Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carmilla’s body was flawless, not a mark on her. The smooth porcelain skin without nick or blemish for miles of clean, soft skin.

And yet every night she checked for scars.

When the maids helped her out of her dress each night she would stand before the full length mirror, a luxury that Papa indulged second only to her books, and would see what the day had wrought. Praying this would be the day that her soulmate would have been so careless as to leave a blemish.

She never prayed for anything deep, unsightly or large. Carmilla would never wish that pain on the one she was to love but even the smallest nick would indicate that someone was out there. Waiting.

For the scars of your soulmate were written on your skin. To draw you together. To help you understand their pain. Their struggles. To take what might be hidden and set it free.

For many it was simple. Peasants in the fields had many such marks from their hard labour, never doubting that a love was out there. Even the upper class, for all its posh lifestyle, bore wounds of days past. A marchioness who tumbled down the stairs as a child. A duke who was too eager with a training sword. An inquisitive earl who was burned in the kitchen.

They knew where they had been injured and even though they did not bear their own scars, they could search for those who bore the scars to match their pain.

And they analyzed their own. The earl bore a series of small punctures along his palm as though someone had been overeager with a needle. The duke wore signs of hard labour through the heavy lines on the inside of his calfs. And the poor marchioness covered an unsightly wound along the back of her shoulder that looked suspiciously like the fire of war.

Their pain was written on the skin of their soulmate. The scars they bore were felt by another.

Carmilla had her own scar to search for. She’d opened an angry red line down the inside of her left arm when she reached for a book at 13. Perched atop the highest ladder in the library, she’d misjudged the distance and fell, the corner of the bookcase taking its blood.

Mama had scolded her to be careful but Carmilla had always been pleased at the action. She had something to look for.

With nothing to mark her own skin, it was all she had to go on.

To be so bare was unheard of.

Should her soulmate have died, she would bear the mark of their death, even if by natural causes or poisoning or other unseen methods. In the case of death, it would show on her skin.

Carmilla was simply blank.

She chanced another look in the mirror as the maids helped her into her second dress of the day. It was a beautiful, ornate, garment that her Papa had specially commissioned for the day but Carmilla hardly saw it. Eyes tracking her bare back.

She would take anything. A splinter. A nick. A bruise. Once, shortly after creating the cut on her arm, she had fooled herself into believing a speck on her thigh was a wound from her soulmate. She’d cried for days when a good scrubbing had removed the dirt.

Even as her eyes danced over her skin, still so perfect, her stomach flipped.

It must have shown on her face.

Her maid looked up with a small smile, “You’re very beautiful Countess. Your husband will be lucky to find you.” The maid fluffed the dress slightly, “A perfect pair you’ll be.”

Carmilla gave her the tight smile Mama had drilled on to her face during their etiquette lessons, sending the maid on her way but lingering at the mirror. How could the maid know. Carmilla could easily see the scar on her neck. The ring on her finger.

Not to mention the word husband. As confident as Carmilla was in the concept of a soulmate, the idea of a man was, unsettling. Her pale fingers danced over the fabric of the dress, coming up to trace the line on her arm where her scar should have been.

Where it would lie on her soulmate.

And once again, Countess Carmilla Karnstein prayed for a miracle. She closed her eyes and begged the heavens to give her the chance to find her soulmate. To not leave her empty and blank as those who had no love. Just a chance.

Today, on her eighteenth birthday, surely the heavens would grant her this gift.

#

Heaven didn’t give gifts or if it did, they weren’t gifts anyone wanted.

This year Mattie had cornered her, rounding up a candle and a cupcake and insisting that after they’d finished the ‘inane but traditional human celebration ritual’ then they were going to paint the town red. In true vampire style.

After all, a girl only turned 290 once.

Still, Carmilla had managed to hold her sister off temporarily. Fleeing to the sanctity of the grungy University bathroom.

The Silas campus ever Mother’s base.

She stared at the face in the mirror, features identical to those the 18 year girl had worn the night of the ball. But the expression had changed into something that showed her age. A heaviness that tore at her skin even as the wrinkles stayed at bay. A tighter crease to the brow. A quirk of the lips. A weight in the eyes.

These separated her from the 18 year old so as to be nearly unrecognizable.

She had been given the gift of time. Meeting people she could have never imagined, dancing with sisters late into the night, learning things even her books had never dreamed. But time was a two sided coin filled with as much pain as joy. Killing others. Hunted through the night. Locked in boxes. More wars than anyone should see.

Only given the gift of time because her new Mother needed another soldier for her army. Someone to fight and bleed a hundred times over as vampire battled vampire in an endless immortal battle of territory. She was one of the best. Or worst. Mother’s glittering girl. Shredding and being shredded.

None of which showed on her skin. Still as pure and fresh as the day she was born.

Mattie said it was a gift. Her sister speaking only in late night musings of the one who time had forced her to leave behind, with nothing to remember them but a thin line around her calf and a jagged hole just below her last rib.

So Carmilla left the bathroom without looking any further. She blew out the candle at Mattie’s mocking insistence and they left, cutting a swathe of bodies across the town.

Days later, Carmilla stumbled back to the bathroom. She gave herself a fangy grin at the sight in the mirror. Clothes torn. Blood simply everywhere. Coating her chin and matting her hair and dripping from her fingers.

Carmilla hopped in the shower, clothes and all, ripping them off as the floor of the shower turned red from the excess running off her body. She shampooed her hair twice before turning her attention to her hands. The nails still caked with the remains of their celebration.

Carmilla began the meticulous process of cleaning them but she stumbled on the pinky of left hand.

She clasped the digit in her free palm, staring at the inside bend of the finger. Then she smashed the shower off and raced to the sink, water droplets flying. She threw on the tap and shoved the offending digit under the water. Rubbing furiously at her skin.

The thin white line would not disappeared.

She dumped the entirety of the soap container on it, scrubbing hard. Stopping only when small wells of blood rose to the surface of her hand, further highlighting the new line. It was maybe a centimeter long, running directly down her pinky finger.

A scar.

Carmilla lifted her hand to her face, blood from the still dirty nail bed mixing with the water to trickle pink down her arm. Her fingers took up a path they had not tread in years, moving gently up her left arm where a scar should have stood and pushing the pink water from its path.

But this time her hand continued, transitioning to just a thumb that traced the new white scar.

Then she caught herself, shuddered, and left the bathroom.

For three years she was able to convince herself it was a fluke of her biology until she woke up in the middle of day. Eyes wide, chest pounding, and a burning across her stomach. She lifted her shirt to see a thick angry scar snake it’s way from her right hip across the line of her pants to end a few inches below her belly button.

For the first time since her turning, Carmilla threw up.

#

Laura wanted to throw up, it should not be possible for anyone to simultaneously be both that perfect and that annoying. The university’s ‘scientific system for determining roommate compatibility’ was clearly the worst thing in the world if she’d somehow been paired with the snarky gorgeous mess that was Carmilla Karnstein.

The mess currently lying on her bed with Laura’s pillow, ostensibly reading a novel but more likely flaunting all of that clear, clear skin with her short shorts and tank tops. Seriously, did Carmilla even have a mark on her?

Laura tugged on her long sleeves, making sure they were down before turning to her roommate, “Could you not?” she said, chucking a pair of leather pants off her desk chair and onto Carmilla, “at least put it in a pile or something. I’m tired of wading through the room to get anywhere.”

“We share the room cupcake,” Carmilla didn’t even look up from her book, “I can do whatever I want with my half of the floor space.”

Carmilla was all about, ‘doing whatever she wanted’. Typically this meant leaving clothes everywhere, eating all of Laura’s food, making out with strange girls on every surface of the room, and generally being an insufferable bad person.

