A Thirst For Sun

Today was the day they’d decide. Laura stared down at what she could see of her reflection in the pool of water below. A constant drip of moisture off a stalactite gave her about one second every five seconds with which she could judge herself. Enough of the people around her emanated pity for the past year that she could guess where she’d be going today, but she pitied anyone her age. The pool blurred before her eyes until more water fell into it. She couldn’t see either way. Maybe if her face got puffy enough, she’d pass as average.

Average women got a few more years before the decision. Sixteen was just old enough that no one would feel bad sending ugly girls off to the breeding ground, but young enough that a beautiful maiden was a delicacy. If they couldn’t tell right off the bat, it all depended on profit projections favoring quantity or quality, year to year. Perhaps it didn’t matter though. Either you had a few more years of anxiety, twenty more years being poked, prodded, and ripped open again and again by littler humans who would only face the same fate, or a supposedly quick death.

A scraping of rock on rock started and those facing the opposite direction were blinded by their first of two weekly glimpses outside. When they had finally acclimated to the sun, the closest girl to the opening, nearly six herself, got five long seconds of an emerald green tree in her vision before the door closed again. Laura remembered when the best day of her life was someone else’s worst.

“Sixteen and up, make a line, right to left, oldest to youngest. Ten and up can start rationing.” Five new toddlers tied together were shoved in one corner. Sacks of potatoes and corn, plus a deer carcass were thrown in another, soon swarmed by frail bodies, counting and dividing.

Laura stood penultimate in line, followed only by a curly haired brunette who couldn’t have been more than 90 pounds. Lucky for Laura, she’d turned sixteen five days ago. Five more days than Oorun would get. She found herself hoping the superstitions were true enough to earn the girl another year or two, but why would being named after the sun affect any choice made by a human man? No one wanted to know the name or birthday of their dinner.

That’s why men were given a much different choice. Also why she couldn’t find herself the slightest bit attracted to the rare combination of tan skin and blue eyes sported by the toned male body speaking now.

“We need,” he paused to look at his sheet.

5D

4M

1S

“Five breeders? Damn, when they die, they die all at once, amirite?” he laughed to his companions. “Four meals, and one special request.”

Glancing at the left end of the line, he remarked, “eh, the last five aren’t completely gross.” He leaned towards the girl two down from Laura. “Unless, you’d like to volunteer,” he winked.

The redhead tried to nod, but could no longer remain simply on the verge of her tears. “Never mind,” the man grimaced. “Try not crying next year.”

Average looking boys got the best life of all. If by sixteen you weren’t too ugly to be the special at a soup kitchen and not too handsome that a high class lady would order you, you got the only choice humans ever got to make. You could work. You had to betray your entire species, but if you were a good little farmer, enforcer, errand-boy, you got to live in the sun and breed on the weekends, the two things their masters could never accomplish. Particularly obedient slaves got to pick their women too, though no one more than once. This man was clearly favored enough that he could get away with cheating his employers out of a higher priced meal if he took its virginity first. It was a deal many women took if popping babies out seemed worth the possibility of an extra decade. An extra decade plus sun and sex? It was a deal many men took, albeit usually after a few anxiety-filled years of trying to uphold your morals in the face of beings who’d rather eat you anyway.

One man in the back, dark and wrinkled, was showing a sunburnt skinny thing how to routinely check the younger group of girls for their tattooed birthdays. Otherwise Oorun definitely would’ve been small enough to delay this process. Blue Eyes started grabbing arms on the right end of the line.

“Too old, that’s an meal.” Arwen had gotten all the way to her mid-twenties: not worth keeping alive when half her childbearing years were gone, but a middle class family would look forward to a reasonably priced dinner later this week.

“Meal, Breed, Skip, Skip, Br…” he raised an eyebrow at Soare, who filled out in the last year or so, but she shook her head boldly. “Meal.”

Laura smiled at the thought of him not getting any as he continued down the line until her own arm jerked forward. “Finally, a fresh one. I was worried I’d have to lie about one of your ages.” The tattoo was clearly all he’d bothered to look at though. His mouth opened involuntarily upon sizing up the rest of her, but became an amused grin once she locked eyes with him. If defiance was a color, it’d be jade. “You are perfect.” He pulled her away from the line himself, not even glancing at Oorun as he finished up, “I don’t care what the last one looks like. We’re short on breeders,” and despite the fulfillment of this child’s deepest wish to live longer, she screamed as Skinny Sunburn led her to a group of four others.

