Leona had never been to the rich and famous City of Angels, pity she didn't have time for sightseeing: the ritual would be performed on the very day she arrived. She was a little astounded by how eager Garrett was about the whole thing, considering She was the one who actually made the proposal.

As he requested, Leona arrived at his place in the Beverly Hills at 8 pm—a stone-wall mansion half covered in dense vines, and Garrett was at the entrance to welcome her. According to the taxi driver, this is one of the oldest properties in the area, and while other houses of the same age had been rebuilt for new looks or functions, it remained just as it was at the very beginning: three storeys, absolute symmetry, French style, grand and classic.

"Beautiful manor, Garrett." She stood in front of it, couldn't help but praise aloud, "Seems to me you have a taste for recording time with your residences."

"It's an old man's indulgence, I suppose, because many Kindred have the same fondness. When you've lived too long, you always try to find a way to keep track of things." While saying, Garrett led her through the entrance, where everything needed for Embrace was already set.

Furniture and decorations had been removed from the hall, and he drew an array of large, complex sigils of unknown origin in red on the floor, surrounding the emblem of Tremere clan. Leona was no way an expert in this field, all she knew was the emblem's an alchemic symbol that supposedly indicated a secret that's only known by their founder.

And there were burning candles on the floor, letting out a hint of myrrh, of which she was aware to be used in holy anointing oil, but the color of firelight bursting from the wick was ominously bloody, with a golden aura around the flame.

They were the only source of light in the room, dyeing everything in sight with the blazing red. Leona panicked. Though She was told about the process, actually being there, was like a sacrificial lamb stumbling onto a Satanic altar, and intuition was compelling her to turn back and run.

"Vampires are cursed creatures", they all say something like that in movies and books, not knowing what it's really like and making it look cool, but now she was standing there, facing it with no sugar coating of any kind, the fear was storming in her head…

"It's ok." Garrett tapped her shoulders with both of his hands, "I'm with you."

They walked into that circle of candle lights, sat down in the middle, face to face. "How does it feel…" Leona asked, "to be Embraced?"

"The Childe is half conscious during the process, so their memories about it are usually all…blurry and abstract. To me, personally, I found it very metaphysical, like I'm pulling by two forces—life and death—constantly, until eventually I reach a state of…suspension right on the edge of both sides." When he was depicting it, Garrett's eyes were in a euphoric haze, "As for Sire…well, my Sire pictured it to be a rapture…better than sex, better than feeding, even."

Listening to his description, Leona's fright for what's coming next was diminished, while a brush of pink sneaked on her face instead: "It sounds very…intimate."

"Yes, it is. We are extraordinarily lonely animals, Leona, and there are many who devote their immortality to seeking passion and meaning to fill in that emptiness, longing for reconnection and understanding…I gave up on that long time ago, but by passing this…curse to you, it is the closest I will get to you, and you to me." He drew closer, pondered and asked, "If you want to change your mind now, I won't stop you."

Leona squinted, trying to make out what his expression was when he said so, for she noted the guilt buried in his words.

"How do I find Zack after this?" So she questioned him, "Will you help me?"

Sensing her confusion and retreat, a fog of sadness clouded Garrett's face. That sorrow, so bitter and innocent, like he had to swallow some hardship for her all by himself, that Leona almost instantly regretted asking it. But he still answered her, in an assuring voice:

"Trust me, you will find him."

"So let's start." And she was tired of hesitation.

Then Leona realized the first step is to let Garrett drink her blood—and strangely enough, it wasn't being drain dry that unnerved her, but the bodily touch it would involve: as the name shows, it is an Embrace, and she was rarely this close physically to opposite sex. Hated to admit it, she was actually very shy about this.

Seeing the flush spreading from Leona's cheeks all the way to her neck, Garrett laughed softly, out of both affection and surprise, and it somewhat annoyed her a little, thus pushing her into action. She lay down on him, putting her head on his shoulder, pressed her chest and waist onto his slowly, couldn't stop her body quivering as she felt his fingers moving on her clavicle and down along her spine. There was only one heart that beats in this contact, and Leona understood a corner of the solitude Garrett talked about: It's like she's melting snow with her body temperature.