Laura was beginning to think that if she murdered Carmilla, no-one would find the body for days under the mess of their dorm room.

That would give her plenty of time to get out of the country. Non-extradition was a thing, right?

“You could maybe, just maybe, try being considerate,” Laura shot back.

“Tried it once, wasn’t a fan,” Carmilla said, “empathy really isn’t my thing, cupcake.”

Laura plopped down at her computer desk, “Wow,” she mumbled, “Your soulmate is one lucky girl.”

Carmilla snorted, “What? You really think that just because you fold the ridiculously amount of long sleeve shirts that make up your wardrobe and clean out the shower drain that your soulmate lucked out. Hate to break it to you cupcake, but caring about others isn’t going to get you anywhere in this world. You take what you’ve been given and you run with it. Any other pipe dreams of soulmates you may have are that of a child who doesn’t know what the world looks like because you’re too busy covering it up with consideration.”

“Well,” Laura shot back, “at least I’ve got dreams. Look at you, you’re so busy lying around and taking what you can get because it’s better than letting everyone know that you’re miserable and alone.You flaunt all that flawless, scarless skin like some kind of trophy with the tank tops and shorts so people know that you don’t have to bother caring because no-one could deal with you anyway.”

Carmilla’s face hardened and Laura slid slightly back in the chair as Carmilla stood up, “And do you really think you’re any better, Hollis. With your long sleeve shirt and your long legged pants and your constant tugging on your sleeves to make sure they haven’t slipped up your arm?” Laura gaped slightly, shocked that Carmilla had caught the action, “What’s going on under there, cupcake?” The nickname was clipped, “don’t think I can’t see the scarring across your knuckles, so what’s under the sleeves?”

Laura tugged them down further at Carmilla’s question. Her roommate's eyes glinted at her, “I bet it’s nothing. I bet there’s nothing under there but a few nicks and you’ve decided that a soulmate should be something secret and special and just between the two of you. So you’ve covered up. Please. You’re a child, and you understand nothing, Not about life. Not about soulmates. And certainly not about what it takes to stay empathetic in a world that’s full of nothing but pain and misery. The sooner you let go of your idealistic notions of what a soulmate should be, the better off you’ll be.”

Laura stared at Carmilla, her thumb drifting up to stroke the bumpy underside of her wrist. Not daring to follow the skin any further.

“No,” she said at last.

“What?” Carmilla said.

“No,” Laura repeated, “maybe I am a child and maybe you’re right about soulmates and consideration and maybe it all doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme. But that’s what I’ve got. That’s what I deserve. I want to live in a world where empathy and consideration matter. Where our shared scars matter and they mean something and we don’t have to carry our struggles alone because someone else cares.”

Laura’s voice shook but she kept going, “So I’m going to keep on caring because I want to be cared for. I’m going to care for every single person that comes across my path so that my soulmate will never doubt that I care about them, regardless of what they’ve been through. Because that’s what they deserve. That’s what I deserve. Heck,” Laura crossed her arms to hide the trembled, “that’s what even you deserve.”

Then she turned, running the three steps to the bathroom before Carmilla could get another word in. She leapt towards the shower, turning on the water and taking only a brief moment to strip off her clothes. Then she jumped inside and let the tears fall.

She kept her eyes closed. Never looking down at the skin beneath.

#

She knew that she shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she was but, a quick glance at Danny, Laf, and Perry said she wasn’t the only one. In fact, Laf was practically glued to the door, listening as Carmilla apparently got a personal chewing out from the Dean of Students.

Laf threw their hands in the air, “ I can tell it’s the Dean and Carmilla but I have literally no idea what they’re saying.”

“Well,” Perry said, “we really shouldn’t be spying anyway. It’s impolite.”
“Please,” Danny cut in, “I don’t think the normal rules of politeness count when it’s Elvira over there. She’s not exactly going to extend the same courtesy.” She shot Laura a smile, “we don’t all need to be the ever kind Laura Hollis.”

Laura wiggled uncomfortably, “Actually I kind of chewed her out the other day.” Danny’s smiled broadened. It should have made Laura feel good but her gut just twisted slightly when she thought of the anger on Carmilla’s face.

Laf looked impressed, “Good for you frosh, standing up to the vampire.”

Laura twisted the long sleeves of her shirt in her fist. She wasn’t sure what to make of Laf’s latest theory. Carmilla? A vampire? Sure it would explain the late hours and odd sleep schedule and that incident where she’d knocked over the soy milk container and blood came out. But a vampire, really?

Still she couldn’t help but smile as Laf nattered on about some scientific reason why Carmilla had to be a vampire and Perry nodded back at them even though she was clearly confused. There was something to admire in their relationship, a symmetry she hadn’t expected.

The small horizontal cuts on Perry’s arm.

The burn on Laf’s.

Wounds in the same place. Varying only in type.

Laura was anything but balanced. She could hardly blame her father for his paranoia. She’d never known any different. Laura looked down at her hands, catching a flash of the scars along her knuckles. She quickly pulled the sleeve a little further, stretching it out as far as it would go and clinging to the fabric with the underside of her thumb. She’d tried gloves for a while, but that had only brought more attention. Questions she didn’t have answers to and prying eyes who wanted to see what lay beneath the fabric.

“You okay there, Hollis?” Questions like that. Danny looking at her, all concerned as her eyes flicked from Laura’s face to her hands. Staring intently at the scarred knuckles. Laura tried to beg her not to say anything. It didn’t work, “Man,” Danny continued, frowning, “someone really did a job on your hands. You’d think they’d care to be more careful.”

Danny had no idea.

Laura shrugged and pulled the shirt farther, “Helps me find them, right?” She said with a grin.

Danny shook her head, “You are too sweet. You know, there’s a guy down in the alchemy club who says he can cover up the scars with some new chemical. If you want, I can try a sample on mine and then if it’s safe, you can give it a go.”

“No!” The word flowed easily.

Danny jumped slightly, Laf and Perry looking over.

“Sorry,” Laura said, “just no. I. They’re important to me. Cause they’re important to her, you know?”

“It’s just a couple of knuckle scars,” Danny said, “she might not even remember getting them. Who hasn’t scraped their knuckles bad? I have. Come on, they clearly bother you or you wouldn’t keep trying to cover them.”

“Danny, no.” Laura said.

Danny extended her hands, “They can literally be covered up in a second, like they never existed at all. Same thing you do with the shirt. You’d be happier.”

“It’s not the same,” Laura clenched her hands. Why couldn’t she just understand. The shirt kept it private but to cover it up entirely. Pretend it never existed. How could she.

Because then her soulmate might do the same. And she’d break if it didn’t matter.

“You can’t cover up pain, numbskull,” Carmilla’s sarcasm made Laura look up. Her roommate was standing in the doorway. Posture stiff. Too stiff. She swept past Perry and Laf like they weren’t even there, flinging herself onto her bed. “You can hide the scar but the pain’s still there.” She gave them all a side-eye, “Why are there so many gingers in my room?”

“If you don’t like us here,” Danny had her arms crossed and glared at Carmilla, “you’re welcome to leave.”

“My bedroom.” Carmilla said, grabbing a book at random,

“Laura’s bedroom,” Danny countered.

“Guys,” Laura said, “you can stay. But it’s Carmilla’s room too and -”

“Laura,” Danny interrupted her, “seriously? You’re too nice. She’s being a jerk.”

Carmilla’s tone was almost too light, “Well gingersnap, whatever you were just saying was causing Lois Lane over there to try and tug on her sleeves until her impossibly tiny body disappears inside the shirt altogether.” Laura slowly released the sleeves as Danny’s head whipped over to give her a once over, eyes narrowed.

