anymore. And yet— and yet—
There is a lingering thought in the back of her head—
Does she even want eternity in the first place?
Drift brushes the thought away, like a nasty fly — There are so many amazing things she could so, so many people she could help, so many criminals to catch!
Drift is no pawn. Drift is not scared anymore. Drift is going to be fine. It really is better for her, either way!
Drift is going to get used to not being warm, at some point.
Drift is not scared anymore.