Dangerous Thirst

Chapter Twelve: A Third Type of Murderer

Chapter Twelve: A Third Type of Murderer
So it was to be like this. There was not another way for it all to unfold. Oskar had confessed. He could no longer suffer in silence. He had in him a desire to form a coven, but that was not what he and Cazador agreed. For as long as he did not create another vampire, Cazador would allow him sanctuary in Baldur's Gate. For a long time, for centuries, he was content. The vampire lord was his only companion, his only confidant in this world of those who were destined to die. For some vampires, it was vanity that compelled them to create spawn, a shallow desire to possess beautiful things. For Oskar, it was not so simple. He would even theorize that he was not the only vampire whose instinct to create spawn stemmed from the knowledge that immortal life was lonely.
They were in between life and death. The life in them desired a lifelong companion and the only way to acquire such a companion was to doom them to a life of undeath. It was to sentence them to watch everything they had ever loved change and warp around them while they remained helplessly the same. Relationships lost all meaning. What remained of the soul after an eternity of loneliness? Oskar once thought he knew the answer to that question. He fought the battle against his own nature to perform acts of kindness for the sake of kindness itself. Through his art, he found safety. He was allowed to be as vain as he wanted, immortalize souls without desecrating them.
Then Tav came. He thought he knew what it was to covet beauty, innocence. He never expected it to attack him so ruthlessly and violently. One look and he knew he was changed forever. He should have turned Tav away in the beginning, ushered him out of the room like he did all the others who stumbled upon him. Tav's face had rebuked him for the thought. As penance, he painted him. It felt good to paint him, to know his inner soul. After that first portrait, he knew painting Tav would never be enough.
To his credit, he tried in the beginning. When he painted that portrait of him and Astarion, it had mocked him. The way Tav had looked at him! Even now the memory struck him with the fierceness of a mother striking her child. He had captured it, immortalized it. Perhaps if he had insisted on keeping the painting, he could have convinced himself that Tav was looking at him. It would have worked, if Tav had been destined to die. Why had he rescued Astarion? Was it a result of the little goodness that remained in his heart?
No.
He rescued Astarion because Tav needed him. Tav's soul would have become tainted and he could not abide by that. Tav was perfect and so he should remain. He'd risked his life for that. Every good thing he would ever do now and forever would be tainted by the sickness of vampirism. He had known that for a long time.
"Tav..." saying the name stole his very breath, "You must kill me now."
"Oskar..." Tav began.
"You should do it," said Astarion heartlessly, "In my experience, true vampires are more trouble than they're worth."
"And you want to become one!" Oskar chided him. "By the gods Astarion, I have seen your soul! I have painted you enough by request of Cazador. He has corrupted you! He has made you just as nasty and ugly as he is. You've been with him too long. Do you really think Tav can save you? You are still afraid. You think more power will be the answer? I can assure you that it is not. Like Cazador you will seek to control all the things you love and you will fail, and in failing, destroy them. When you build a palace of glass, all it takes is a well aimed pebble for it all to come crashing down. Do not fool yourself into believing otherwise just because the object of your obsession shares in your affections. The moment you try to control him, you will lose him."
There was silence for a beat. A tension in the air...
Astarion moved, faster than Tav had ever seen him. A diet of blood from a thinking creature fueled him. There was a glint of silver and a strike...
He was suspended like that as if frozen in time.
Oskar laughed at him, "Did you really think I would allow something as impure as you to end my life? You underestimate my vanity. Killed by a mere spawn of another vampire? I could never suffer such an insult. Have a seat."
Moved by some invisible force, Astarion's body was thrown into a chair. He did not get up again.
The painter turned to Tav, "Enough, it's time now, isn't it? Tav..." he said the name as intimately as a lover, "if you do not kill me, I fear I will lose myself. Already you have changed me. I will never be satisfied until I am convinced that you are mine. You are all my art ever was and will ever be. Why do you hesitate? What will motivate you to action? Ah. I see."
It was over before it started. The moment Oskar turned his attention to Astarion, Tav knew he had to move. Even the anticipated threat of losing Astarion was enough to spur him to action. He was standing between Oskar and his lover, invisible before the painter's eyes.
"You forsake me, Tav," said the painter sadly. "Won't you let me look at you one last time?"
Tav appeared, too suddenly and too brightly. Oskar felt the resplendent radiance coming off him in waves. Never had he looked more beautiful now, than he did in this moment. To have loved and to have lost. To be sentenced to death at the hand of his muse. What could be more poetic? Tav was holding him so gently. He heard something wet dripping onto the floor. Was that his blood? Well, he supposed it didn't matter. Not now anyway.
"You never would have harmed him," Tav whispered softly. "That was a cruel choice."
"I suppose now we shall never really know," Oskar replied with a wry smile, "You know, I once told you there was a third type of murderer. You remember that don't you? Do you wish to know what it is?" There were tears in his eyes, "Those who kill for love. And I would say, they are the most dangerous, wouldn't you agree? One day... you will forgive me for this."
His breathing was labored, ragged.
"I already forgive you," said Tav.
Oskar laughed and it turned into a fierce cough, "Not even at the end could you appear ungodly. I shall rest fitfully then."
"The world shall mourn your passing."
"Not so much I think, as it would mourn yours. Goodbye, Tav."
"Goodbye, Oskar."
But the painter's body had turned to ashes before the words left Tav's lips.