Carmilla’s nose stayed firmly in the book, “So, since she’s the one with the moral code and optimism and good intentions and won’t tell you to leave. I’ll do it. Scram.” That was new. But becoming more frequent. A Carmilla who seemed to care about her. In a weird roundabout sarcastic way.

“No guys,” Laura said, “really, it’s fine.” Even Laura could tell that her voice wasn’t terribly convincing.

There was a pause. Perry was the one to leave first with a tittered, “Well, if either of you need anything. Don’t forget, my door is always open.” As she dragged Laf behind her.

Danny left more slowly, jaw working to spit out words that never seemed to come. Instead she just gave Laura a pointed look and headed out the door.

The door had barely closed before Carmilla was launching her book across the room, slamming it into the wall.

“You want to talk about it?” Laura said, squinting at the wall, “with the Dean?” Was that a dent?

“No.” Carmilla’s head was in her hands.

Laura nodded slowly then grabbed a box of kleenex and handed it to Carmilla. Her roommate hesitantly took some, as though she was waiting for Laura to pounce the moment she accepted the gesture. Laura just gave her a smile and turned back to the computer.

It took maybe 30 seconds before Carmilla caved.

“She’s not just the dean. She’s my mother. Adopted.” Carmilla said.

Laura turned around, eyes wide. Forcibly keeping her mouth closed.

“She just, she,” Carmilla tore the kleenex into little bits, “She has all these things she wants me to do. Always has. Really only brought me into her world so that she could wind me up and send me out to do whatever needed doing. Like a freaking toy soldier. Whatever she needs.All these rules. And I just asked for a break and I said some things and…” Carmilla paused, “she’s not happy. And that’s not going to end well for me.” Carmilla stared down at the small pile of Kleenex pieces she had created.

Laura slowly slid in the wheely chair, watching Carmilla as she went. Her roommate's eyes were downcast, shoulders hunched in as though something was pushing on them that she didn’t know what to do with. Pushing as though it wanted to bury her and she was just about ready to let it.

Her left hand cradling her stomach, just where it was hidden by her pants.

Laura tugged on her sleeves, “Worried you’re not living up to expectations? I know what that feels like.”

Carmilla slowly looked up at her. Laura smiled and raised her hand, “Only child of a massively overprotective father here.” She waggled her fingers, cheering when she got a small smile for the silly action.

Laura played with her sleeves a moment longer, “Thank you,” she said at last.

Now Carmilla really raised her head, “you’re going to have to elaborate.”

“For making Danny stop,” Laura said simply, letting go of her sleeves.

The oddest look crossed Carmilla face, “You’re thanking for kicking out your friends?” Laura nodded, “Cupcake, I only did that because the frighteningly bright hair of ginger squad offends me.”

Laura smiled, shaking her head, “Maybe. But you also noticed the sleeve thing.”

The next day, all of Carmilla’s clothes were still on the floor.

But they were in a pile.

#

She slipped into her room, hardly noticing the door closing behind her.

Another date with Danny. Another moment of uncertainty. She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask Danny about the scars. Couldn’t show her own.

Laura knew what she was looking for. The banded scar that signified her darkest day would also be the thing to usher into a life of love. On her better days, she supposed there was some kind of twisted logic in it. The last gift her mother could give her.

But frankly, Laura was scared to spot the scar.

For what kind of person would her soulmate be if they’d left her to look like this.

“You going to stand there forever, cupcake?” The snarky tone of her roommate brought her back. Laura looked over from where she was still standing in front of the door. Carmilla was lying in her bed, apparently not asleep.

Laura threw her hair over her shoulder, “Maybe.” She said even as she made her way over to her own bed, absently grabbing at her TARDIS mug for a drink and surprised to find it already full. And hot. It was weak as comebacks went but she thought she saw the corner of Carmilla’s mouth twitch from behind the book.

That had been happening more and more frequently. A humanized Carmilla. Who gave her little smiles and brought her hot chocolate and made her brain confused because a month ago all she could see was Danny and somehow Carmilla had finagled her way into monopolizing her brain space.

This was likely due to the whole ‘is she or is she not a vampire thing’.

If Carmilla was being relatively nicer to her then she was definitely next on the ‘killed by a vampire list’. To think her father had been worried about her soulmate when he should have been worried about his daughter being eaten by some sarcastic sexy vampire.

“What’s got your shirt sleeves in a twist, shortstack?” Carmilla asked, face in Laura’s yellow pillow which had once again be stolen from it’s rightful place.

Laura froze, “What?”

Carmilla didn’t even bother to look up, “You tug on your sleeves when you’re anxious. Do you own anything but long sleeves or are you just trying to avoid marring the ginger giant’s skin by tripping and cutting yourself?”

Laura released the end of her shirt and stomped her foot, “Not that it’s any of your business but I have no idea if Danny is my soulmate.”

“Sorry,” Carmilla’s voice oozed insincerity, “I simply assumed from the wide eyed puppy dog looks she’d been giving you that the two of you had already bared all and realized that you match.” She peered at Laura over the pillow, “If you haven’t, let me tell you, from some of those looks the ginger giant has clearly thought about checking your tiny bare body for the slightest blemish. Just get it over with cupcake.”

There was something to Carmilla’s tone.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Laura asked.

Carmilla rolled over to look at her, “That’s awfully personal.”

“Yupp.” Laura agreed, “but so is half the stuff you ask me or insinuate about my sex life, so…”

Carmilla sat up slowly. Then promptly walked out of the room.

She returned hours later, the stars twinkling overhead. Laura was still hunched over her computer, working on her lit paper. Her nose bunched as Carmilla stood behind her, the smell of blood and something more acidic, spreading over the room.

She’d heard the sounds of fighting over the zeta’s frat party. The distinct thump of bodies clashing together and falling to the Earth.

They stood in the dark. Carmilla behind Laura, only the light of the computer spreading over the room.

“I wish I didn’t have a soulmate,” Carmilla said.

Laura pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, “I don’t think it’s Danny.”

They both went to bed.

#

Laura stretched as she walked from Laf’s room back to her own. Vampire bait. She was supposed to be the vampire bait. There were strange things going on around campus. Dead bodies with stakes in their chest. Blood pools. Trampled trees. A giant lizard in the middle of quad. Raging war sounds.

Limbs just lying about. Twitching.

And everyone had decided that Carmilla, the apparent roommate vampire, was in the middle of it.

Their best plan was that Laura should seduce her so they could tackle a confession out of her. They wanted her in some kind of slinky dress and seduction eyes.

Right.

Not going to happen.

“So,” Laura bounced into the room and perched on the edge of her bed, “You’re totally a vampire, right?”

Carmilla froze. It wasn’t obvious. She sat so still to begin with but this was a different kind of stillness. Like a predator finally caught by a bigger fish. Carmilla liked to move her finger down the page with the words of her books. It wasn’t moving.

Laura waited.

Carmilla still didn’t move.

“Just so you know,” Laura said, “Laf and Danny’s plan was to have me try and seduce you so that they could jump you and tie you down and drag a confession out of you.”

There is was. The smallest curl of a smirk on Carmilla’s lips, “You were going to seduce me?”

“That’s the part of the plan you object to?” Laura said, frowning, “Really? Not the part where you get tied up.”

“The idea that the ginger squad could ever successfully contain me is laughable at best,” Carmilla returned to her book, finger moving. But more slowly than before, “and the idea that you could seduce me, only more so.”

Laura huffed, “I could be seductive!”

“Yes,” Carmilla drawled, “I’m sure your collection of Harry Potter trivia and klutzy tripping makes all the ladies come running.”

