"I can feel the rage," Celine interrupted, her voice quieter now. "It's a dark thing. It doesn't sleep. It simmers. I've only been able to contain it thanks to my lineage…"
"How so?"
"Apathy," she said simply. "True Vampires are born with it. We exist on a level detached from other creatures. It isn't cruelty, it's distance. That distance helps keep the rage from taking root."
"Fascinating, Prideful in a way?" Ludwig said. "I think I have something similar to your Apathy, in a way."
She arched a brow. "How so?"
"I'm dead."
Celine smirked. "For what does emotion serve the dead, I see. Still… you're far more expressive than any undead I've ever met, Ludwig."
He blinked. "How did you…?"
"Here," she said, turning the journal around and tapping a line with her nail. "Van Dijk wrote of you. Just a bit. Enough to see he trusted you."
There was a silence. Heavy. Lingering.
Celine's eyes drifted over the page. "Looks like my brother… managed to make a friend. Even after everything."
