Sergey Baranovsky

Sometimes Sergei thought immortality was a pretty lousy thing. Especially when you realize you have an eternity ahead of you, and some things you can't fix even in that time.

Breaking up with Olga didn't happen overnight. That was probably the most unpleasant part. There wasn't a single moment after which everything suddenly became alien. Sergei simply realized one day that he was no longer part of her future.

It was a strange feeling. Just recently, he'd been ready to upend his life for her, to abandon his familiar world, to embrace something he couldn't even imagine. And he did. He'd become one of those whose very existence would once have seemed like a preposterous fantasy. And now all of that remained, while the reason he'd decided to take such a step was gone.

"Well, Serge, congratulations," he muttered under his breath with a wry smile. "You did a brilliant job."

He tried to laugh, but it came out somehow unconvincing.

Sergei had no intention of blaming Olga. It would probably have been easier that way: find someone to blame, get angry, say nasty things, and convince himself that what happened didn't matter. Except it did. Too much to pretend indifference now.

He missed her. Her voice, her presence, the future he'd managed to imagine. And what irritated him most was that no amount of immortality could rid him of this utterly human weakness.

Outside the window, Smolensk continued to live. People were hurrying somewhere, cars were driving along the wet asphalt, lights were coming on in neighboring houses. The world didn't stop, didn't notice his loss, and certainly wasn't going to make an exception for one unfortunate vampire.

Sergei took a deep breath and turned away from the window.

Well, I'll have to get used to it. Start over, find my own path, and learn to live with the fact that some stories end, even if you thought they would last forever.

After all, he had eternity.

But there is no ready answer to the question of what to do with it now.