“I could totally seduce you if I wanted to,” Laura crossed her arms, “I just haven’t turned on the Hollis charm because we’re roommates and I didn’t want it to be weird. Plus you’re all broody and angsty and I didn’t think you wanted to be seduced and I’m not just going to turn on the Hollis charm if someone doesn’t want me to. but I totally could. I totally totally could.”

“Sure, cupcake.” Carmilla’s finger picked up speed again, “You keep telling yourself that.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. Then she promptly got up, stomped across the room, and grabbed Carmilla’s book. Carmilla opened her mouth to object, scowling, but Laura just flung herself forward, grabbed Carmilla’s hand and yanked as hard as she could.

Carmilla came stumbling towards her. Satisfied that her roommate was standing, Laura took Carmilla’s hand in her own. They were soft and smaller than she’d expected, curling easily into her own.

She squeezed slightly. The action removing the scowl from Carmilla’s face.

Laura smiled. Then she started bobbing, bouncing around on the toes of her feet, nodding her head and swaying to some invisible inaudible music. Forcing Carmilla to move with her. She let go with one of her hands, swinging back to do a jazz hand, and then coming back around.

Recapturing Carmilla.

Bursting out an improvised jig and pulling Carmilla around the room with her.

“What are we doing?” Carmilla stumbled after her.

“We’re dancing,” Laura forced Carmilla to spin under her arm. It didn’t really take that much force, “I’m seducing you.” Laura busted out the sprinkler. Keeping one of Carmilla’s hands in her own and forcing it to wave through the air with her.

Carmilla raised an eyebrow, “There’s no music.”

Laura shimmied to the left. Carmilla came without her tugging, moving easily alongside her. Laura grinned up at her, “the music’s in your head.”

“Cupcake, this is hardly seducing me.”

Laura leaned back, trusting Carmilla to keep her from falling. The grip on her hands tightened and Laura’s smile grew. She took a step sideways, pulling Carmilla in a circle. Using their opposing momentums to swing around and around. Giggling, Laura pulled up. Launching forward to spin Carmilla around and grab her around the waist. Back to chest. Swinging sideways until Carmilla’s feet left the ground and the world was flying past them again. Her arms around Carmilla’s waist. Carmilla’s arms covering her own. Carmilla’s hair in her face.

When she put Carmilla down and faced her again, her roommate was smiling. It was soft and free and for once the broodiness and pain wasn’t lurking in those brown eyes.

She leaned in, “Feeling seduced yet?”

The smile grew. Infinitesimally. But it grew.

Laura wasn’t sure when their hands had joined again, their fingers slotting together too easily. But suddenly it was Carmilla tugged at her. Pulling her in. One hand on her waist. Chest to chest.

“You had the right idea,” Laura could actually feel the rumble of Carmilla’s chest, “with the dancing. But the wrong dance.”

And Carmilla tugged.

And Laura followed.

Her roommate effortlessly pulled her into a waltz. The two girls slotting together to prance around the room. Laura fumbling over the steps at first but Carmilla, showing an uncharacteristic patience, guided her through until Laura couldn’t tell who was leading and who was following anymore.

There was only there feet gliding together and the bump of their bodies and Carmilla’s hand in hers and the occasional spin where she’d turn away and then come back even closer.

And Laura had to wonder who was seducing who. Because it didn’t feel like seduction.

It just felt like it should always be.

#

Two days later, they were both sitting on the floor, backs to their beds. Legs almost touching.

Carmilla was reading Camus, Laura had her nose buried in the seventh Harry Potter. She almost missed it when Carmilla got up. Just seeing the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, too absorbed in the words she’d read a hundred times.

She only looked up when something blue entered her vision. The TARDIS mug. Full of steaming hot chocolate.

She smiled up at Carmilla, then her gaze caught the glass. The clear glass, full of a dark red liquid.

Carmilla’s fingers tensed.

Laura reached out and took the mug. The fingers relaxed and Carmilla settled back in her spot on the floor.

“You going to stake me now?” If she didn’t know better, she would have said Carmilla sounded vulnerable.

Laura didn’t even look up, “Nope.”

She took a sip of the hot chocolate, “You going to drink me dry in my sleep?”

Carmilla’s voice was soft, “No.”

Laura’s leg shuffled over, pressing against the vampire’s.

#

Laura’s stomach churned as Danny stood in front of her, eyes wide and bright grin on her face as they stood in the middle of the dorm room. She had Laura’s wrist in her hand, the heat of her fingers permeating the long sleeved fabric to warm the skin below it. The scars below.

“I scraped my fingers pretty bad once as a kid,” Danny was saying, “gotta catch the ball, you know? Plus I just, I like you so much Laura. I really really like you so when I saw the scars on your knuckles I started thinking about it and then I remembered that scrape. I hadn’t thought it would scar but it makes so much sense. I told you, they weren’t important scars. You can totally get them removed.”

Laura’s brain burst into overdrive, begging Danny to mention the other scars. Any of them. How she got them. Where they came from. She’d lived with the mystery for years, wondering what kind of person could possibly be waiting for her on the other side of her scars.

Someone like Danny would be a relief.

“And I once got this big burn on my shin,” Danny continued, “fell into a campfire.”

Shin. Laura could work with that. There were definitely a few big ones on her legs. She begged Danny to keep going but the words had stopped. Laura looked up. Danny’s eyes were watching hers, large and hopeful, bouncing all over her face.

Laura swallowed hard, “Is that all?”

And Danny’s face fell, “Should there be more?”

“Yeah,” Laura nodded, pulling her hands free.

Danny chased after them, “Are you sure. Maybe I just forgot and-”

Laura tugged her sleeves down, “There are lots more.”

“Oh.” Danny paused, “Sorry. I just thought.” She took a step back, “I did wonder, cause your knuckles are so bad and I was always so careful.”

Laura tugged the sleeves even further, scrunching her fingers into fists.

Still, she forced a smile, “It’s okay Danny. I’m sorry too. We would have been great.”

She wasn’t sure they would have been.

“Yeah,” Danny said, “We would have.” She stared at Laura a little longer, as though trying to hold onto something that had never existed.

“You should go,” Laura said softly.

And Danny went, walking backwards the whole way.

And Carmilla came.

Laura was still standing in the center of the room, immobile except for the fist running against her leg. The knuckles. As though she could rub it off. As guilty as that wish made her feel. She couldn’t bring herself to move. Some days. She just didn’t want to carry this other person’s pain. This strangers life written across her body. It was so heavy and she didn’t know how to carry it alone.

Carmilla stopped in front of her. Matching her breaths even though they weren’t necessary.

It was strangely comforting.

“You heard.” Laura said.

“I was waiting outside the door.” Carmilla said. Again. Considerate.

There was a touch on her skin, small delicate fingers stopping her rubbing across her pants. Laura didn’t even resist as Carmilla dragged her hand upward, slowly uncurling her fingers. Brushing the sleeve back just enough to reveal the scar tissues. It was hard and pink and scrapped unevenly across the digits.

She didn’t try to pull the shirt farther, keeping the arms covered.

And then the tears came, welling at the edges of her vision as Carmilla held her hand and stared down at the scars.

Her arm was slowly lifted and something soft skittered across her fingers. The faintest touch of something soft and sweet and Laura looked up and Carmilla’s head was bent down to Laura’s hand and her lips were already pulling away and for just a moment, Laura felt like the scars weren’t there at all.

Carmilla covered her hand in her own, encasing it, and gave that same said smile. The pain flickering in her eyes visible even through Laura’s tears.

“They’re beautiful.” Carmilla’s words lingered.

Laura went in for the hug. Carmilla let her.