Leona looked up, and Garrett looked down. She saw a wild, luminescent desire in his gaze, lustful and…famished.

The next thing she knew was his fang piercing through her skin into her neck, and that crimson liquid streamed out of the wounds. There was a small, stinging ache, but with those anxious sucking and licking of his lips and tongue, that physical pain was almost masochistically erotic.

She panted, feeling closer and closer to the fringe of death, while he just held her even tighter, lifting her up, like he's merging her body into his.

But she wasn't just only drained. As her veins were emptied, something from Garrett was flowing into her, like strings weaving in and outside of her shell, invisible and ethereal, and they carried fragments of memories of his. Leona was too weak to discern exactly what they were, but unexpectedly, apart from all those…"mundane" emotions, like loss, remorse, satisfaction, there was an ancient, almost sacred entity buried deep among them, comforting her soul with a messianic mercy.

As if this flood of sensations was too much to bear, Leona surrounded her arms around Garrett's shoulders and held tight, gripping his linen-colored hair like a drowning victim clinging to a floating log, until she fell completely unconscious.

Garrett raised his head, her blood dropping down from his teeth. Consuming that fluid brought color to his face, and just for a moment, he had the lively warmth in his body again. Although he seemed to enjoy the refreshment, the embrace also exhausted him, for he himself almost fainted, too.

He managed to pull himself up, however, extended his hand to one of the candles nearby, and the melted oil below the flame rose up, floated under the control of his fingertip, and drew a strange mark on Leona's forehead—It was a symbol of triangle, with one eye at each corner of the shape, and as soon as it was finished, the mark illuminated brilliantly like a midnight sun, but disappeared quickly afterwards.

And Leona still wasn't awaken. Her wounds on the neck, though, were already healing up.

"My work is done."

Garrett murmured to himself and left a kiss on her eyes, with a strange sense of liberation, as if he just accomplished his lifelong purpose.

Just when he sighed in relief, a brutal force broke the front door and a charming figure walked into this house: It was an elegant, French woman in a delicate updo, a champagne gold dress and a stunning fur coat, even her heels were decorated with small, white pearls, like she was supposed to crash a party, instead of this place.

But she had a sword in her hand, and a serious reproach on her face.

"Evening, Prime Judicator Veronica." Garrett responded with a smile, as if he was waiting for her, "You are right on time."

But the fair lady named Veronica didn't take the situation so lightly, like he just did: "Why are you doing this…don't you know it's death sentence?"

"Three hundred years… That's long enough for me." Answering the questions, Garrett lay his Childe down on the floor gently, stood up, calm and unwavering in front of the accusation, "Do your job, then."

And all this time, Leona was in deep slumber, having no idea what was happening and what awaited her in the future. It was as if she slept for an eternity, and what woke her up was the pain of her tied-up wrists. She wrestled with the heaviness on the eyelids to look around, but the glare took her some time to adjust and see the surroundings.

She was on a stage of a massive, luxurious opera hall.

Leona struggled to stand up and make a run, but her limbs were simply numb because of fatigue. Under the scrutiny of the crowd in the auditorium below, she realized she had no chance of escape—On first sight, she knew all of them were vampires.

"Wha…"

She tried to speak, merely in fluster, but even before the first word came out, two guards in black behind her slapped her in the face and forced her to get up and kneel. At the same time, noises of disturbance rose among the audience: not for her, but for the new entrants to the stage.

So Leona turned to see what's going on, and she couldn't believe what she'd seen: It was Garrett, tied up just like she was, escorted by Veronica at his side. His glasses were broken, his clothes were slashed and soaked in blood, like he went through a hellish fight, and he was again forced to kneel down right beside Leona, as if they were both some prisoners. He buried his head, didn't even look at her in the process.

And the last person that stepped onto the stage was a blonde man in his prime of life, wearing a formal, sumptuous suit with a golden scepter in his hand. When he showed up, the auditorium returned to silence in respect.

"What is…all this…"

Leona whispered in bewilderment and despair, because this…"performance" carrying on in front of her was completely absurd in her eyes. She didn't know, that this was a trial, for her and Garrett.