[Carillon]

The tall candles in the room have burned low, their wicks sputtering in puddles of hot, melted wax. Their flickering glow and the starlight and faint moonlight shining through the window gives Jaelle's pale skin a strange, ethereal glow to it. The contrast with her raven-dark hair is striking. Trouble, anxious to hear the end, half-sits up. He shifts right behind Jaelle and encircles her in his arms, his head leaning over her shoulder to hear her words clearly.

And? Did it work??

His lover smiles indulgently at his impatience. Her soft, sweet voice continues on, unperturbed, murmuring the last of the tale as she leans back against him, one hand resting on her rounded stomach and the swell of her pregnancy.

She took the cure in Haven. After the altercation in Spellgard we thought it best to do it on our own terms this time, away from any strangers, so we found a quiet place for her to take it. We weren't certain it would work, or what the effects would be if it did. The scientist who made it fell gravely ill just then. I was the one who chose the city. I hoped the name would prove appropriately fitting.

I came to that place knowing she might die. We all knew she might die, her most of all. I was with child by then ... I'd hidden it from her up until that point. I didn't want to give her anything else to worry about, not the way she doted on me like a mother. But I was too far along by that point to hide it. I remember sensing she wasn't entirely pleased, but she accepted it. We had to. There were more important things to do. I remember wondering if I would name the child for her if it was a girl and she died from our cure, and then pushing the thought from my mind.

I remember standing beside her as she held the vial in her hand. I tried to burn those moments into my mind like a hot brand, afraid they would be the last moments I'd ever have with her. She thanked us for our help, and she asked me to watch over a woman she had hurt while she was still a vampire, and make sure she wanted for nothing. She wanted to do penance of some sort, but she knew she might be out of time.

We rarely approach our deaths knowing what we face, or with clarity. She faced death, knowing her words might be her last. What is better, the surety of a slow death or the risk of a quick one, balanced against the possibility of a full life? Hope is a powerful force, dear one. Laa'ra hoped. She toasted the future, and risked everything for the possibility of a real chance at life.

She's still in his arms a moment, as if deciding whether to share some detail. Finally, she whispers:

The last thing she said to me was that she loved me like a daughter. Then she tilted the vial up and drank it down to the last drop. For a moment, everything was still ... and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

It was the strangest thing, dearest ... it was as if time stood still for me for a moment. I saw the vial slip from her fingers as her eyes rolled back, and heard the glass shattering on the floor as I felt myself moving forward, possessed by instinct. I caught her as she fell, and cradled her head as I lowered her gently to the ground. For a moment I thought she was dead, but then I felt the heartbeat, faint and weak and too fast. And her skin ... her skin was burning.

Have you ever had a bad fever, Trouble? As a child maybe? I am willing to bet her skin burned hotter than the hottest fever you've ever had as her body started to battle. The cure fought the taint of the vampirism that remained in her blood, I think. It is the only way to explain it that I can think of, the way her body seemed to suddenly become a battleground. We tried frantically to cool her with cloths dipped in icy water, wiping her brow and trying to chill her, but nothing worked. I knew that if she remained like that for more than a short while it wouldn't matter if she lived or died ... the fire of the fever would have damaged her mind.

Finally we filled a bath with icy water, and carried her to it. I cradled her head, keeping her nose and mouth out of the water as I wiped her brow with more cool cloths. Slowly, slowly, her fever diminished. And then she opened her eyes and looked up at me, and once again I dared to hope she would be alright.