#

Carmilla was gone. Carmilla had often been gone, disappearing for a day and Laura hardly noticed the absence. But now, Laura noticed. She’d noticed the first night when Carmilla didn’t come home and the sounds of war had reverberated around the edges of the campus.

It was now the third. Laura could admit that she was actively worried.

Somehow, the chaos of the battle that lingered in the night had become a comfort. If the fighting was still going on, then there was a reason she hadn’t come back. It wasn’t because she wouldn’t. It wasn’t because she couldn’t.

She was just busy.

It was hard to make that excuse when the sounds of war stopped and Carmilla still hadn’t come back. Come home. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be gone. Laura had checked. Even though she didn’t know for sure, there was something inside her that said to check. Just in case.

She’d stripped down in front of the mirror. Eyes twisting and cataloguing over her skin for anything new. When she was younger, she’d kept a list to keep them all straight. Now she didn’t have to. The scars were old allies.

And nothing new had joined their ranks.

Which didn’t mean anything. She had no idea if they even belonged to Carmilla.

Still, Laura found herself curled up in Carmilla’s bed. There was a better view of the window. And the door. And her pillow was there anyway.

It had nothing to do with the scent coming off the sheets.

She was lazily dozing when the door slammed open. Jolting her from sleep and sending her instantly to her feet. Laura didn’t even need to turn on the light to see who it was.

Carmilla.

“Are you okay?” the words tore from Laura’s mouth as she stared at the silhouette, “Because you were gone a long time and we could all hear that there was fighting even though nobody likes to talk about it but seriously there’s so much creepy stuff going down. Except it stopped yesterday and you still didn’t come back. But now you’re here, so at least you’re not dead. or deader. and, just. yeah.”

“Now, don’t go getting worried on my account cupcake,” Carmilla said, going for sarcasm but something in her tone screaming wrong in Laura’s ears, “I can take care of myself.”

Laura tried squinting through the dark, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Carmilla growled, “except someone is blocking my bed and I’d like to go to sleep.”

She’d barely shimmied to the side when Carmilla rushed past her, nearly knocking her over in her haste. Laura huffed, “Well, alright then.” She turned to her own bed, “sorry I was worried. Won’t do it again.”

But there was something tingling it’s way across her body. Laura didn’t know what it was, had never felt it before, but it felt as though her scars were twitching. Trying to write something new across her skin. She’d been born with her marks, scaring the nurses at the hospital half to death, so she’d never felt the birth of a new one. But this felt like what everyone else had tried to describe.

Except it was everywhere. And in the scars themselves, not cutting a new path across her skin.

Something that didn’t scar but burned just as badly.

Laura turned back towards Carmilla’s bed, squinting to try and make out anything from the vampire. She took a few steps forward. Stopped. Stared.

Smoothly, Laura crossed the room and sat on the wrong bed. Not touching. Hands hovering over her roommate. Carmilla was shaking. Her knees were pulled into her chest and her arms wrapped around them, hugging as close as possible. But it still couldn’t stop the motion. Her body looked like it was being wracked straight through. Her back heaving and limbs twitching. Face gone behind a wave a hair.

Laura put a hand on her shoulder, “Are you sure you’re’-”

“I’m fine!”

Carmilla head whipped up, fangs glinting in the dim light from the window. Laura yanked her hand back. The hostility running off Carmilla’s shoulders. Laura searched her face. No tears. No red eyes or bloody marks. Just the shaking. Like something was trying to cut it’s way out of her skin.

And the teeth. Fangs. They were whiter than she’d expected, just curling past Carmilla’s upper lip and resting, almost gently, against the lower. White on red. Something else that should have looked wrong, cutting through flesh in an unexpected way, but settling in as familiar.

Laura ran her thumb over own knuckles then, almost without thinking about it, brought her thumb to Carmilla’s lips. Giving the vampire every chance to bite her. Offering her blood right within reach.

But the fangs didn’t move. Laura slid her thumb slowly across Carmilla’s mouth, the smooth enamel of the fangs feeling just as soft under her thumb as the warm flesh. She pulled back when she reached the far side.

Iron fingers locked around her wrist. Still not looking at her.

And just like that, Carmilla’s face changed. Still tearless. But the graceful poise and the terrible ferocity had both given way to something that almost glimmered vulnerable. Something that didn’t look calculated or snarky but utterly real.

And broken.

Her eyes no longer sparked with snark or winked with a flirty one liner. They just looked old. The facade of being just 18 lost to the truth of what had to be hundreds of years pressing on them.

Laura thought about moving, about just wrapping Carmilla in her arms like her instincts were screaming. Stop the shaking. But Carmilla’s legs were still drawn in and her shoulders were tensed. So she looked down at the one thing connecting them, Carmilla grip around her arm.

Swallowing, Laura reached up and pulled back the sleeve, just a little. So that the fabric was folded back onto Carmilla’s hand.

Exposing the heavy banded scar that circled her wrist like a watch or a bracelet. Nearly three fingers wide and faded to a silvery, puckered mess.

Carmilla’s eyes were fixed on the scar, fingers loosening on her arm and drifting slowly down her arm until they came to the mark. Not quite touching it.

“Sometimes,” Laura said, “I used to make up stories about where they came from. Just, to help me understand, you know? Because they had to have hurt a lot and I certainly didn’t have to go through that. She did. And that must have been terrible, not even just the pain but,” Laura took a deep breath, “it always looked like handcuffs to me. As though she’d been chained up and thrown away and yeah, that had to hurt. But, like, I think it would have hurt on the inside too because someone’s chaining her up and maybe she loved them and why did they do that and who knows how long she was stuck there.”

Carmilla’s hand dropped the last few centimeters, clasping at the scar as though her fingers were the handcuffs themselves. Laura pressed on, as the shaking slowed, “Cause it’s not really about the pain, right? Of getting the scars. Because the actual pain sort of goes away. It did for me. The actual physical pain didn’t really matter. But everything around the pain, on the inside, still hurts. And it doesn’t really go away,” she could feel Carmilla’s eyes on her, “it just sort of lingers and you’ve got to heft it around everywhere and that’s the part that people need to understand, right? What the scars mean, not really what they’re from. That’s the part you’ve still got to share or it’ll break you.”

Laura finally tore her eyes away from Carmilla’s hand on her scar and looked up, into the silence, “Is that dumb?”

The shaking was gone and the fangs had disappeared and all Laura was left with was Carmilla’s eyes, “No, Laura,” she said softly, “I don’t think it is.”

Carmilla shifted slightly, drawing closer, "Why the long sleeves?"

"It's not my pain to share," Laura said, "It belongs to two."

There was just a beat. Only a beat to savour the moment and the words and whatever was happening.

Then the door flew off it’s hinges. Someone, something ran into the room at supernatural speeds, yelling in a tongue she couldn’t understand at Carmilla. The vampire was on her feet before the door had settled, standing between Laura and the intruder. The intruder with his own white fangs covering his lip.

His eyes settle on Laura, grinning as he lunged forward. Carmilla socked him in the jaw, throwing him back across the room. He came again, launching at Carmilla, teeth flashing and the pair went down. Rolling and writhing across the floor.

Laura chucked one of Carmilla’s books at his head.

For a moment her heart stopped. Carmilla pinned below the strange vampire, his teeth so close to her neck. It restarted when Carmilla just managed to throw him off.

Just.

The next thing she knew there was a sharp slice in her neck and she was crying out in pain. Carmilla’s scent hovering over nose and bodies pressed together. A deep agony like nothing she’d felt as the vampire pulled the blood from her body.

Then she was gone, slamming into the other vampire and speeding them both out of the bedroom.

