That night, after the party:
After an eventful moonlit tour of the zoo and a relaxing wind-down over tea at a local haunt, Maddox trudged home weary, thoughtful, and full of love.
He wasn't sure if it was Midion’s spell-gift that made him feel so full or the amount of food he'd eaten, but he didn't care. It was the first time in a long time the relentless gnawing hunger had abated. For however long it would last, he would cherish the moments. His mind was clear, his thoughts unburdened. He saw the night and the people in it as spectator rather than a hunter, and that was precious.
When he finally reached his townhome, he closed the door and sunk into his couch. His eyes fell on the ever-shut threshold to Redd's room, which lay untouched since the day of his disappearance. Thanks to Elspeth, he now knew Redd was alive...but...lost. Somewhere trapped in a shadow realm, groping in the dark. How he could have ended up there was unknown even to the vampire detective. There had been no note nor suspicion. No one they knew who may have been an enemy had such powers. He was left with only one option that made sense... it had been a choice.
Ash pulled his knees up under his chin and hugged himself for a moment, the feeling of isolation and paranoia creeping into his periphery once more. He had always been like this -- careful, introverted, pessimistic -- but Turning had amplified those traits into full blown neuroticism that was only made worse by his lack of stable social group. Whatever mix of vampiric bloodlines they'd injected into his veins, the dominant one was that of a colonial eusocial variety -- the kind he aptly described as gathering in nests, the kind you eradicated like pestilence. His pale vermiculated skin, twisted wings, and monstrous limbs were only the external clues to his less-than-refined heritage. He would never be like those solitary vampire aristocrats who made their homes in mansions and manipulated society from the shadows. He was a hybrid, bred in a cage, yet always on the outside looking in.
His mind went to the liger perched on his hilltop: a beautiful, terrifying hunter, yet the product of mankind's hubris. Someday, he hoped that uncrowned king would rip their throats out.
Ash lifted his cheek from his knee and slipped silently to his room to change into something more comfortable than his suit.
His mind went to the smiling faces of his friends and the warm glow of the candle on the cake he was actually able to enjoy. Then he remembered Monique’s gift. He'd forgotten to open it!
Back in the foyer, he retrieved the wrapped package and sat in the middle of the floor with it, and carefully began to remove it's paper shell. Inside the paper was an ornately tooled leather-bound journal. Along with it came a small box which contained a Victorian pump-fill style fountain pen, engraved with silver on an ebony barrel. A card inside, handwritten by Monique wished him a joyous birthday and added, “May this journal recount your coming years and be a record of a long life of happiness and friendship. Monique Dawson.”
Maddox turned the pen in his hands admiring it. Then he ran a clawed finger over the fine leather journal. He couldn’t help a bit of a pathetic smile at the pen when he realized he had no reflection in it, indicating its silver nature. Monique had spared no expense.
He flipped open the journal and, as soon as the pen was properly assembled and filled with ink, put the tip to the soft creamy page.
25 August 2021
I am one hundred years old. I did not live one hundred, but a mere quarter of that time, but in all those empty years, no one day has ever filled me so thoroughly with feelings of affection and warmth as this.
With the generous aid of my dear friend Brenna, I visited a zoo by cover of night only to be met with a gathering of acquaintances I can now comfortably call my friends.
I dined on foods I had not tasted in a lifetime, and I am sated not only by food but by comfort. I expect full well upon the morrow the hunger which plagues my every waking moment well return, but for now, thanks to Midion Knightly's handiwork, I will enjoy the final moments of this auspicious night under the illusion of my returned humanity.
The thump of my heart beating in my breast is so thunderous, I could scarcely sleep if I wanted to. But my mind is alive with wonderful sights. So for now, I will simply exist in those memories.
Thus, I christen thee, my new journal, on my 100th birthday.
-AFM
The other gift, wrapped in bright paper lay beside it from none other than the party organizer herself: Brenna. The card on top humorously depicted a husky puppy wishing Ash to have the best birthday ever. A Sharpie-written correction was written indicating the husky was in fact Brenna’s shadowhound Lupin. Inside the card, the Happy 10th Birthday message had also been altered with an additional zero in as close an approximation to the typeface. The note inside read:
Dearest Ashbat,
Upon Reviewing the card selection, there were only a few 90th and 100th birthday cards and you wouldn’t believe how awful they were! So somber looking! So I found this one for you. Its’s FAR cuter. You’re my closest friend, Ash, and I really truly hope you had a good day. I am so honored to have been a part of it. Happy 100th.
Love always,
Bren
The package was indeed heavy. He opened it suspiciously to find a giant black mink blanket —weighted. Instructions were crossed out in exchange for her own: When you feel anxious, wrap this around you and know you are loved. It feels like a hug!
Ash took out the blanket and regarded it with a small smile of excitement. He couldn’t have but shake his had at Brenna’s childlike positivity. She was very much his foil in so many ways - young, optimistic, avatar for The Morrigan — you know, minor things.
Without much ado, he carried it to the sofa where he curled up under it as instructed. Almost as though it were magic, he was instantly....fast asleep.
--
He wouldn't stay that way for long though. Morning came (an optimal time for sleep) and the effects of Midion's sacrifice waned. He stirred a bit, but was otherwise immovable beneath the heavy mass of black. Morning bled into afternoon, and with it came...hunger.
Hunger? No, not hunger... more like--
The blanket went flying as did the vampire. He didn't quite make it to the toilet when the memory of last night's edible indulgements made themselves materially known.
"Oh god--" Ash groaned, his head pounding, his stomach in knots. The shuddering convulsions that wracked his body like ocean waves sent more and more memories pouring into his porcelain receptacle that had rarely seen any actual use.
The cold of the toilet felt like heaven as the last vestiges of mortality ebbed from him in cruel irony. A vampiric hangover. He knew how this went, though it had been decades since he put his body through it. Midion's spell had allowed him a brief respite from the curse, but it could not change what he was, merely delay the effects of Ash's hedonistic rashness until the following day. It made sense, but still...
Another unpleasant wave of bygone revelry poured forth and he suddenly thought of starfish and their incredible ability to extrude their stomachs. He felt a pang of empathy with the starfish for evolution's sadistic flair.
His lily-white face rested against the ruined toilet seat as the room turned wretchedly, "Fffffffuuuuuck yyouuuu, Midionnnn...." he groaned to the silent walls.
He wasn't really angry at him, but at the moment, he needed to be angry at something just to pull him through the next few hours.