Ciro was in a room. The walls were painted a dull, eggshell white and nothing decorated the walls nor ceiling. It was quiet, lest for a small dripping. The more he focused on the sound the more he could hear it. Drip. Drip. Drip. He looked down and saw the source of the incessant dripping. It was blood, pouring in drops from a corpse. He didn’t recognize the body. The blood came from two small holes on the corpse’s neck. Several more bodies laid around him. He didn’t remember what happened, but he knew that he was the one to kill him. He screamed a pathetic, short-lived scream. Their lives were taken by him, and he felt no remorse. All he felt, was a basic satisfaction. A contentment, even. He felt like a vampire. Living though not alive. He had nothing less than necessary, but also nothing more. He was in the perfect neutral ground, and it was as dull as the place that he had found himself in. But as he looked down to see what was below the thick, sticky blood covering his palms like gloves, he was filled with complete remorse.

Cybil lied dead on his feet. Her neck was bent at an unusual angle and she was silent. Cybil was never silent. Though rather than relishing in the peace as he always imagined he would if such a situation was to occur, he was mortified. He had done this to Cybil. He had killed her.

“Ciro!!” Cybil screamed, her corpse animating in front of his eyes. A small stream of blood poured from her lips as she spoke. He stepped back, terrified and she fell to the ground. Her head turned to face him. “Ciro!” It called again.

“What?!” he yelled, “What do you want?!” He was backed against the wall.

“Ciroooooo!” It yelled again, sliding closer. “WAKE UP!!”

Ciro’s eyes popped open and Cybil’s impatient face was inches away from his own. Her face was not covered in blood, however, Ciro still reeled back however much he could in shock. “What?” He asked, breathing heavily, his eyes still wide.

“You were screaming and shaking, I didn’t know if you were dying or something…” Cybil explained as though it was obvious.

“I was just having a nightmare,” Ciro said quietly, looking away. A nightmare that could easily become reality. He thought. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out what his dream meant. He was hungry. He was starving. And pretty soon, he would do anything to get a decent meal. His eyes flashed towards Cybil who was still leaning over him. Concern was discernable on her face, though he wasn’t as focused on that as the thought of what lies below her porcelain skin. He imagined the blood, like a fine liquor that he was aging. Waiting for the perfect moment to engorge. He turned away from her before he started to salivate.

Cybil, to Ciro’s surprise, crawled backward and sat on the foot of his bed. He could feel the warmth of her legs lying partially on his feet. Her body faced outwards, towards the room, though she turned her head towards it and cocked it partially. She was still looking at him with concern, a slightly patronizing concern that made Ciro’s face get warm with frustration, though he couldn’t be mad at her for caring. “What about?” she inquired innocently.

Ciro thought back on the dream. He thought of the face that he now looked at in person, bloodied and unnatural in his subconscious. “I don’t remember,” he lied.

“It was like a 45 seconds ago!” Cybil exclaimed.

“I don’t even think I was having a dream,” he lied again.

“Do you really think I’m that gullible? Or do you just not want to tell me?”

Ciro paused. “The second one.” He lied for the third time.

“You don’t… trust me?”

He looked to the side, facing the old wall. The bricks were faded and worn with age. He didn’t answer, not because he didn’t want to admit such a cruel fact to her, but rather, he was scared staring at food would make his hunger grow more than it already is.

“I have nightmares too, you know?” she sighed. “It’s kind of funny. I guess I trust you more than you trust me.” Ciro didn’t respond. She looked down at her thin legs, ghastly white being covered by tights. She continued, “I guess I would have to. To let you stay here, I mean.” She paused. “Not that I really had a choice.”

Ciro looked at her. “Is there a point to this?”

Cybil returned his glance. “Every night, I fall asleep, and it’s always the same. At first, it’s a light sleep. It’s thin like I’m looking through a veil. I see a life that I don’t quite remember. Perhaps it was my soul in another body used before mine. It’s happy, well, content at the very least. Yet, I can never shake the feeling that something is wrong. Then, I don’t know what happens, but I find myself falling. I don’t see my surroundings, everything is dark like a void and all I feel is my own weightless body, dropping for an eternity. Every night I wait to reach the bottom. I always know that there’s something in its depths, but I can never get there.”

Ciro looked away again. He didn’t ask for her to explain and didn’t feel the need to offer her any sympathy. If nothing else, he believed that their own subconscious could remain unshared. She looked down again, her eyes now glossy. He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

She was silent. A crystal teardrop fell from her eye, exploding upon reaching her leg. She was trembling slightly, and he could feel the movement where they touched. He watched her. “Why can’t I reach the end?”

Ciro wished he could ignore her. He could go back to sleep, or do anything, anything, but be here now, forced to acknowledge her. However, there was a part of him that was still Anzolo. Not a vampire, but a simple man. One who loved his father and his country, one with romance in his blood. And Cybil was a simple girl. She was unlike Cecilia in confidence and stature, she was small and clumsy, and far too naïve, and definitely a pain, and at times very annoying. Ciro shook his head. It didn’t seem to matter when she was sitting so vulnerable across from him. She was alone.

He sat up and scooted towards her and wrapped her in a large hug. She gasped with surprise, then lifted her arms up to hold onto his. Her small tears turned into a powerful weeping that echoed throughout the room. Ciro felt her hands tighten around his bicep and forearm as she wailed, freeing what must be years’ worth of emotion. He frowned. He was internally conflicted, both wanting nothing to do with her, and yet, still wishing he had the warmth of a normal human to offer her. At his current state, he was incapable of offering much comfort, which didn’t seem to be a problem until now.

“Ciro?” she asked quietly, still holding on to him.

There was a pause. “Yes?” he said finally.

“Why are you here?”