Laura staggered to her feet. Wobbling like a drunken sailor as she fumbled her way through the first aid kit, and covered the punctures. Then she collapsed, halfway between her bed and the floor.

#

Carmilla stared at her reflection, holed up in the bathroom at the University’s gym. Pieces of a vampire corpse shoved in the trash. Her shirt was on the floor at her feet. Just staring. Clinging so hard to the sink that it started creaking, a small fracture cutting down porcelain.

She had burned and her skin had twitched and she’d known what it meant but prayed she was wrong. Because what would that mean the other way. What would that mean she’d done to the body of the girl who only wore long sleeves.

Who made up stories about scars that Carmilla could still feel being formed and bleeding from her wrists and didn’t seem revolted by them.

Her face was covered in blood, the slightly discoloured remnants of a vampire dripping down her chest.

But her shoulder was sloppily wiped clean, the blood smeared out of the way and coating her hand instead. Transferred to her stomach where she clutched with her other hand at the thick scar.

Revealing two small circular scars right in the juncture of her neck.

Like she’d bitten herself.

#

Laura woke up. Which was a surprise in and of itself. She sat up shakily, putting one hand onto her yellow pillow to keep herself from tipping over. It came back in bits and pieces. She shook her head to try and clear it. Wincing as pain shot through her neck at the action. The last night had really done a number.

When her vision cleared, she saw Carmilla staring at her from her perch on the bed across the room. The vampire was consumed by a large sweater, a glass in her hands and blood still all over her face.

“You bit me!” Laura said.

Carmilla’s eyes never left her face, “I did.”

“You. Bit. Me.” Laura repeated.

Carmilla raised an eyebrow, “I’m not denying it, cupcake.”

“I just,” Laura balled her fist in the sheets, “You bit me. You actually bit me. Like, vampire sucking my blood straight out of a horror movie or rom com because apparently those are the same thing bit me on my neck.” She pointed a finger at her roommate, “What the hell, Carmilla. You bit me. I was trying to be good about the whole vampire roommate thing and my friends were all ‘no Laura, she’s totally going to bite you’. And I said, ‘no guys, Carm would never do that.’. And Danny was going to like break down the door and kept trying to give me stakes and crucifixes.”

“The crucifixes don’t actually-” Carmilla started.

Laura bowled right over her words, “And you bit me anyway. What was that? Like I get that you were all traumatized or whatever from the war that nobody will talk about. Which, by the way, is something that you’re totally going to have to tell me about because it’s getting ridiculous and I need to be prepared if you’re going to be gone for days and then come back all shaky and then have some strange, and apparently evil vampire, try and kill us both.” Laura squinted and tugged on her sleeves, “Also, we’re going to have to cover how one tells a rip my face off vampire from the just super annoying type vampires. And really why in the world are vampires fighting anyway? Shouldn’t you be all coven love or whatever. And, I um,”

Laura frowned, “I had a point, I think. But really. You bit my neck Carmilla, that is not okay. I am not a human juicebox for your snacking pleasure.”

Carmilla sighed, “You done?”

“You are literally covered in my blood,” Laura said, “and that’s all you have to say. No, ‘sorry Laura’, ‘won’t happen again, Laura’, ‘if you don’t like it you can leave, Laura’.”

Carmilla stood, “Clearly, there’s nothing wrong with you that wasn’t there before.” She shoved the glass in Laura’s hands, “I’m taking a shower. I smell like the bottom of an abattoir.” Carmilla whirled towards the bathroom.

“We are not done talking about this!” Laura shouted after her.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Laura looked down at the cup. Orange juice.

Then she looked around. And when last night had she actually gotten in bed? Or cleaned up the first aid box? Or changed the bandage on her neck? And hadn’t the yellow pillow been on Carmilla’s bed…

She flopped back into the pillow when the realization hit. Would it really have been so hard for Carmilla to just say, “I’m sorry” before Laura had gone all ranty on her?

#

Laura took a deep breath. She could do this. She could totally do this. It was no big deal, people talked about this kind of stuff all the time.

But she kept waiting.

She didn’t mention anything when Carmilla threw a box of cookies at her head after she ran out. Her roommate pulling them from the depths of the mess that was no longer quite so messy and quipping something about not letting her go insane.

She didn’t mention anything when Carmilla absently slid a thumb under her sleeve and stroked the banded scar. After she’d noticed that Carmilla was covering up more with big sweaters.

She didn’t mention anything when Carmilla dragged herself through the door after being gone for two days. The vampire returning covered in blood and something thick and black that dripped onto the floor and started smoking. Carmilla let her take care of her, sending her off to the shower. Getting her a glass of blood. Tucking her under the sheets.

She didn’t mentioned anything when Carmilla let her bully her way into Carmilla’s bed, setting up her laptop and squeezing in to marathon the first season of agent Carter. Carmilla providing snarky commentary and constantly moaning but never kicking her out or telling her leave.

She didn’t mention anything when she woke up the next morning and was still tucked under Carmilla’s arm. Laura’s hand on Carmilla’s stomach, so close to the area of skin that would be scared or smooth.

If she ever got the courage to ask.

So of course, she found the courage at the strangest time

Laura was in the shower, thinking that Carmilla wouldn’t be back from class for hours. Assuming she was actually in class and not cuffing some other vampire upside the head.

Carmilla burst into the room and Laura shrieked, “Carmilla, I’m naked. Get out.”

“I have to pee.” Carmilla said. Laura could make out her bleary form in the mirror.

“I don’t care,” Laura said, “get out.”

She could just picture Carmilla’s glare, “Make me.”

While that was certainly a good point. What was Laura going to do? Burst out of the shower, naked, wet, and confront the vampire?

“Don’t worry, cupcake” Carmilla said into the silence, “I’m not trying to sneak a peek.”

Laura was vaguely insulted and not sure why, “Nice to know you have some courtesy. Why that couldn’t extend to finding a different bathroom, I’m not sure.”

“I’m worried the others are infected with gingers,” Carmilla said, “the sheer propensity makes me believe the alchemy club has found a way to make it contagious. Can you picture me with red hair?”

Laura spent 20 seconds building the image before descending into giggles. It shouldn’t be funny. She shouldn’t laugh at the image or Carmilla’s constant mocking of her friends or enjoy spending time with someone so broody and closed off and sarcastic. But she did.

“By the way,” Carmilla started, “I’m stealing your clothes-”

The words were flying out before Laura could think it through, “My soulmate has a thick scar going from just below their belly button to their hip.”

The words hung in the air. The room silent except for the patter of the shower against the tiled floor. If it wasn’t for the vaguely humanoid shape she could make out, frozen by the sink, Laura would have thought Carmilla had run out on her.

“I was eight,” Laura closed her eyes, letting her hand drift over her own wet skin where the scar would have been. Ignoring the bumps and rises that were actually present. “And my mom and I were driving home from the library. It was one of those kids events, you know? Where you read a bunch of books and then you’d get clues for reading each book and there was this scavenger hunt that you could try to win. My mom and I did it together every year. I’d read the books out loud to her and then we’d collect our clues and try to figure it out together. Go all over town. We’d gotten second place the last year and we kept saying that this was going to be our year.”

She pressed her back to the glass door of the shower, sliding down to settle on the floor, “We’d just gotten our last clue for finishing the most recent Harry Potter. Even though I’d already read it right when it came out. My mom said that I had to read it again. Because that was the rules. So that’s what we did. ANd it took forever because those books are huge but we finally got the clue and I was so excited to get started because only one other kid had finished Harry Potter and we were going to catch him.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the blurry dark mass that was Carmilla settle down on the other side of the glass, back to back.

