It had been a long time since Orsova had left his decrepit sanctuary, an abandoned castle ruined by a fire, and its name lost to the years. Its ancient cobblestone walls had seen many lives before him but would likely see him roam its halls for too many years to follow. Forty-six years had passed since he was bitten, and forty-six years he had spent in his gloomy fortress; the only thing changing throughout the years was the steady growth of his hair. What once was a deep chestnut, grew to an almost white blonde, the color it was when he was an infant, a constant reminder of the eternal youth he never asked for.

Memories of Saoirse haunted his every waking moment, but was soon swallowed by his fits of hunger. He had not fed on humans since he was turned and soon learned there was no such thing as total starvation with vampires. The hunger refused to leave him be, it bit and tore at his heels, following him like a stray dog. He satiated it the best he could with the occasional rodent that had dug its sorry way into the castle, draining it till it was nothing but a husk of fur and bones. He imagined the rats he ate were the butter sweet apples Saoirse used to leave him on his windowsill, tied in the handkerchief he gave her when they were children. The infested blood dripping down his chin was the juice from the sweet fruit he missed so dearly. But when he opened his eyes to reveal the now mauled carcass in his palm, the fantasy was gone in an instant like smoke, and he was reminded once more he was the only one in the dingy manor.

The castle sat atop a hill, hidden well by the woods surrounding it, with a clear view of the small town of Mauch Chunk. He had slowly watched it grow and develop over the decades, as brick buildings began to take shape, making it look less like a pioneer outback in Pennsylvania and more like a real town. But the longer time passed, the more the thought gnawed at the back of his brain, if he did not see Saoirse soon, he may never see those amber eyes again.

It took a long time for him to get the nerve, but one chilly night, he donned himself in the clothing he could only pray were modern enough for him to blend in, he had no idea of trends or the look of the times, he didn’t even know if it was still the eighteenth century.

Tying back his icy hair, which he had not cut except to get rid of the brown at the ends that were the last real tie with his humanity. At this point it had grown till it reached past his calves, he put his cloak over to hide it since he did not want to bring too much attention to himself as he went to search for Saoirse.

The brown fallen leaves were wet and matted to the earth as Orsova made his way to town for the first time in nearly half a century. He was sure it was November, the season made clear by the heavy fog hanging as if a stagnant lake in the air. The wind was bitterly cold, it would have stung if he were still human. The cloak he had tied on fluttered and trailed behind Orsova as he walked briskly, observing the leaf-bare trees as they cast shadows, like countless deer antlers in the moonlight. He travelled down the winding trail, and soon, the faint glow of oil lamps was visible at the edge of the woods.

Dirt trails turned into cobblestone roads, Orsova walked over the bridge that connected the small town to the dark wood surrounding it. Passing by the church silently, the headstones in its graveyard were much more numerous now, and many headstones' descriptions were faded into unreadable scribbles due to poor craftsmanship. He slowly got to the main road through town, it was significantly different than he remembered, new storefronts, unfamiliar faces, and a new feeling

sprouted in his chest; this town had moved on without him, and that knowledge filled him with loneliness.

Soon, Orsova went through more familiar streets, the muscle memory in his legs taking him back to Saoirse’s childhood home. He remembered her parents had passed it down to her and her husband after her arranged marriage, but even thinking about that time was too much for his weeping heart to handle.

Then, he saw them, the apple trees in her yard had grown significantly, to the point they were even slightly hiding the home behind it. All the windows were dark except one, which held a faint glow of light, it was Saoirse’s room. He was so close to her now, adrenaline coursed through him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, he feared looking upon her again, or what if it was her child? The last thing he wanted was to terrify her family if she had one, Orsova wanted to see Saoirse and her alone.

After a moment of hesitation, he walked up the stretch of path to her home, then snuck around the side to see her balcony.

The stone that built the balcony, what once was pristine white was mossy and speckled with gray mildew, the memory of when he first saw it shone in his mind like a pearl. He easily scaled up the side of the wall and onto the ledge, where glass doors were covered by thin white curtains on the inside.

He felt his hands get clammy, and his whole arm was overtaken with tremors as he reached for the brass doorknob, and slightly twisted it... it was unlocked. Gently pushing it open, the white curtains fluttered and gleamed. It was the middle of the night, and the moon had placed itself just overhead, illuminating Orsova’s silhouette to whoever was inside. He took off his cloak to seem less threatening, since that was what was pulling back his hair, it proceeded to become undone and pooled in soft waves over his shoulders.

His heightened eyes peered into the darkness of the room, gazing all over before finally coming to rest on the bed, where he saw a sight that felt like it could start his heart again. He would know her at any age, his eyes mapped over all he could see of Saoirse. Her once fawn like ginger hair, now snowy white, and her face was crestfallen with age. Her eyes had sunken in, but nonetheless he longed to see them open. With gentle footsteps, he walked to the side of the bed closest to her, the oak floorboards groaning slightly under his weight.

