Two Souls, One Heart (based on the show True Blood)

Broken Dreams

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us...

♥️♥️♥️

Silently, Eric enters the library gazing raptly at his beautiful wife as she dipped the paintbrush on the pallet. Sitting on a cushioned bench, Tara is swirling colors together before dabbing and brushing onto the canvas. The young mother pauses, reaching with a bangled arm towards the upper corner of the canvas, making sure she does not miss that spot.

A few weeks ago, she had it in her heart to draw this. It is a leaf skeleton, its green flesh is eaten away to leave only a lacy cellulose network - fragile, natural, beautiful in its own way. Her eyes travel over its ovoid shape, thrown into sharp relief by the deep plum background.

"Come to bed," Eric murmurs, yearning to have his wife near. Tonight, the sexually insatiable vampire is sated. Eric is a family man, living a life his biological father and Sire would be proud of. Days are spent raising the children and most nights the couple is rapt in the throes of passion.

It took several moments for her brain to digest the reply, then she turned in her seat, her smile sagging somewhat. "What do you think of this one?" She asks with a motion beckoning her man to sit next to her. To Tara, this was the moment, the surreal moment that no actual words could describe.

"Art is part of our soul, human or otherwise. It is dreams emerging from a part of ourselves, a way to communicate with the deeper self of both the artist and others. The same piece invokes different emotions depending on the person, their mood, their time of life. Art pictures; art is a sculpture; art is the creative word; art is music. We are all artists in our various ways, all born to be creative," he answered, scooting in next to her.

"This painting takes me far away to another time, another life," She points to a painting she'd hung on the wall last week, naturally, Eric turns his gaze to observe the brush strokes of hues that are muted as if bleached by millions of years of the sun-speckled water, eyes on the horizon where blue meets blue.

"In this picture the pebbles crunch beneath my winter boots and the waves lap in their steady rhythm, frigid and laced with sea-foam. Their melody is calming, this music of water dragging rounded stones up and down the beach. I can taste the salty air and feel it chill my face. From the upper left corner, the gulls call, circling the island."

"I am most fond of that one," Eric points to the painting of him and in return, the giggle that he adores so much escapes Tara's lips.

"Of course, you are, I call that painting The Golden King." Tara giggled once more recalling the day spent painting the picture of Eric. He modeled for her in his Viking cloak and crown.

There was only one word to describe the sun-kissed vampire, Adonis. Where his eyes were the green of fresh dew glinting in the sunlight off a leaf of green emerald. A prominent jaw curved gracefully around and the strength of his neck showed in the twining cords of muscle that shaped his entire body; strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen. He was an Adonis among the other men who each pale in comparison. One look and both women and men swooned at the sight of him no matter their sexual preferences and one word passed from his lips had even the straightest of men flushing shades of red that no one ever knew was naturally possible.

"Beautiful," he says softly, after a long moment. "You're creative, too." Eric notices the crinkle in his wife's brow and knows something troubling is on her mind.

"Have I ever told you that my dreams lead me to you?"

"You have not, I had always believed you're coming to Fangtaisa that night was for employment."