Chapter 2: A Bookkeeper’s Dilemma
Moments after the men in black robes left, Morbius turned his gaze toward me, his crimson eyes piercing through the lingering silence. He didn’t need to speak to express his disapproval; it was evident in the cold, hard look he gave me.
“You know he’s right, my lord,” Morbius said, voice low and edged. “I don’t understand why you have this… attachment to Moore.”
I cleared my throat, pausing to find the right words. “It’s not an attachment. I don’t have an obsession with him.”
Morbius’s gaze didn’t soften, and his stare seemed to bore into me, his expression both stern and unyielding. “Then what would you call it, my dear child?” His voice was almost gentle, though it still cut like ice. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve written a name in the book, nor will it be the last. Have you forgotten your role so quickly?”
“I haven’t forgotten my role, Morbius,” I snapped, cutting him off. “I never could. But this… this feels different. It feels wrong.”
Morbius stepped toward me, moving with that same detached grace he always had, and lowered himself onto the empty seat beside me on the porch. “Then you know what must be done—simple and plain.”
His breath, like his words, seemed to chill the air around us, cutting through my resolve. Though I hated to admit it, Morbius was right. His words mirrored my own conflicted thoughts. Still, something deep inside gnawed at me, whispering that he could be wrong, that we all could be wrong. This entire ordeal with Moore—it irritated me to my core. The doubt, the uncertainty, the sense that I was standing at the edge of a decision I couldn’t bear to make.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Lost in thought, I felt Morbius’s hand on my shoulder. “The world is changing, Marquette. If Moore’s departure from the Fallen isn’t proof enough, I don’t know what is. All you can do now is find your place in it.”
As he turned to walk back inside, something in me snapped. I felt an uncharacteristic rush of anger rise in my chest, a boiling frustration that demanded to be heard.
“That’s easy for you to say, Morbius! You’re not the Keeper of the Book,” I said, voice louder than I intended. “Even if I wanted to defy it all, even if I wanted to spare him, I’d have no choice but to write his name in the book!”
Morbius stopped in his tracks, and for the first time in years, I heard something in his voice I never thought I would—sympathy.
“I know,” he said, his voice softer, almost weary. “But this is something only you can do. Something you have to do. I don’t envy your decision. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through—I don’t. But I understand one thing: we cannot afford to be soft, not for a single moment. We don’t know what Moore is planning, what ideas he has for the kingdom. How quickly we forget, he knows the ins and outs of the Fallen. And now, with his newfound power, he may be the only threat we truly face.”
I took a long, deep breath, steadying myself. “I know… the whole situation is mysterious, unsettling. And I don’t know how to grapple with these feelings.”
Morbius paused in the doorway, glancing back at me with a somber expression. “That, I cannot help you with. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. As a vampire, I don’t feel things the way you do. It’s not that I lack emotions, but when you’ve lived as long as I have, such things become trivial.”
With that, Morbius disappeared into the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stood there, looking out over the estate, the weight of my responsibility pressing down on me. Moore’s face lingered in my mind, and I wondered if, one day, I’d look back on this moment and see it differently. If I’d see it as the moment I chose to follow tradition or as the moment I found a new path.
But for now, I only knew the path that lay before me, and it felt colder than anything I’d ever known.
