"Mom, I’m back," Carter walked briskly back to his home, pushed open the door, and embraced his mother with open arms.
His mother, joyful, kissed him on the face, "My child, good to have you back. Your father and I were very worried, those maniacs after all, are not normal people."
"It’s nothing, at this critical juncture, they wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on me, but I think we can’t stay in this city any longer, we need to leave as soon as possible."
"No problem, your father and I are already prepared, we can leave tonight." His mother said, releasing her eldest son from her embrace: "Come, child, I’ve chosen a very fine blood meal for you today."
Following his mother, Carter saw a child tied up in the kitchen.
"Mother, is this alright?" Carter and his mother lifted the food onto the table together.
"After today we won’t be here anymore, let the Church have their headaches. Now we’re just waiting for your father to come back from the Salon," his mother replied with a smile.
"Where is Kata?" Carter noticed that his brother wasn’t home, and if he had been, the blood meal would probably have already been sneakily consumed by now.
"He’s gone to return some books at the library. I think it’s the right thing to do, there are too many prophets at the God of Knowledge’s side who can track us down. If possible, we’d better not leave behind anything that could cause any entanglement with them." While saying this, the mother turned and drew a knife from the knife rack.
"Wait, mother, can’t we have something fresher to eat?" Carter, the eldest son, asked.
"...Alright, I think your suggestion is good." The mother put the knife back in its place, then cast a small Sleep Spell to put their dinner to sleep: "This is the secret to keeping the blood meal fresh, my child, remember this, too much tension lowers the quality of the blood meal."
"I’ll go upstairs to pack, Kata just bought a newspaper, you should find its contents to your liking." The mother seemed to have endless chores and walked towards the hallway: "Oh, listen, I called the newspaper delivery service on the phone this morning, they will send a paperboy later to sign up with us, that child will be your father’s favorite blood meal."
"I understand, mother." Watching his mother ascend the staircase, Carter turned to look at the girl on the table with a furrowed brow.
When will we be able to escape such a sorrowful fate, oh Goddess of the Moon, must our clan live on like spirits that devour flesh and blood?
The young vampire sighed.
This was a question he could not answer, nor would anyone provide one for him, just as it is said in human novels, each person can choose their own path, but not their parents.
Returning to the living room and sitting on the sofa, Carter picked up the newspaper and began to read.
Knowledge changes fate; last month he read this phrase in a series of detective stories serialized in the newspaper, and it resonated deeply with Carter.
If knowledge could change fate, if that were true, how wonderful it would be.
Alas, knowledge had changed his perspectives, his mindset, his diet, but it could not change his destiny as a vampire... not even the instinct to thirst for blood.
Vampires always say, "Poor livestock, poor Short-lived Species."
But in Carter’s eyes, they were just pitiable long-lived ones.
After finishing his tea, Casaman sighed and stood up, shaking hands with his old boss: "Just one more month, I suddenly feel a bit regretful, had I spent more money last year, maybe I’d be a Bishop by now, and perhaps I could have baptized you today."
"Cut it out, you little rascal, I know what you’re thinking, you never really wanted to be a Bishop, did you?" The elder laughed as he shook his hand: "Take care, kiddo."
"Take care, you old geezer. As usual, I’ll head out first." Releasing his hand, Casaman walked towards the exit.
He could feel the gaze of the old man watching his back, the no-longer-young man felt a warmth similar to fifteen years ago when he watched him leave the Church school.
Casaman pushed open the shop door, pulled out his pocket watch, and checked the time.
At that moment, four burly men passed by him and entered the shop; he exchanged a glance with one of them.
A very ordinary face.
Perhaps also people who needed a quiet place to talk about life and dreams.
Not wanting to trouble himself, Casaman turned and walked to the street corner, idly passing the time and lighting a cigarette for himself.
What should he do once the mission was complete, after returning to his homeland with her, fulfilling all his desires?
Casaman has never given much thought to such things before, because the idea seemed too far off; he didn’t even know if he would live to see the mission end, and just two months ago, he thought he’d be doing this dirty job for a lifetime. Life is unpredictable indeed.
Taking a puff of smoke, Casaman looked toward a fruit stand on the roadside—should he plant some apple trees?
Good idea, she would surely like it.
At that thought, Casaman smiled, a rare occurrence.
So making plans for one’s own life turned out to be such an amusing thing.
Andy watched Casaman leave, then he stood up, the older man with slightly infirm legs donned his hat, and took his wallet toward the counter.