Chapter Text
Shelby Goodkind hasn’t aged a day since 1749.
She was born into a wealthy family. Her father, David Goodkind, was the Duke of Bedford. Really, she wouldn’t have had a reason to complain, if not for her father’s desperate obsession with perfection. Shelby was his firstborn, and as she grew older and her beauty started to become apparent, she became his greatest creation. His highest achievement. His prize. His trophy to show off to competitors, and eventually to marry off to the wealthiest landowner. Or if luck was on his side, a Prince. But her natural beauty wasn’t enough. He wanted perfection. So he took her to the finest tailors, sought out expensive treatments that would improve her appearance and erase any flaws she might’ve had, or so they claimed. His obsession had been greatly delaying her inevitable betrothal to a man, so she never objected, hoping to avoid having to lay with a man for as long as she could, to the point that she even encouraged his ridiculous endeavors.
At last, just short of her twenty-third year, he made a deal with the devil, or at least, that’s what he would later come to call it. For a brief moment of blissful ignorance, he thought he’d single-handedly forged a pearl no man of nobility could say no to. She was beautiful. Flawless. Perfect. With her natural beauty amplified to the fullest, she appeared exactly as her father had always dreamed she would.
But said beauty had come with a cost. And once her father came to know the depth of that cost, he shunned her–tried to kill her even, by sending his huntsmen after her. In his eyes, his daughter was dead and had been replaced with a demon, one that he had brought into existence. So after he found her feeding on one of her maids in a state of frenzy, not a shred of self control in her mind, having nearly completely drained her of her blood, the maid barely hanging onto life by a thread, he considered it his responsibility to get rid of her.
By trying to make her his most perfect creation, he’d turned her into a monster, a vampire as she later came to understand.
After years of learning to live as what he’d let her be turned into, Shelby returned, when her parents were old and barren, in the hopes of seeing them one last time before they passed. Her father, bedridden with tuberculosis, refused to see her. Her mother on the other hand embraced her without hesitance. It had taken many years for Shelby to realize she wasn’t aging anymore. She had known her parents wouldn’t look anything like she remembered. But nothing could have prepared her for seeing the frail old woman her mother had become. Her eyes were milky and blood-flecked, her skin timeworn, showing a plethora of wrinkles where there used to be none, and her beautiful golden locks had paled to a jarring white. The only thing that was exactly the same as Shelby remembered was the warmth in her mother’s smile.
That was the first time it really sunk in what living like an immortal is like.
Her mother gave her a painting, one that had been made shortly after she'd been turned and not long before her father had shunned her. While her family’s appearances had drastically changed from the art work, Shelby looked down at an exact mirror of her own timeless image.
Through her mother, Shelby was able to come into contact with her siblings again. They were both married. Spencer to a Duchess and Melody to an Earl. Her sister had given birth to two daughters, and her brother had failed to have children of his own, but they were both happy, which was all Shelby cared about. They both accepted her return, although warily at first. Shelby had to become reacquainted with them, not having seen either since they were children.
Shelby visited and stayed with both of them often, but eventually, after having to watch them grow old, she had to say goodbye to them.
After centuries of meeting new people and watching them slowly wither away and die, Shelby stopped getting to know them altogether. She kept to herself, keeping her interactions with mortals to the bare minimum, even only rarely getting on a first name basis. And never with her real name. She lived alone, traveling to a new place every few years before any of the neighbors or townsfolk could become suspicious of her never-changing physical age. It was a lonely life, but she preferred it to the pain that came with loving people and ultimately losing them.
There have only been a select few people she entrusted with her name and her secret over the years when the loneliness became too much.
She has sought out others of her kind, but she quickly left them. They were the monsters her father had claimed her to be.
***
Crouching in front of the hearth, Shelby watches shades of sepia and gray blacken as the old pictures crumble in the flames.
Dorothy Campbell, or Dot as she preferred to be called, recently died at the age of 92. She was a close friend of Shelby’s, and was there for her when she was dealing with the loss of Becca, and the last person Shelby really let herself get close to. However, a few decades ago, she distanced herself from Dot, not wanting to watch yet another person she loved age, the life slowly seeping out of them as they neared their exit from this world. Dot knew of her immortality and her sexuality, and never judged her for either.
Once the last of the pictures are reduced to ashes, Shelby turns off the hearth. She goes to the kitchen where she takes her last blood bag out of the now empty fridge and pours what’s left into her large travel mug. It’s just enough to fill half of it. She puts it in her bag and puts on her long beige coat, and with one last look at the place she lived in for the past eight years, she leaves her apartment, having erased every last detail of her presence here.
***
“What can I get you this fine morning?” The young male barista asks, giving her a lopsided grin. His name card reads Andrew.
“A black coffee, please,” Shelby says and digs in her black purse to get her credit card out.
“You sure you want nothing fancy?” He asks, leaning on the counter in a way that lets Shelby know he’s trying to flirt with her. “I’ll even let you have it on the house if you give me your number.”
Shelby smiles politely. “Just the coffee, thank you.”
Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t insist and gives up right away. If only all men that try to get her attention could take rejection so easily. “Alright then. One black coffee coming right up.” He spins around to start up the coffee machine, before turning back to her.
Shelby pays and moves to stand to the side to wait for her coffee just as someone bumps into her, accompanied by the sound of ice-cubes clattering to the ground.
A series of expletives leaves the dark-haired woman’s mouth as she looks down at herself. The collision seems to have caused her to spill her own drink on herself. Her unzipped jacket has remained mostly untouched by the dark brown liquid, but the plain white shirt underneath is completely ruined.
“Watch where you’re going.” The woman says rather harshly before looking up. She’s a few inches shorter than Shelby. When her eyes meet Shelby’s, they briefly soften before annoyance sets in, but even filled with burning irritation, the woman’s dark brown eyes are strangely captivating.
Shelby would argue the woman bumped into her rather than the other way around, but something about the agitated crease in the woman’s brow tells her it would only aggravate her further. So instead, she says, “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah, I got that much.” The woman grumbles and clenches her jaw, making her attractive jawline all the more defined.
“Let me buy you a new one,” Shelby offers.
The woman sighs, and says “Nah, it’s fine.” but Shelby is already getting out her wallet again.
She waves off her decline. “It’s the least I could do.”
“Seriously, it’s fine,” The woman repeats as Shelby takes out her credit card.
Shelby ignores her, she has more than enough money still on there that’ll go to waste if she doesn’t spend it today so she might as well buy the disgruntled stranger a coffee to replace the one she spilled. “What’s your order?”
The woman huffs and mutters, “Shit, you’re insistent,” but the fight seems to leave her.
“And you’re not a morning person are you?” Shelby quirks an eyebrow as she side-eyes her. This woman’s nerve is starting to grate on her. Here Shelby is, offering to buy her a new coffee to replace the one she spilled on herself by colliding with Shelby, not the other way around, and she still has this attitude as if Shelby has greatly wronged her? Maybe Shelby is being too generous.
After she pays for the woman’s new coffee, Shelby leaves her at the counter and goes to sit at one of the small round tables by the window. The coffee shop is pretty cozy and surprisingly calm at this time of day. The wooden floor and furniture are made up of rich, warm tints of brown, except the chairs which are black but blend in seamlessly with the rest of the shop, giving it an earthy, autumn feel. Outside, the sun is just starting to breach the roofline of the houses on the opposite end of the street. The sky is clear, as it usually is in California, even on a midwinter morning.
She takes out her travel mug and adds her coffee to it, cleanly pouring it over without spilling a drop. Shelby screws it shut and lightly shakes it around before taking a sip from the small opening in the lid. She almost hums as the hot liquid hits her tongue. She prefers to drink her blood warm, and mixed with coffee. The gentle warmth greatly improves the not-fresh-from-the-source taste blood has when it comes from a blood bag, and the bitterness of the coffee hides the lingering, uncanny stale aftertaste.
The heat of coffee in general is something she greatly likes, and not just for the improved taste of her nourishment. If she drinks it hot enough, she can temporarily raise her body temperature to almost that of a human, though only if she consumes large enough amounts, and if she’s staying in a place with a warm enough climate so the heat isn’t lost to her surroundings.
The attractive but aggravated woman from before suddenly approaches Shelby’s table, looking almost ashamed as she comes to a stop in front of her, rubbing the back of her neck with the hand that isn’t holding her new coffee. “So, um, I wanted to apologize for how I acted back there.”
Shelby can’t help but notice how attractive the woman’s husky deep voice is now that she’s no longer grumbling under her breath. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for her to elaborate.
“I–um, I just retired.”
Shelby properly takes in the woman. She has dark brown, wavy hair that is almost curly, and a sharp jawline, one that becomes especially apparent when she clenches her jaw if Shelby remembers correctly. Aside from her tan Carhartt jacket and her now coffee stained t-shirt, she’s wearing black cargo pants and black high-top vans. She’s very attractive and definitely doesn’t look any older than twenty-five. “Aren’t you a little young to retire?”
“I play–well, played –basketball.”
“Professionally?” Shelby inquires.
“Yeah.”
“How old are you?” Shelby asks as she motions to the chair across from her. She isn’t sure why she does it. Usually, she wouldn’t instigate further interaction. But for her last day, she might as well make an exception.
“Twenty-four.” The woman says through a sigh as she sits down. She looks down at her coffee cup as she continues, “It’s because of, like, medical reasons,” She rolls her eyes, as if she finds whatever the medical reasons are ridiculous. An exaggeration. “Today is the first day this season that I don’t have to be at training, and I don’t really know what to do with myself. I guess I kinda feel…” She sighs, frowning, and leans back in her seat. She shakes her head, “I don’t know.”
“Like you lost your purpose,” Shelby states rather than askes. She’s all too familiar with the sentiment.
“Yeah.” The woman sighs, “The point is, I was an asshole and I'm sorry.”
“I appreciate the apology.” Shelby smiles at the woman in front of her. “And you’re forgiven.”