“And there was a thunderstorm,” Laura continued, fighting back the water in her eyes, “and we were throwing theories about where the clue would lead and she looked so happy. And then all I remember is that everything shifted and it hurt so much and I was crying and calling for my mom and no-one came. I guess I passed out. When I woke up she was already gone.”

“Car crash?” with her eyes closed, it sounded like Carmilla’s voice was right in her ear.

“Yeah,” the shower washed away Laura’s tears before they could escape, “other driver skidded in the rain. Hit us head on. Car crumpled. My mom even made it out of the car alive.” She took a shuddering breath, “I got a piece of plastic in the gut.”

“I’m sorry.” Carmilla said. And somehow, whether it was the fact that Carmilla said it or the way she said it or the fact that Laura was naked with only a thin piece of hazy plastic between them, the words didn’t fall patronizing like they usually did.

“Thank you.”

Carmilla’s voice was soft, almost raspy, “Why are you telling me?”

And Laura’s chest suddenly hurt, the water in her eyes having nothing to do with the shower or her mother. Carmilla didn’t know. It didn’t mean anything to her. Which means the scar Laura had described wasn’t branded across her stomach like Laura thought it would.

She took a shuddering breath. That didn’t change her answer, “Because I’m tired of carrying it alone.”

She stood and shut off the water. Carmilla’s hand thrust through the doorway with a towel, then she whisked out of the room. When Laura emerged, clothes on and hair dripping. Carmilla already had season 3 of Buffy queued up.

#

It was getting worse. Carmilla didn’t need to tell her, Laura could see easily that whatever war Carmilla’s mother was fighting was only escalating. Carmilla was gone more nights that she was home. Stumbling into the room just as the sun was rising with blood on her clothes or smoke clinging to her skin or hollow eyes that took everything in Laura to bring the smile back to.

But Laura was always waiting. Curled up under blankets and fighting sleep or perched in front of her laptop after the alarm she had set for 5:30am woke her. Giving her just enough time to pull blood from the fridge and throw her yellow pillow to Carmilla’s side of the room.

Until she lost track of time. Working on a journalism assignment in the library late into the night. Accidently falling asleep in one of the cubicles with her face in the keyboard.

She woke up to Carmilla shouting her name.

The “Laura” that echoed through the library was wild and desperate, bouncing off bookcases and wavering slightly over the last letter.

“Carm?” her voice was soft with sleep but apparently that was all vampire hearing needed.

There was a whoosh of air and suddenly her space was full of Carmilla. The smell of melting snow and old books under all the blood. And there were pale hands grasping at her shoulders and arms and legs, moving from place to place with a desperate ferocity that seemed like Carmilla was trying to make sure that everything was still in place.

“You weren’t in the room,” Carmilla’s words were broken, “You weren’t in the room and I thought they’d found you and taken you and you weren’t in the room.”

One of Carmilla’s hands snaked around the back of her neck, pulling her forward until her forehead touched Carmilla’s. And finally Carmilla seemed to breath, taking inhales she didn’t technically need but gasped at like they were blood itself.

Laura’s hands came up, letting the blood on Carmilla’s clothes coat her skin as she softly skimmed the vampire’s torso. Her own check that everything was in its place.

“I’m right here,” She said, letting the words wash across Carmilla’s face, “I’m right here.”

#

And so life went on. Blood and war in Carmilla’s eyes between the quiet smiles and the sarcasm. Carmilla still somehow finding the time to keep the room full of cookies and drape a blanket over her shoulders when she fell asleep during the day from all of the late nights.

And it certainly felt like soulmates. Even though it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t when Carmilla called her cell phone at 2 in the morning, waking Laura well before her alarm. Not even waiting for Laura’s bleary hello before her voice was cracking and screaming through the phone that Laura had to get up and go. Go now. Don’t stop. Just go. Sorry. So sorry. Run Laura. Please.

I love you.

And the phone went dead. So Laura ran, exactly as she was instructed. But she ran towards the sounds of war that the students ignored rather than away from it. Because Carmilla needed help and couldn’t carry it alone. Lungs burning as she tore through the campus, stopping only to wrestle a sword from one of the sentient statues guarding the library.

Running again. Then dropping. forced to her knees by the burning in her side like the world had set itself on fire and poured the coals under skin. The skin tearing open as a bubbling scar ripped it’s way down her side, causing her to gasp for air and clutch at the skin turning hot under her hands.

But she never dropped the sword.

Before the burning could even begin to cool, she was running. Running and stumbling as the scar grew and she couldn’t say how she knew where she was going but she went anyway.

And with the coals still ripping through her side, she found Carmilla on the ground and someone standing over her. A face, Laura had only seen on campus material.

Nobody was concerned about a feeble human.

Until the sword was through the Dean’s back.

Laura didn’t even stop to look. Falling to Carmilla’s side, hands covered in blood as she tried to stop the girl from bleeding out. Yet without breath or heartbeat the blood was the only thing saying she was still alive. The wound in her side that burned a streak down Laura’s skin. Laura stripped the Dean’s shirt, binding the wound. Hoisting Carmilla into her arms and dragging her through campus, focused on nothing but the blood filled soy milk container in the fridge.

And when she knew they wouldn’t make it in time.

Laura shoved the fangs back into her neck. Swallowing down her pain. Letting Carmilla’s reflex take over and holding her head to the vein until Laura’s legs began to wobble.

Tearing the fangs away.

Blood running down her neck.

Pretending not to see the scars form on Carmilla’s.

Dragging her to the dorm room and filling her mouth with blood.

Waiting for Carmilla to wake up.

Checking on the wound.

Seeing the banded scar that ran from just below Carmilla’s belly button to her hip.

And it felt like soulmates.

And it was.

#

Carmilla’s eyes flickered open and immediately closed. There was a Laura Hollis glaring down at her. This would be interesting. She took a breath she didn’t need and opened them fully, “Well, that was a kick.”

Frankly the whole, being alive thing was a surprise. But her mouth tasted like blood, and it was easy to guess what had happened.

”You were basically dead,” Laura said softly, too softly.

Carmilla sat up, teetering slightly, “I’ve always been dead, cupcake.”

“Not the point,” Laura snapped. Carmilla raised an eyebrow, that seemed to open up the floodgates.

The words poured out of Laura, “You were dying and you knew and you never told me. You never once told me. Not once. Not even just a casual, ‘not interested’. You just didn’t say anything. And you must have known, there’s not way you couldn’t. You must have known from the moment I told you about my mom’s accident when I was in the shower and you never said anything about being soulmates.”

She knew. Laura’s face looked shattered as she stared down at Carmilla, her words still snapping in the air. Her hands flailing at nothing. Looking for something to grab onto.

And Carmilla had nothing to give her.

“I knew,” Carmilla said, fighting not to look down at her hands. Laura deserved so much more than she could give her, her attention was the best she could offer.

“Then why,” Laura’s voice sounded as broken as Carmilla felt, “why didn’t you say anything? You gave me promises and platitudes and you saved me from vampires but you couldn’t just tell me the truth.”

She didn’t get it. She still didn’t get it. And now Carmilla was going to have to explain it to her.

“Because I’m broken, cupcake,” Carmilla wondered if it was the last time she’d get to use the nickname, “God, I am old and I am a shattered mess and no-one should have to deal with me. Especially not you. Look at you. Nineteen and your whole life ahead of you. You don’t need my baggage weighing you down, it’s almost gotten you killed more than once already. Just by being near me.”

“I don’t care.” Of course she didn’t. Because she was stupid, stubborn Laura Hollis and nothing was ever simple with her and now Carmilla was going to have to drive her away.

