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𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍 (headcanon)
“DON'T NEED A PURSE…” SHE SHAKES HER HEAD, her voice like silk. The stranger draws close, so close that he can see the turquoise veins in her cheek. White, translucent like rose petals. “Your wealth lies here…”
Then she is touching him, splayed fingers brushing the fold of his lapel. He is frozen, rooted to the spot.
Though he’d tried his hardest to seem assertive, William was under her spell from the very moment she'd stepped into that alleyway with him. The tears for Cecily had barely dried upon his cheeks before he was forgetting what he had even been upset about, enthralled by the beauty before him...
“Do you want it?”
“Oh yes," he says. “God... yes...”
He doesn't even know what he is asking for.
Beauty is replaced by beast. Intrigue is followed by pain. A pain as such as he has never felt before, or will ever feel again. His life is being tugged out of his body through his jugular into her gluttonous mouth. His knees weaken, and he goes slack, collapsing against the grimy brick walls unto London's miasmic, moist ground. William's vision spins around him—buildings on either side of the alleyway and the deep night sky turn and blur together overhead. The night air is cool upon his cheek.
"How dare you go off on your own? Now's not the time to hunt. I told you to wait!" A harsh male voice, an Irish drawl. The voice comes closer, sharp whispers sing out. "You are no longer a Fledgling, I won't overlook this insolent behavior!"
"Not a hunt… A Childe…" the woman who bled him dry replies musically. "I saw a spark."
William lulls, his vision is black. He feels as though he might die, surrounded by the metal scent of his own blood fleeing his veins and the wafting perfume of his murderess. Just as he releases himself into the gentle sway of death, warm, thick copper kisses his lips. He doesn't need to be told to drink. He moves with instinct, begging lips clutching to her offered wrist, clinging—suckling like a babe at his mother's breast.
"That's a good pet, drink up. Drink me…" her voice ever musical as she caresses his clenching jaw. She pauses. "It's not enough." William could hear the plea in her voice. She is right. Life has flooded back into him, but he is still fading, sucking down in greedy dissatisfaction.
"You can't possibly be considering going through with this…" A new woman's voice joins in. A hint of gold glints in William's blurry vision where the moonlight catches her hair.
"It's already been done," he answers.
The woman who isn't his slaughterer scoffs.
William can feel the weight of the man's shadow looming above. His blood is different when it touches William's lips. Potent, older—swimming with senseless evil that William guzzles down to feel alive again. He raises an arm to grasp a sturdy shoulder, the tips of his fingers curling desperately into the velvet fabric of the man's overcoat.
"Enough!" The man tears his arm away from William's hungry, chasing lips. William can only collapse against the brick, what little strength remained spent on drinking down the life-giving blood.
"We must bury him. Quickly, whilst we still have moonlight."
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