Asa looked up as he heard the soft clink of glasses, and nodded to the ghoul as she laid the tray down.

He sighed, and began closing and collecting the books he was studying. With a slight shiver, he noticed that his hands were already trembling.

Fuck Pavlov.

He inhaled, concentrating, steadying himself, and approached the tray.

No Ventrue may deny Haven to another. What bullshit.

Haven, he was provided. The price to stay... unpleasant.

Ingenious. Maintain the fucking army of ghouls. Put the burden of hunting on others. Sate the Elders. Keep us weak. Keep our Blood... thin.

The shake was back in his hand as he picked up the scalpel, and he began his nightly ritual of the past eight years.

Asa cut deep, and began to fill the glasses, and thought of Blood-red sand falling in an hourglass. He knew that Sacramento was still unsafe for him, and wondered how long he would have to endure this.

He closed his eyes to block out the sight of his very essence draining away, and he pictured a face. The words in his mind were the same ones he would scrawl years later, on a note, next to a vase of flowers.

I'll be back.

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