Orsova felt his stomach drop when he noticed her begin to stir, he did not know whether to stay and follow through or run out of the window. But before he had a chance to decide, he saw those familiar honey-colored eyes look at him once more, now tired, and darker after many years.

“Orsova..?” She whispered, her voice scratchy with sleep, she recognized him?

He had feared the worst reaction from her, but he watched as a small smile spread, and her eyes welled with tears. Orsova could not get any words out, his throat was too tight, so she continued as droplets of joy streaked down her cheeks, “I knew I would see you again... You’re still so handsome...”

“You knew I couldn’t stay away forever...” He finally whispered to the old woman, a weak smile showing, but he was careful not to show his fangs. His hand gingerly went to rest upon hers, her skin wrinkled and her veins blue and bulging, clasped his back.

“Have you come to take me away, my only?” Saoirse asked, her voice laced with hope, Orsova’s mind came to a revelation of what her perception was.

She thought he was her own angel of death, sent to retrieve her, and that made his heart crumble. But he knew the right choice was to play along, it was the last thing he could do for her to make up for the lost time he had left her in a loveless marriage and a hollow home. She was ready to go, and he knew he had to be there for her while he still could.

“You were always so smart, Saoirse, I knew you’d figure it out.” He gave a soft chuckle to keep his voice from breaking, thinly veiling his grief behind the silk of expression. He held her hand gently, rubbing his thumb against the back of it with an almost worshipful devotion.

“Took you long enough... forty-six years is a long time to keep a lady waiting...” she snickered, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile.

Orsova sighed and nodded, “I know, I promise to not do it again. It was only because I wanted to give you as long as I could before I came to get you... I figured you would miss the apple trees.”

“Not as much as I missed you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment.

“I know.”

There was a long pause after Orsova said that, he knew his actions were wrong, he should never have left her. There were a thousand better decisions he could have made but his pressured mind had made the wrong one. Now, he was forced to face the consequences of his actions, no matter how regretful he was looking at the aged face of his lover. She was the one who never left his thoughts, now in her last moments.

Saoirse noticed his silence, and continued with a soft tone, almost nurturing, “You’re here now, that’s what matters dear...” she beamed, “That makes up for it all. Do not blame yourself, I’m sure your reason for leaving was a good one, otherwise you would have never left at all.”

Orsova let a weak exhale escape, Saoirse had no clue how right she was, but he couldn’t bring himself to clue her in, feeling it was too much for the moment, emotions were too high, and she likely wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“It was a good reason, but I'm going to be right here from now on, alright? I can promise you that...” He muttered hoarsely, squeezing her hand lightly. He wanted to sob, to heave and retch out his emotions like spoiled bile from his stomach, but he had to save face until she left.

“I know, you always keep your word...” She responded, giving Orsovas hand a small reassuring squeeze of her own, “Im glad I got to see you.”

“Of course...” He whispered almost inaudibly, “I love you Saoirse.”

“I love you too, Orsova, you know I always will.” She hummed, her eyes fluttering closed from exhaustion.

Orsova paused for a moment before leaning forward and kissing her forehead, before pulling back slightly to watch her. But before he could say anything else, her chest had stilled, and her hand was limp in his. He sighed and pressed one more kiss to the back of her hand, before letting go and standing at the side of her bed.

He watched her for a long few minutes, the air in the room thick and silent, the candle that was burning bright when he came in, was now dim and flickering a dying orange.

But he knew he must leave before the sun rose. So solemnly, he took his cloak off the back of the chair at Saoirse's desk. He was going to turn away when he saw a small piece of paper, folded up in a half-opened drawer. Gingerly, he reached in and grabbed it, unfolding it to reveal that it was a photo of the two of them back when times were simpler, creased and faded with age. His arm over her shoulder, the most unknowing of smiles, blissfully unaware of the fate that was to befall them soon after it was taken.

He blinked away the mist from his eyes and put the photo into his breast pocket before putting on his cloak and blowing out the low candle. With one last glance over her shoulder, he left through the balcony where he came, scaling down the wall and quickly walking from the home. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the rotting butter sweet apples on the lawn, his heels crunching under the pebble path, he left as secretly as he came. The night felt darker, the light from the oil lamps didn’t illuminate the street as far as it used to, and the moon’s glow was so much dimmer than he remembered. There was still a long time before dawn, and he couldn’t bring himself to go straight back to the ruins, so he wandered the streets. His heels dragged against the road, a dull clickety clack echoed through empty alleyways, the footsteps in time with the thud of a weak heartbeat.