A/N: Laptop died. Wrote this on the notes app of my phone. Apparently character limits exist so I had a breakdown. Here, have a thing.

https://ko-fi.com/reveri

Chapter XVIII: Dearth

Attention divided between her craft and the swirling depth of her thoughts, Altheia accidentally punctured her finger with the sharp tip of the tapestry needle.

"Ow!"

A sharp hiss accompanied the turning over of her hand as she inspected the wounded state of her right ring finger. Droplets of blood budded on the surface of her skin and she made a face at the dull ache that lingered. Without another thought she latched her mouth onto the side of her finger, surprising the only other person in the room as she soothed her bleeding digit with a back and forth swipe of tongue. Saliva contained potent anaesthetic compounds, after all.

Before he could help it, Caius' breath catched – both at the vision she presented in his peripheral and the copper scent now hanging in the air. His fingers tightened around the antique writing pen, then with a slow intake of breath, he turned his full attention to the scholar occupying the lounger. He glared at the embroidery project she had set aside on the tea table and queried loudly: "Must you test the limits of my patience with your existence every day, hm?"

Altheia blanched at his sardonic tone. A meek apology was offered and Caius' eyes rolled when she resumed her needlework with her back hunched, facing away from him.

"It will be my pleasure to inform Marcus and Aro that you cannot keep yourself unscathed within a day of their absence," Caius goaded.

Decided on reigning in her temper, Altheia breathed in deeply and mumbled low, "Right."

Caius smirked and went on to say, "Perhaps I should suggest keeping you in the tower."

A left eye ticked in annoyance. "Right."

"Perhaps I should interrupt their on-going court with Amun and say all this is much ado about nothing. As the lot of them discussed your impending immortality, you had managed to off yourself – quite splendidly – with a needle. Believable, no? Then perhaps everyone can move on from this nonsense."

Quashing her final effort at self-control, Altheia shifted slowly to face Caius.

"Caius." she said.

A perfect brow arched. "Hm?"

"I was just wondering."

As if it were torture to ask, "Wondering what."

Choosing her words carefully, Altheia cleared her throat and furthered, "After coming to Campania... Now that you've learned about my childhood, my adolescence... Do you trust me at all?"

Caius put his pen down.

"It's okay if you don't," she rambled hurriedly. "You're under no obligation to change however you think of anyone, least of all me. It's just – I want to know, honestly, if at this point, I'm still a stranger to you—"

"A stranger? You?" Caius scoffed, cutting in. "I know of your achievements, your losses; where life has led you and the trouble your prolonged mortal presence signifies for the future. I've seen the backbone of your youth, the uncanny ability you possess. Frankly, I am worn from the way my coven seems to revere you. I know you enough."

The way he spoke... Altheia dropped her gaze. "Oh."

"On the matter of my trust, Altheia... I do not know what to tell you. It is irrelevant."

Being the first time she'd ever heard her name in Caius' voice, her gaze floated back up to meet his. "I see."

"What would you do with it? What would it gain you? And if I do give it, would it be enough?" Scarlet eyes narrowed at her seriously. "What is it that you will truly ask from me in the end? I know you, Altheia. I see Aro, and Marcus, with you. This is not a matter of trust – what you actually want to know is if I do not dislike you, and I am afraid to say that my answer is that I want to. I want to dislike you. Because you are you."

"I..." Caius waited, surprised when the brunette suddenly rose from her seat and shook her head at the floor. Blinking rapidly, she muttered, "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Alth—"

"I am so sorry, Caius." Hurried strides led her to the exit in seconds. "I'll leave you alone."

With the abrupt loss of her presence, the trail of her scent gradually faded from the room, and all Caius had left was lonesome silence.

»»—- ❈ —-««

"Now I'm really concerned." Sebastian voiced with a tone of concern as he rounded back to the bar. "Is it work? Did something happen back home? Was it a breakup?" When Altheia's shoulders pinched, he cursed deeply. "Was it that Egyptian guy you brought here two weeks ago? That asshole."

"Would you just make me my damn bloody mary."

Rabastan poked his head out of the kitchen window and whistled. "You look like a real piece of work, sadface. Was it an, 'It's not you, it's me' breakup?"

A split second and Altheia's mouth wobbled. Soon enough she was dabbing the edge of her eyes with cheap dining tissue.

"Oh god, Rab, you made her cry. This is why I don't let you out of the kitchen."

"Ah, shit, it was the opposite then. Bass' right, doll. He's an asshole. What? Stop glaring at me, just give her the fucking bloody mary, yeah?"

"Here, darling, drink up." Sebastian paused. "Just don't drink too much tonight, alright?"

"Alright. Now leave the tissue box and walk away."

"...yes, ma'am..." As Sebastian walked away he muttered under his breath, "...so glad Ariana's more chipper than you..."

Later on, when the night droned on and the bar began to fill with more people, Altheia took her fifth drinking glass outside with her and idled along the dim backstreet. Patting her pockets she realized she had left her phone in her own room back at the West wing hall.

Maybe that was a good thing. Some things Aro didn't need to know about. Life was life. Caius was Caius. And Marcus, no longer the castle ghoul, definitely needed to reorient himself in social circles, wind down as he hunted with the likes of Amun and Benjamin out-of-state. Altheia could wallow expertly on her own.

How horrifying it was to be known and still be lacking. In the midst of her sadness, Altheia only wished she could say she knew him, too.

Version March 17, 2022.

A/N: Let's be honest. Caius isn't going to change over night, over ten years, according to his own will. Yeah, I will die on this hill.