"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."

- Anatole France, Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard (1881)

Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" blasted from the sound system and Reine sang along with every word at the top of her lungs. Even then, her voice still got lost among those around her.

It was midweek, but the pub was at capacity. The regular English folk band had finished their set for the evening, and an eclectic mix of crowd favorites from the owner's CD collection had replaced them. Although the smell of fish and chips had mixed with the residual aroma of smoke on the centuries' old wood paneling, the atmosphere was anything but stale.

Reine wasn't one of the patrons. She was working the bar, serving pints of ale and stout just as she had almost every night since arriving in London over three months earlier.

It had been a tough few months that much was for certain. She had abruptly left behind her life as a graduate student and relocated across the Atlantic virtually overnight. After the death of her boyfriend, getting away was the only thing that had made sense to her.

Gabe wasn't supposed to die. At least that's what the doctor who treated him after their car accident had said. He was weak and he had lost his spleen; nevertheless, he was expected to make a full recovery. But then, the unthinkable happened. When she went to visit him in the hospital the next morning, Reine was told that he didn't make it through the night. And then her world collapsed.

For a while, she had mentally replayed both the crash and their last conversation in the hospital. However, the end result didn't change - especially because she never told him she loved him. The omission would haunt her for as long as she lived. But nothing made her feel ashamed as much as the fact that she was too much of a coward to go to his funeral. She couldn't face his grieving parents nor even begin to explain why their son was dead. If she did, she would have had to tell them it was because of her.

Not directly, of course, but he'd been collateral damage. A woman named Sylvana was chasing them when they crashed, the exact reason why known only to her. It must have had something to do with the single common denominator between them: Max Baldovini. He was Reine's ex-husband who had dropped Sylvana for her as soon as Reine came back into his life. In the end, she chose Gabe over Max, so Sylvana's spite toward her didn't make much sense. Especially because harming her was no way for the woman to get back into Max's good graces.

But Sylvana had quickly disappeared, leaving them with more questions than answers.

Reine had tried not to think about Gabe too much because she wasn't ready yet to deal with the pain. Ignoring it had worked for a while, but occasionally something would unexpectedly trigger her deeply buried feelings for him. Just as this song playing in the pub did now.

As she belted out the words echoing love and loneliness, Reine knew that she couldn't run from her feelings much longer. It was true that they had only known each other for a few months, but being with Gabe had changed her whole outlook on life. He had made her want to fully experience life again, which wasn't an easy feat since she had already lived for over five hundred years. However, she would have gladly exchanged her unusual capability to heal and ability to stay young if it meant that she could have him back.

Although that trade was impossible, she now knew she didn't have to be alone. There were others like her including Max. But Reine had chosen to leave. And instead, she found unexpected friendships right here in the Sloppy Bulldog Tavern, including the middle-aged man who was pushing himself through the throng lined up at the bar.

"Hey, lassie. How about ya' give me here another one? I'm not nearly pissed enough." He interrupted the chorus.

Picking up a glass, she wiped it with the dishtowel in her hand. "That's always debatable, Nigel, but as you wish." Reine grinned, quickly dispensing a pint of the frothy beverage and handing it to him.

Noticing she was back on duty after the singing break, several others tried to get her attention for refills.

"Over here!" yelled a young man from the end of the bar, holding up a hand in the air for emphasis.

"What'll ya' have?" She gave him a polite smile.

"I'd like to have you, blondie." He winked.

"A dreamer, huh?" Reine noted as she turned away, making it clear that she didn't play games.

Grabbing her hand, he pinned her arm against the counter to keep her from leaving.

"C'mon, I'm loads of fun," the young man insisted.

Reine had experience with aggressive customers, but most were drunk enough to be easily dissuaded. This guy seemed sober, which made him more unpredictable. She had to be firm; showing any type of fear would just fire him up even more. Looking straight into his eyes, she gave it one last shot.

"I'm sure you are, but I'm boring as hell." She pulled her arm away with ease and retreated.

Although he stayed around, he didn't try talking to her for the rest of the night. Reine eventually finished up her shift and a little after midnight, she bid goodnight to the other bartenders.

"All right then, I'm totally knackered. Cheers," she said before stepping out the front door.

Zipping up her sweatshirt against the chilly air, Reine started down the empty sidewalk on her short walk home. She knew this area well, not just from the past three months, but also from much earlier. She had walked these streets when Queen Victoria ruled her global empire and London was still the most powerful city in the world. As the companion to a wealthy widow, she had enjoyed many luxuries including sharing the three-story townhouse that she later inherited.

The landscape of the neighborhood hadn't changed much since the 1890s. Shops and restaurants lined this main thoroughfare, with rows of white terraced flats branching off into the side streets. Parked cars had replaced waiting horse-drawn carriages and gas lights had made way for incandescent bulbs, but otherwise, it was very easy for her to imagine being back in the Nineteenth Century.

Once again getting caught up in her usual reminiscing, it took Reine several hundred feet to notice she was being followed. Now that she was paying close attention, she could hear footsteps mirroring her own. When she sped up, so did her pursuer; when she slowed down, the echoing steps also decreased their tempo. Not daring to look behind her, she tried to keep her pace as natural as possible. A taxi drove by on the other side of the street, but otherwise there was no one else around. Taking advantage of a hidden alley, she rounded the corner and suddenly found herself at a dead-end.

"Not too smart of ya', darlin'," she heard the voice of the pushy young man from the pub.