Night has fallen and that means Eleanor is active. She sits, perched on my lap, her back straight and legs crossed like the lady she is.

In her hands is a weathered book, no doubt taken from her shop years ago. She reads in silence, and I watch her, the side of her face, lashes covering her eyes as she reads over a favorite paragraph again, and again, her fingers stroking the page with affection.

I can't help but smile.

Liam has left the house claiming we are coupling all over him and he can't stand for it anymore.

I press my lips against her shoulder and read along with her.

The hours tick by as we sit in comfortable silence.

"No she didn't," she gasps.

I shake my head. "I knew it since page 3."

She looks back at me with a sign, closing the book. "Are you okay?"

I raise a brow. "Is there a reason I wouldn't be?"

"You...shot yourself. Like...maybe 10 hours ago?" She frowns.

Eh. I shrug. "I shoot myself all the time it's not so bad, really."

She rolls her eyes. "You get on my nerves," she stands, my shirt hanging off her shoulder.

"Eleanor," I call as she wanders off into the kitchen.

"Hm?"

"Sleep in my bed tonight,"

"I sleep in your bed every night. This is your house."

I smirk. Ever the sarcastic little thing.

"Share my bed with me tonight," I correct myself, my eyes following her as she walks around aimlessly.

"Are you asking to fuck me," she leans against the wall, her curls resting on her shoulders as she cocks her head.

I want to paint this. The composition of her is perfect, the little smile tugging at her lips, the one curls that go awry like little brush strokes.

"Earth to Alastair," she smirks.

"If I were asking to fuck you, I would've said so. Share the bed with me. Yes?"

Eleanor purses her lips, playfully making a show of being indecisive.

"Hm...will you try to kill yourself if I don't?"

"Yes,"

"Looks like my hands are tied," she shrugs with a grin, going back in the kitchen for a blood pack, putting in the microwave.

"Hungry?" She asks.

"I could drink," I shrug.

She puts another pack in the microwave, restarting the timer. Such domestic bliss.

"Tell me of your life before you came to me," I ask.

She looks over her shoulder. "Ah...after you left I started looking for people to turn me," she says softly, watching the microwave. "To this day, I'm unsure why. I didn't...want you to leave me. And I thought your denial was your way of saying I wasn't good enough. Maybe that's it."

The microwave beeps and she takes out the blood packs.

"Anyway, after some extensive research, I found rumors of a man. That he never aged. He kept popping up in newspapers. Then one day, I opened the shop and there he was..."

She tosses me my pack, and I open it.

"Offered me a chance to become a vampire. Of course I took it. Then I spent a few years in my shop. Eventually business picked up, and people began to notice I wasn't normal. So I had to move."

She sips from her own pack before turning around. "For the next few years I kept doing that. Building stores, leaving them when people noticed. That's when I decided to find you."

I lick my lips. Decline the urge to ask her why. Why she wanted me. Why she came looking for me. Why she turned herself for me.

"There's a fundraiser tonight," I opt instead. "A masquerade ball. I think...we'll feel in our era there. Go with me."

Her lips quirk up, her brow raising. She nibbles on her finger for a moment.

"You don't often ask things, do you Alastair? Go with me. Sleep with me. Marry me. Fuck me. Just statements I answer to," she doesn't seem partially displeased.

"I find when I ask, you give me an unfavorable answer. When I tell you, you obey."

She's not doing anything interesting. Just watching me, eyes slightly narrowed, her fang dragging down her knuckle gently.

It's sensual. Everything she does is, catching my breath, rousing my senses.

"So...Go with me." I stand, tucking my hands into my pocket, as I head into the room I keep my clothes.

I'd forgotten the ball, in truth. But I imagine we'll have fun, my Eleanor and I. It's something she'd enjoy. Something from the world we come from, and from the old she loves.

I want to give her all the fanciful things she desires, all the experiences she's ever coveted from the pages of books.

Even if she's stingy with her words of affection, I know my Eleanor. She's my muse. My inspiration. The matter of study.

I know by her heart. I don't need words, not from her. The fact she listens to me is enlightening. She does accept commands from the inferior. From people she doesn't deem worthy.

I keep all my clothes in a room separate from my bedroom.

"Do you have a dress to wear," I call to her.

She enters the room, looking around. "Only the one I brought with me."

She touches a jacket of mine gently, looking around the room.

I doubt she's been in here.

"We'll get you something," I pull a suit out, pulling it against my body. "What do you think?"

She nods. "Very dapper."

She sits on the edge of a square chair, leaning back on her hands.

I chuckle, setting it aside. "The boutiques will be closed, but the party doesn't start for a few hours yet. I'll bring you a stylist."

I lean down kissing her head. Eleanor touched her lips, looking up at me wordlessly.

So cute, I grab her chin, pressing a firm kiss against her lips.

She leans in closer, as I pull back, eyes fluttering open at the sudden space between us. Her eyes dart away from mine.

No...my Eleanor doesn't need to say a thing. Because I know her. Every slight movement of her body. Very facial expression.

I look between her eyes. She avoids contact. She doesn't like revealing her feelings. Doesn't like to feel vulnerable.

"Eleanor,"

She holds my gaze at last, dark eyes settling on me, rounded with adorable displeasure.

"Wear black," I whisper in her ear.

I pull back, nodding, silently asking if she understands. If she will agree.

She nods back.