“Thanks. Really.” She rubs the back of her neck, “I'm sorry for dumping all my shit on you. I just wanted to explain my reaction.”
This woman sure has a way with language.
“I don't mind.” Shelby says, “Thank you for explaining.”
“I promise I'm usually better with my temper these days. It's just–”
“A bad day. I understand.” Shelby should just leave it at that. The woman has done what she came here to do. She should let her leave and get on with her day, but curiosity gets the better of her. “What's your name?”
“Toni. Yours?”
“Toni, is it short for anything?” Shelby asks, evading the question about her own name.
Toni shakes her head. “Nope, just Toni.”
“Alright then, ‘Just Toni’.”
Toni rolls her eyes but a small smile starts to make an appearance on her lips. “So?”
“‘So’ what?” Shelby asks, knowing very well what the woman meant.
“What’s your name?” Toni clarifies.
Shelby shrugs. She raises her coffee mug to her lips and takes a sip to hide her smile.
Toni squints her eyes, though her smile doesn’t falter. “Well, okay then. Be mysterious about it.”
Before Toni gets to pry any further, a young boy walks up to their table.
The kid looks about eight years old and is wearing a red jersey with the number three on it and the name Shalifoe on the back. He’s looking at Toni with wide eyes and says, “You’re Toni Shalifoe.”
“Yeah, I am.” Toni chuckles, but the humor seems to leave her eyes as they flit down to the boy’s jersey. She smiles at the boy, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes and there’s tension in her posture that wasn't there before.
The boy looks like he wants to say something else, but chickens out and turns to look at a stern-looking, sandy brown-haired woman, presumably his mother, who is sitting a few tables over and nods at the boy encouragingly before he turns back around and asks Toni, “Will you sign my jersey?”
“Yeah, kid. Of course.” Toni starts padding the pockets of her jacket. “I don’t think I have a pen with me though.”
“I’m sure they have a pen here. I’ll go ask one.” Shelby says, and gets up to go to the counter.
When Andrew sees her approaching, his smile widens and turns cocky. He opens his mouth but Shelby cuts him off before he's able to get a word out. “Could I please borrow a pen?”
“Yeah, sure,” Andrew says, unfazed.
“Actually, I think a black marker would be even better, if you happen to have that.”
“Okay, I’m pretty sure we do.” Andrew opens a drawer and ruffles in it before taking out a marker. He looks like he’s about to ask her something as he hands it to her but Shelby quickly utters a “Thank you.”, turns around and starts walking back to her table before he gets the chance.
Shelby holds out the marker to Toni. “Here.”
“Thanks,” Toni says, flashing her what Shelby assumes is supposed to be a grateful smile but looks more pained than anything else as she takes it and turns to the boy to sign the jersey he’s wearing.
As she starts signing it, the boy looks up at Shelby. His eyes dance with amazement as he tells her, “Your girlfriend is awesome.”
Toni pauses.
Shelby goes to correct him but upon seeing the slight panic and the barely concealed misery in Toni’s eyes as they flit to Shelby’s, she decides she doesn't want to add any more to it.
She lays her arm on Toni’s shoulders. Her fingers accidentally graze the warm, exposed skin of her neck, sending a light shock not unlike electricity through her. She ignores it as well as the skip in Toni’s heartbeat she hears at the contact. She smiles at the boy. “Yes, she sure is. She's got a killer attitude in the morning though so you should probably make yourself scarce before she breathes fire.”
The little boy's eyes widen almost comically while, beneath her arm, she feels some of the tension leave Toni.
“What’s your name, kid?” Toni asks as she continues signing his jersey.
“Devon.” He doesn't look fearful exactly but there is some apprehension in his eyes, as if he's taken Shelby’s words to heart.
“Well, there you go, Devon.” Toni says, putting the cap back on the marker as she sits back.
“Thank you.” Devon says before scurrying back to the woman whom Shelby presumes is his mother.
Shelby retracts her arm from around Toni and goes to sit back down on her side of the little, round table. She sips from her travel mug. When she looks up, Toni is regarding her with a contemplative expression. Seconds tick by but Toni remains quiet, worrying her lip between her teeth as she looks at her intently. Thoughtfully.
Shelby is fairly certain she’d be blushing were she still human.
“Can I ask you something?” Toni says at last.
“Sure. I can't promise I'll answer though.” Shelby says before sipping from her travel mug.
“What are you doing today?”
Shelby sets her mug down. “I'm not sure yet. I'm actually leaving town tomorrow.” She has to go retrieve something from a museum but that’s about all she has planned for today.
“Oh, shit. Shouldn't you be getting ready then? I should probably leave you alone.” Toni says and moves to get up.
Before Shelby even realizes what she’s doing, her hand flits through the air and lands lightly on Toni’s arm, effectively stopping her from getting up. “No, no. Stay. I'm all ready. I don’t really have anything to do today.” She doesn’t know why she is almost desperate for the woman to stay. Maybe it’s because this is the first interaction she has had with another person in years that has gone further than something entirely superficial like a customer service call or a swift mindless hookup.
Toni smiles widely, “Well, me neither. Wanna spend your last day with me?”