Alessia had learned to treasure silence. For centuries it had been her refuge—a pause between secrets, betrayals, and choices that were not always hers.
But that afternoon, while she rearranged a shelf of old books in her apartment, the silence felt different—expectant, humming with possibility.
Even the domestic sounds—the faint creak of parquet, the low thrum of the refrigerator, the city's murmur beyond the windows—seemed to announce something. She had the day off, a rare luxury in her nocturnal routine. She'd spent the morning in a robe, leafing through Latin and old French, searching for fragments of herself in pages as timeworn as she was; a cup of tea, soft music, and a peace that asked for no defense—until the dry ping of a message cracked the balance.
I've got a surprise for you tonight. Get ready for something special.
Liam Thomas.
That human who toppled more walls in her than anyone had in centuries—often with a single word. Alessia reread the message, smile growing before she knew it. Her fingers tightened around the phone as if she could trap that quickening inside her chest—pin the promise of a different future in place.
She walked to the bedroom and chose a simple dress, soft fabric in dark charcoal. She let her hair fall loose in quiet waves and touched her skin with the faintest woodsy perfume. She didn't want to look as if she'd tried too hard, though inside she felt like a teenager before a first meeting. A pair of tiny earrings, a glance at the mirror—an old habit she still honored even though it never gave her back a reflection—and she caught herself smiling, nerves alive at the edges.
By the time the sky deepened, she sat by the window, watching the city while her fingers played with the hem of her dress, willing her chest to steady.
A knock came just as the streetlights blinked on.
She rose, hands betraying a slight tremor, and opened the door.
He stood there—tall, unguarded, the honest smile that had become her undoing brightening his face. In one hand, a bouquet of black roses; in the other, a small bundle of fur with enormous eyes clinging to his jacket.
"I don't know if you'll like it," Liam said, lifting the animal with care, "but I thought it might keep you company. It just felt… like something that fits you."
A black angora kitten, white splashes across its back, a red ribbon at its neck. It blinked with curious solemnity, ears twitching, breath testing the air. Calm, and very alive. In its eyes, a tenderness that slipped through her armor.
For a heartbeat she didn't move. Not from confusion—but because that simple, innocent offer reached places too deep to name. It wasn't just a pet; it was tenderness made visible, care with no price, a presence with no condition. For centuries, no one had given her anything without wanting something back.
This was love—at its purest and most disarming.
She took the roses with one hand and the kitten with the other. Warm, small, vibrant. Her fingers trembled as she stroked its fur, and a knot rose in her throat.
"No one has ever…" she whispered, "given me something like this."
Liam's brow creased.
"Did I… overstep?"
She looked up, the kitten tucked against her chest, and shook her head.
"No, Liam. It moves me."
She embraced him—hard and instinctive—as if centuries' weight meant to hide inside his arms. He said nothing, only held her, careful and reverent, as if he, too, knew the moment was sacred. No words, only silent promises; the world blurred until there was only the three of them—man, immortal, and the small creature purring between them.
And then something else woke inside Alessia—not a vision, not her gift, but a memory, a deep déjà vu pulling her under without resistance.
Her human life in Eastern Europe.
The air smelling of fresh bread and damp wood. Leaves crunching beneath a girl's boots. Her grandmother's singing drifting from a window as she wove. Firelight and soup, her mother's warm fingers braiding her hair—each braid a daily act of love. Cobblestones. Laughter. Then the night of turning—pain, darkness, the first century of exile.
Canada as refuge. Names shed. Faces passing like pages torn from a book. Times when loving meant weakness, risk, burden.
And now—Liam.
I'm over three hundred years old—whatever the exact number—and this twenty-eight-year-old man is teaching me how to live.
She drew back slowly and met his eyes. So much truth and light there that she couldn't hold herself in place. She leaned in and kissed him with tenderness and want and the surrender of someone who no longer wished to be contained. Their mouths found each other as if they belonged to another era, as if they had waited centuries to arrive at this breath.
It was a long, unhurried kiss, built not of hunger or control—those she had known for lifetimes—but of trust. Like sliding into a still lake after a life of storms. A pause in an eternity of war.
Home.
Something broke in her, and it didn't hurt. It was a sweet breaking—an old chain finally giving way.
Liam answered with equal intensity, his palm to her cheek, the world gone. When they parted, he traced her face with a trembling smile.
"I didn't think I could ever feel this way again. But with you… I'm willing to risk everything."
She didn't speak. She laced her fingers through his and guided him inside.
The kitten mewed from the sofa as if offering solemn approval. Alessia knelt, smoothed its fur, and the rumble of its purr washed her in an unexpected peace—the promise of everyday life she never believed she'd crave.
She lifted her gaze. In Liam's eyes she saw desire—but also fear. The fear of losing what wasn't fully his yet; the fear of herself; the fear that a single mistake could bring it all down. And beneath it, the certainty that she would risk everything for him.
If I keep going, I will stop being what I was. And maybe—for the first time—I'll like that.
In the kitchen, Liam poured two glasses of wine while she watched from the doorway, heart beating to a rhythm she thought forever lost. She leaned against the wall, studying the small gestures as if she could glimpse their future in the simplicity of this scene.
If my curse has a cure… perhaps the cure bears his name, she thought as the wine chimed against glass and the apartment settled into a new quiet.
Beyond the window, only Liam's reflection showed in the pane—
and in that fleeting image, for the first time in centuries, she felt a new destiny writing itself: his name beside hers.