Title: Final Dance
Word count: 218
Summary: Carl waits for the final dance.
Warning: References to violence
He could wait. He could wait a very long time. He was immortal after all. But, with Saya, -oh, Saya- It was a long wait. Perhaps a bit too long.
He'd never been, 'sane', by conventional means. Then, once he'd lost his arm, well let's just say, he'd gone a little mad. Maybe her blood had done something to him. They weren't meant to live once their blood mixed on that faithful night in Vietnam; him, a chevalier, her, his queen's rival.
No one could have known how his obsession would grow, would fester, would pull at his skin wanting to break free. How he wanted to sink his teeth into that pale skin. Let that copper tang wash over him before the sweet pull of death took him in. How he needed her. How she drove him mad. Must he wait all this time? Thirty years seemed an eternity.
So he plotted. He planned. That perfect, exquisite final dance. He practiced with other girls; pale imitations of her. None had that fire, that wanton blood lust, that willful gaze. Ah, how he'd revel in it once she woke again.
For now he would wait, let these false imitators curb his hunger, but soon, oh soon, Saya would be his, and they would share their final, fatal dance.