Synthesis
In all his centuries of service to Aro and his virtuous guard, Eleazar had never been so fascinated. Astoundingly, however, he was not fascinated with that which he had set out to be fascinated with; rather, he was enthralled by a vampire who lacked any psychic talent. It was not a gift that strung him along and compelled him to analyze her—it was, instead, her fragrance, which reminded him so distinctly of something he had smelled before, but he couldn't decipher what for the life of him.
The aroma was soft and gentle, floral and sweet, and it beckoned him like a siren song, or even like a love potion of mystical lore. It was reminiscent of home, which was suiting, given the fact that he was home for the first time in decades. Italy could never be his home. It was where he resided, where his supposed passion was carried out, but it could never be home the way Spain was home. And, evidently, it could never be home the way this ethereal creature was home; a creature whom he hadn't the confidence to approach yet.
Which was why he inevitably settled for watching her from afar, tracking her path through the cobblestone paths of Madrid whenever she drifted from him. She appeared to be unaware of his current preoccupation, but she was a vampire as he was, and she ought to take note eventually. If she had not already, of course, which Eleazar was vying for. Such a fool he was, and he was entirely aware of it, but he could hardly find the courage. He had not been truly courageous in a humiliatingly long time.