—

Walking outside to their deaths was ironically like being born. A deluge of sunlight left them in pain, thoughts muddled, unable to see, and squinting like babies. By the time they’d adjusted, they were almost to the bottom of a mountain where a cart awaited. The world hadn’t ended. Laura had forgotten there was anything between the decision and, well, dying. Until now, she’d known what to expect. No woman had ever come back to the cave to tell them what process must inevitably exist in their transportation. Hope rose in her, warming her soul the way the sun warmed her skin for the first time. A stream nearby beckoned her to follow it into the trees and never return, but an acrid smelling rag filled her nostrils before the water could. She lost consciousness and all chance of ever running as they threw her limp body onto the cart.

—

She was too tired both physically and mentally, for the sudden drop onto a soft bouncy material to motivate Laura towards moving with a purpose or even wondering what a bed was. She didn’t even see the men anymore, but much softer hands pulled her to her feet. Though Laura had no way of identifying them as such, the air smelled of jasmine, and the faint hum of stringed instruments emanated from speakers nearby. Her poor excuses for clothes dropped to the floor and the most beautiful women she’d ever seen guided her to a tub of hot water. After all that had happened, floating in the snuggles of warm flower-water while two gorgeous women gently scrubbed layers of dirt off of her skin made this day deceptively better. Fingers, salves, brushes combed through her hair. Laura put her arms, head, legs, wherever they were guided until she was finally told, “Open your eyes, dear,” in a lilt more melodious than the music.

She stared straight into the pools of green that had only ever wavered back at her, stilled and straightened by the vintage mirror. Her hair was like golden silk, the shine beckoning her fingers. Clean hands cut by an artist who’d only ever worked in marble moved towards her head, attached to the rest of her body by blood-red sleeves, embroidered in black. The convenience of a color that matched her heart made it drop once more.

“This is my favorite part,” whispered lips next to her ear that she could only see in her periphery. “They’re just smart enough to appreciate our artistry themselves.” Her hair brushed itself to the side in the reflection.

“I hope to the gods Caelan will want some company for dinner,” the other remarked.

“I won’t.” What Laura assumed to be the firm decision of this so-called Caelan rang out unseen from opposite the mirror, and she turned.

Caelan’s tired expression sharpened as their eyes met. Breakfast looked eerily familiar. The alabaster skin could’ve passed for one of their colleagues, but there was blood in her. Not once had Caelan visited their father’s farm, so that couldn’t explain it.

Laura was more entranced by those golden eyes than anything she’d experienced that day, though they narrowed at her ominously. This must be the rumored ability of a vampire to hypnotize their prey into willingness. The care taken in her clean-up had at least suggested this wasn’t one of the crueler ones who enjoyed a struggle. Still, she easily looked away to judge the rest of the lithe body before her. Caelan was slender and tall, with a smooth heart-shaped face that gave nothing away. Their hair was like staring eternally down a back recess in the cavern, offering an unreachable yet inviting void. Long delicate fingers brushed back the shaggy part that fell in front of their face as Caelan clearly realized this pause had gone on too long. Their servants exchanged glances.

“Get out.” Caelan almost felt bad at how harsh that sounded. They knew the ladies had worked hard at making their anniversary dinner an extra special one. A round millennium of vampirism was not a day taken lightly. “Have enough drinks that the party’s actually fun by the time I arrive,” was their attempt to lighten the mood with a smirk, but the attendants scampered off quickly regardless.

The lopsided half-smile remained while Caelan’s thin dark eyebrows raised as they sighed. It would’ve made them even more charming if they hadn’t started circling Laura like a hawk – or, was it more like a cat? The irises reflected more curiosity than hunger as they fiddled with a necklace hanging around their neck.

“Who are you?”

The last thing Laura had expected was a discussion, much less about her name. “Laura,” she squeaked out.

Caelan shook their head. “No, that’s – not helpful.” Footsteps ceased. “Speak more.” They looked down at the heart shaped locket betwixt their fingers, hoping to place a voice at least. Silence. “How was your day?”

Screw however gorgeous this immortal being before her was. Laura was pissed. “Pretty shitty, thanks for asking.”

Caelan laughed, a chuckle at first, then heartily, like it was the first time all the momentous day long. “I should’ve guessed. That’s my bad.” Their eyes connected once more and a sense of admiration transferred to Laura, leaving her identity on the tip of Caelan’s tongue. “You got to see the sun at least.”

“If that was worth dying, you’d be ashes by now.” Laura’s wit helped her breathe easier.

“Good point.” Disappointed eyes disappeared back down to the locket.

“What’s in there?”

“My sun.” Caelan bit their lip, and Laura thought she wasn’t the only one who’d cry today. “You know, fleeting as the day, the one warmth I can never have, a gorgeous memory…”

Caelan took half a second to spring it open at that point, but it felt like another thousand years. “…blonde, green eyes, pale skin filled with life.” They looked up at Laura, “what? 5’4”? Full lips?” they exhaled.

“Are these questions now? I don’t know her.”

“Are you sure?” Caelan held up the faded picture from the open antique, and Laura stared straight at her own face for the third time that day.