She came home late from the bakery. The traffic, caused by an accident had delayed the buses, so she put up with taking the last bus home. Heather Rebadow, which was her current name, fished the key out of her bag, slid it into the lock, and turned the brass knob.
"Sweetheart," she called out, "I'm home." Only darkness shrouded most of the luxurious apartment, save for the little bulbs in the kitchen that they rarely turned off. For the past forty years of their life together, she could not recall that bulb ever turning off.
Even so, it was an unsettling kind of darkness. Ian would be in the living room, sitting on the couch, reading or watching the evening news. Nothing but the gloomy patter of rain on the roof reached her ears.
"Ian," she called as she walked slowly towards their bedroom, "are you home?"
At the table near the bedroom window, her lover sat reading a letter in the desk lamp's light. His face was solemn and he shook his head with disbelief.
"What's wrong, honey?" She asked as she walked past the threshold.
"It's terminal," he said as he looked up at her.
Her heart sank and she let the tears run.
"I knew my time was coming," he said with a sad smile, "it's no surprise."
"We'll get through this," she told him, "I have the money."
She had been the wife of a nobleman in the 1400s. There still lay some hidden treasures that explorers hadn't found yet. In 1993, she thought, those jewels maybe even worth more.
"No," Ian said, "No, I will not die as my father did. Wasting away with tubes in me."
"Please, Ian," Heather pleaded, "Don't talk like that."
"I don't want to argue with you anymore," he said coldly.
"You know I love you," She walked closer to him and placed her hand on his. His hands, once soft and smooth, was wrinkled and spotted. Hers, however, was always youthful, seemingly unharmed by time. Watching a human lover pass was a curse of the Undying. For them, every day they got older and frailer, but for her kind, it was never tomorrow. "I don't want to go on without you."
"But you will," he spat back as he swiped his hand from under hers, "as you always have for hundreds of years!"
"Ian," Heather was taken aback by his anger, "What are you saying?"
"You've must have had thousands of lovers," he said with disgust she didn't understand, "now they are all dead. I will be the same as them, soon. You'll forget me."
He is upset, she thought, and afraid.
"I have had many lovers in my long lifetime. I'm ancient and yet I live. But that doesn't mean they all meant nothing to me. I remember each one."
"Name them all, then."
She stood in silence, not because she forgot their names, but because it was a ridiculous request.
"You may not remember them, but I don't blame you," he conceded as a tear ran down at the corner of an eye, "but you will know your last."
From the drawer, he pulled a dagger: the silvery blade so pure, it seemed to glow. In the pommel, a magnificent purple gem was set.
"Is that..." Heather stepped back, fear overwhelming her heart.
"Yes, it is a deodand," Ian was not pleased with her fear of the weapon. "I learned about such a thing in a book that mentions the Undying in the University's library. One of my students showed it to me."
"Please, you don't want to do this," Heather begged as she backed out of the bedroom.
He ignored her and followed her out.
"I met with a sorceress living in Khalil Abad last summer. She charged it for me."
She bumped into the coffee table in the living room as she backed up.
"I'm sorry I lied about seeing my sister." He said with remorse as if that was what he thought distressed her.
"You will finally be able to die!" He shouted with delight, "And with someone you love, don't you want that?"
"Ian, stop! Let's just talk about this." She screamed back.
But he was not about to be waylaid. He grabbed her wrist and tried to slice it. She shoved him away, and he landed on the couch. She ran to the door. When she looked back, he was getting up quickly, his eyes wide and locked on hers.
"No more heartbreaks," he said with a frightening grin, "No more tears. You want this, don't you?"
She swung the door open. The rain was coming down in sheets. She ran into the cold, wet night. The icy water from the heavens married with her salty tears. She cried out for help, but it seemed only the street lights heard her.
Behind her, Ian walked towards her, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and jeans. She ran across a street then looked back when she heard him calling her name.
"Heather!" he cried out, "Don't leave me."
I don't want to, she thought, Oh, you know I don't want to, damn you!
For a moment, she felt like she wanted to go through with his wish. Watching friends and lovers whither away, wondering why you were so blessed with youth and strength. There were less and less Undying as the centuries came. They disappeared mysteriously. The hidden world, of magic and wonder, was fading as natural humans progressed.
If my world, where the Undying were abundant and a place existed for them, was passing, she thought, could they have accepted the death similar to that of what Ian was offering her? Was it so painful to see their beautiful secret world decay before their very eyes?
At that moment, as the rain seemed to calm, and she accepted Ian's dark gift. She smiled at him and urged him to stay on his side, but whether he didn't understand or thought she was trying to trick him, Ian continued his pursuit, halfway through the street.
In the blink of an eye, however, the gift-giver, her love, was gone.
That night, the car that struck him was driven by a man deep in his bottles. The deodand sat in the drawer. Every day, she would take it out and run her finger lightly across the edge and think about Ian's words. Khalil Abad, that was where the sorceress was. Perhaps she was still there...
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