“Well, you should care,” Carmilla sat straight up on the bed, “You should care. Because I am not fun and sunshine. I am a vampire. I have killed more people than you have ever met and I have watched more people die than could ever fill a lifetime. And I am a darkness that you could never hope to understand. I go to sleep and all I see is war.”

Red flashed across her eyes and Carmilla continued, fighting back the memory, “There is death painted across my fingertips and that’s all I can bring to anyone because that’s all I know. I have been burned and beaten and cut and shattered and buried alive and that’s all I see and all I know how to give. And you could never hope to understand because you have no idea how dark it truly is. I could tell you every depraved story and you still wouldn’t understand my darkness.”

Laura watched her, thumbs fiddling with her sleeves.

“So, no.” Carmilla said, “I didn’t tell you because now all you know is that fate has tied you to a vampire. And maybe, with that 18 year old girl who still needed to breath, you would of had a chance. But you could never understand everything that happened in between.”

“Try me.” Laura’s words were soft.

Carmilla dropped her head in her hands. Why was she making this so hard? Everyone else had run at a flash of the fangs and Laura was still here, “You can’t understand what I’m carrying.” She growled.

Something soft hit her in the head and Carmilla caught it on reflex. A long sleeved shirt, “Try me.”

Carmilla looked up.

Laura stood in front of her, hands on her hips, trembling slightly. Torso bare but for the black bra.

And Carmilla’s mouth dropped.

Laura was art. Strips and bands and pockets of silvers and pinks coating her body, crisscrossing and intermingling in lines and swirls that faded into something new. Raised and recede from her actual skin. Scars coating scars in some places while others remained the clear, soft skin. Places where the lines were distinct and places where they bled together until Carmilla wasn’t sure at what point the scar faded and was just Laura. Like a watercolour slowly drifting from one colour to the next. Smooth lines and soft edges and delicacy of the lines mixed the jagged edges of the lashes.

Laura’s voice quivered, “Start with these.” She tapped her wrist. The thick silver bands gleaming on each arm like bracelets of interwoven silver. Repetitions of cuts blending together into a woven pattern of thickened.

Carmilla spoke past the lump in her throat, “They were handcuffs. Like you said,” she fixed her eyes on them, “I’d objected to the turning of children for Mother’s army. She locked me in the basement of a chapel in Spain.” Laura didn’t look away, “Left me there for nearly two weeks, straining until I’d nearly collapsed from hunger. Then she brought the children. And I was straining for a whole different reason. The blood, the heartbeats, thumping in my ears. Three more days.” Carmilla closed her eyes, “and then she set me free.”

Cool fingers touched her face, caressing from the center of her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, out over her cheeks and down to her chin. The ghosted over her eyelids, “Open, Carm.”

Carmilla couldn’t help but do so. And Laura was staring down at her, a small smile on her face as she stroked over Carmilla’s cheek with her thumb, eyes sad but still a smile, “Thank you for telling me.”

She took Carmilla’s hand in her’s guiding it to her hip, “And this?”

“Werewolf, 1762,” Carmilla choked out. But her hand was on Laura’s scar, the three strips that slided in a row down her hip where a paw had caught her. She moved her fingers slightly over them, then froze. Looking up at Laura, “Can I?”

“Of course,” Laura said, “they’re ours. Just keep talking.”

And Carmilla did. Mumbling words and stories as she traced her way around Laura’s body. She started with the three scars following them with her fingers around to Laura’s back. Tracing their strength around to the whirl of brand. Folding and mixing over itself in a jumble of letters that had burned hot and fast on her skin. But that quickly gave way to an empty expanse, the smoothness of Laura’s skin across her lower back, untouched except of pockets of fire that burned red within. And Carmilla couldn’t remember the pain of the shrapnel but more her scream as one of her sisters pushed her way in front of the blunt of the blow. Her fingers gave way to her lips, softly kissing each pocketed hole, Laura’s gasping slightly under her touch.

Her fingers drifted up, to the large jagged gashes across Laura’s back. The bulk of it from the swing of a lash but the scars singing of the betrayal that had landed her there. Mama letting her get captured to distract the enemy and regain land. The days of waiting. Of realizing no-one was coming. 42 lashes. She ran her fingers slowly down them, tapping out the same rhythm that the beating had given. Badum whoosh. They crossed across everything, over shoulder blades and spine. But they were peppered with other things, years of wear and tear cutting delicate markings in the larger scars, like engravings on a ring. She continued to the right, swiveling around Laura and ghosting the tip of her nose across her side, fingers touching everything else. Lips speaking stories of siblings who died or betrayed or enemies who became friends and had to be killed anyway. Pausing to pass a reverent finger over the glaringly red mark made so recently.

Laura sat when she came around to the front, time no longer seeming like something real, and Carmilla knelt before her. Resting her forehead against the thin line just above her belly button. Something so small for something so big. Frozen as told of the one child she had ever made, ever turned. Laura’s fingers softly running in her hair as she spoke of Mother’s tricky words, twisting them away from her and letting them stab her with a blade of finest silver. Then letting Carmilla bleed as she ripped them to shreds.

Carmilla’s fingers danced over the thin swerves on Laura’s hips, telling stories that ranged from saving her sister to not putting up with her brother. But the burn cutting up between Laura’s breasts got the attention of her lips, pressing a kiss between every sentence as she spoke of her first time trying to re-enter a church, begging for a release from the demons. Her collarbones saw the gentle touch her nose. But she faltered at the large wound disappearing under Laura’s bra at on the left side of her chest.

So Laura entwined their fingers and pressed both their hands to her breast, pressing kisses to the top of Carmilla’s head as she described the night everything had changed.

The arms were next, harder to recall as they were so often used in defence that they could simply be called the price of war. Carmilla speaking of endless battles and vampire cemeteries and the fallen dead.

Laura’s knuckles brought a different story. One she should have told the first night Laura waited up for her and found her shaking in the darkness. After Mother had punished her with darkness, capturing her in the midst of battle and setting her sibling to guard her. So Carmilla spoke of a coffin and a girl she thought she loved because she believed with all her heart that vampires simply couldn’t get scars.

And of how wrong she’d been and the girl hadn’t loved her and Mother had locked her in a coffin where she’d spent years pounding on the lid before it had broken open. And somewhere in the middle Laura had pulled her down to the bed curled around her and it hadn’t felt like suffocation but like flying.

By chance she ended on the left arm, the one sprawled across her stomach. She paused when she found it. The thinnest vertical line running from Laura’s wrist to elbow.

Carmilla ran a single finger down it and a laugh slipped from her throat.

“What?” Laura asked, looking at Carmilla with a smile, tears long dried on her face, “what’s so special about that one?”

“I was 13,” Carmilla said, “I was trying to get a book of a shelf in my Father’s library and I fell.”

Laura giggled into her neck, “So you mean, you weren’t all coordinated and graceful all the time? There was a tiny klutzy Carmilla running around somewhere?”

Carmilla forced the scowl, “I was never klutzy, cupcake.”

“Course not,” Laura failed miserably at looking serious.

Carmilla shook her head and traced the scar again.

Laura put a hand on hers and followed her finger, “So they aren’t all bad memories,” she said softly.

“Maybe not,” Carmilla said softly.

Laura pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes, “Do you still wish you didn’t have a soulmate?”

The eyes that stared at her were big and brown, still red from crying, not at the stories but with Carmilla. And the innocence that Carmilla had always expected to see in the soulmate who had left her skin so clean wasn’t there, perhaps it had never been. Not for the girl who was born already covered in the marks of someone else’s life.

“I’ve spent my whole life searching for this scar,” Carmilla traced the thin line, “I’m not about to let it go now.”

And Laura kissed her.