Gideon strolled slowly towards the coffee table, still buttoning the crisp white shirt he'd chosen for the evening, it's tails only half-tucked into his black trousers. He paused in his dressing as he gazed down thoughtfully at the flower and the note it lay upon. He slid the thick sheet of expensive stationary out from under the lily and read over Illy's beautiful scrawl twice before releasing a slow sigh of breath. The hand that held the paper swinging down by his side as it's brother came up to skim through his thick, dark hair.

He turned first towards the doorway of Illy's room, hesitated, then moved away towards the windows. Outside of the confused torrent of raw emotions Thalon had stirred within him, no one in Gideon's life had caused more confliction than Illiana.

She was like an unplanned, unexpected child. Logically he could have aborted or abandoned her, emotionally he could do no less then own and nurture her. The irony of it all was magnificent, cruel and fitting enough to make even Steinbeck blush. His entire life Gideon had done no less than indulge his every instinctive whim, and now here he was, a prisoner to his instinct. He was slave to that raw, primal drive to love and protect one's child. And Illiana was to him no less than his own child. He had killed the Illiana that had been and birthed her into this new life in a baptism of his own cursed blood. He had created her just as surely as the hand of God had.

And yet... and yet. His very nature rebelled against this sudden parental drive to love, nurture, and protect. He'd been a self-contained narcissist his entire life and he loved his independance and lack of responsability to anyone or anything. He'd even bucked his allegence to his beloved coven, and bought himself time in this city of exile for it. He was too old, too set in his ways and too self indulgent to want to re-examine his life now. Yet every night Illiana forced him to glare into that cruel mirror of self-evalutation and see the monster that stared back.

He felt the thick, smooth paper crease between his fingers as they tightened involuntarily, it's crinkling loud as thunder in the silent apartment. He felt as if he would die from this exquisite pain, and welcomed the end of all things, praying for the rest of the black abyss he hoped lay on the other side. Responsability for one's actions was a heavy burden to bear.

He never knew how to act around her. It was agony to be near her and even more painful to be away. She had come to fill the void, at least partway, that Thalon had left gapeing in his heart and soul. Like a round peg in a square hole. She took away the pain with one hand, and gave it back with the other.

He glanced down and unfolded his hand, smoothed the paper out carefully, folded it, and tucked it away in the pocket of his pants. He walked back to the tabletop and picked up the fragrant lily, flower of death. He stroked the perfect petals, their velvet white bruising even under the careful caress of his fingertips. He could touch nothing without ruining it, marring it in some way. Perhaps that was why Thalon had fled him without so much as a word or explination. Because he knew, in that irritatingly perfect way he had of knowing everything about Gideon, that the vampire would ultimately ruin him too. Perhaps it was a cruel sort of kindness that the man had gone the way he did, at the height of their love affair, leaving Gideon with only good memories and sparing him the harsh realities of a relationship gone sour.

Illiana would have no such luxery. Gideon had tied her to himself as sure as an umbilical cord, and they could never be rid of the other. Always they would haunt the other's consciousness. And yet she thanked him at every turn for bringing her into this unforgiving nightmare of a world, her gratitude almost unbearable at times. To him it was no better than if he beat her and she thanked him for it. Each smile, each kind look or caress she gave him made the bile rise in his throat. He was drowning, choking on the self-hatred Illiana managed to bring out in him.

But he could not help himself in reaching out to her. He found himself questioning every motive of his own. Did he spoil her because he was simply going through the motions of his behavior with every woman in his life, or beacuse he genuinely wanted her to share his wealth and privelege? Did he desire her because of his own selfish wants, or because he honestly loved her? Living on auto-pilot, Gideon could no longer tell what was simply repeatting patterns of behavoir and was was real.