Meredith Lloyd looked out onto the horizon, letting the cold breeze wash over him. The evening sun was painting the sky in colours that reminded him of the flowers blooming in the manor's garden. He had snuck out to meet his love once more.

  The crunch of her soles on the earthen trail caught his attention. He knew it was her. Who else could it have been? A smile tugged at his lips as he turned around on the bench to look at her approaching form. Gwynnevere's long golden hair was flecked with dirt as it fell over her slender form. Her simple dress barely hid how thin she had become. Unlike Meredith's refined attire, her entire being screamed of poverty. Her fox-like tails swayed in the wind rising from the ocean. When he looked up she looked away, annoyed.

  Everyone would agree—a boy like him should not be meeting a girl like her. A wealthy pureblood human meeting a poor demi-human. But Meredith had no ears for such balderdash. His heart's voice spoke the loudest, and it told him she was the one for him.

  Gwynnevere wordlessly sat down on the bench next to him, and leaned against his shoulder with a sigh. "I hate the factory," she mumbled. The stench of machinery mixed with her sweat's odour. A stark contrast to Meredith's flowery perfume.

  "That so?" Meredith smiled at her, hoping to cheer her up. "I can always—"

  "No," she interrupted him immediately, expecting this response, "I'm not looking for your pity. I just want to do something that matters."

  It wasn't the first time they were having this exchange. Meredith wanted so desperately to help Gwynnevere, but the woman was stubborn. Her parents hadn't been wealthy when they died in an accident. Now, Gwynnevere was making ends meet by working in Coldtide's largest factory. But factory work didn't pay well.

  After a long pause, a sliver of vulnerability crept into Gwynnevere's voice as she asked, "Did you mean what you said?"

  There was only one thing she could mean. Meredith had proposed to her the day before. Instead of replying, Gwynnevere had only stood there in confusion, her brow furrowed and not understanding. She had left him with an "I'll think about it" which from Gwynnevere was as good as a "Yes". When the gods had created the two of them, it must have been that they accidentally poured all their passion into Meredith and forgot to give Gwynnevere any.

  Meredith leaned in to murmur smugly, "What do you think?"

  Gwynnevere rolled her eyes dramatically and sat up. "I don't want you to solve my problems."

  It was his turn to interrupt her. He knew where she was going with this. "That's not my plan. I'm merely a man in love—"

  "Spare me..."

  Meredith chuckled warmly. "Then I shall play on your terms. How about this? You become my wife, and I'll support your plans to make this city a better place."

  The girl, he loved more than anything, looked out onto the water and considered his proposal earnestly. She had always been this way. Just like the city itself, beneath her cold exterior laid a warmth unmatched by any other.

  After a long moment, she sunk back against him, biting her lip. "You better not regret this."

  Meredith regretted not telling Gwynnevere sooner. But it wasn't as if he could share his family's secret with just about anyone. He had to make sure, she was willing to spend a lifetime with him, before revealing the truth. Weeks had passed since his proposal, giving him time to prepare for this—but it was no use.

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  They had met up in the woods, a secret spot known only to the two of them. After he had told Gwynnevere of his family's condition, she begun pacing and chewing her nails nervously.

  "Vampires? Like those creatures from legends?" Her voice was shrill and panicked. "Are those even real?"

  Meredith looked up at her, crestfallen. "I'm sorry."

  Gwynnevere spun to face him, her face scrunched up in disgust. "And what? You want me to become one? To live a few centuries with you?"

  "It's not that bad…" He trailed off, when he saw her glare.

  "You drink animal blood every day. Is that, why you always have those horrible herbs to chew on?" She crossed her arms.

  After staring him down for a few minutes, she relented and lowered her arms. "Alright, what do we have to do?"

  Meredith perked up and looked up, his hope reignited. "You accept?"

  Gwynnevere shrugged dismissively. "You haven't given me a reason to mistrust you yet, which is a lot more, than what I can say about the other people in the city."

  Meredith's heart was beating heavily as he rose to perform the ritual to turn his love into a vampire, who would stay by his side forever. "I'll have to drink your blood and you'll have to drink mine. It will be fine, I promise. Are you ready?" He closed the gap between them, reaching out for her hand to pull her in. As she nodded, he dug his teeth into her neck and—the world went white.

  Searing pain shot through him as he writhed in pain on the floor. Gwynnevere knelt over him, unsure about what was happening. Several minutes passed in a blur, with Meredith blinking in and out of consciousness, before he finally awoke, his head resting on the lap of a sobbing Gwynnevere. He could still see the dots on her neck, where his teeth had pierced her skin.

  "Wha—?" He began but Gwynnevere cut him off.

  Her eyes turned cold as ice as she scowled at him. "What the hell happened? You said, this would be fine!" She didn't ask about him, but the concern was evident in her voice.

  "What happened?" Meredith's voice was low, almost a breath. He felt exhausted. Slowly, but surely, his strength was coming back to him with every second.

  "You had some sort of… seizure! You were foaming at the mouth, for crying out loud!"

  Meredith furrowed his brow. He reached up to wipe away a bit of her blood with his finger and licked it. He winced, as another wave of pain shot through his system. "I don't think," he said between laboured breaths, "I don't think I can turn you into a vampire…"

  Gwynnevere slapped his hand away. "Stop thinking about that for now! Why are you always so reckless?!"

  Meredith lowered his hand, avoiding her gaze. "I'm sorry," he said again, softer this time. He hated himself for not finding better words.

  Gwynnevere looked away, her voice brittle. "You're always sorry."

  The quiet rustle of the woods faded, as Meredith focused on her, her breathing, her heartbeat, her presence.

  "We'll figure this out," she said finally, biting her lip. "No more surprises."

  Meredith nodded. It was all he could do, with the guilt pressing down on his chest. And for the first time, he wondered if loving her might ruin her more than the factory work ever could.

  Meredith's hand trembled as he reached over the counter to hand the sailor the money. "You'll make sure, she has everything she needs on the journey?" It wasn't the first time he'd asked, and the man only grunted his confirmation.

  Meredith nodded as he turned to leave, the salty stench of the harbour made his skin crawl. Anti-vampire, his father had called her when Meredith had asked him about it—like she was the monster instead of him, like she was the disease.

  His hand drifted to his chest, where the scars from the previous night still burned. His fingers traced the lines, where the whip had sliced into him.

  He hadn't told his father. Hadn't handed over Gwynnevere. He couldn't. That was why he had offered someone else's name in place of hers, to protect her. That was why he had to send her away—to safety, away from all this, from him.

  He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears from coming. He couldn't think about that—not the innocent victim or what his father would do to her, not Gwynnevere and where she would be going.

  Meredith reached the bench, the one where he'd once sat with her, where his love had bloomed, where his poetry had taken shape. But today, it felt empty. He stared at the bench but didn't sit. It didn't feel right. His gaze drifted across the horizon, searching for the ship. They'd take care of her. She'd be safe. She'd live. That was all that mattered.

  Meredith continued looking out onto the horizon until he could no longer see the ship. The sun burned in his eyes, the sky stained like spilled blood. He sighed and averted his gaze, pulling his coat tighter to protect against the piercing cold.