I awoke to the distinct feel of Roswell's arms coiled warmly around me, his gentle, rhythmic breath lingering in the crease of my exposed neck. I must have fallen into slumber upon the bed in my room, for there was no other explanation otherwise as to why I would not be thriving within the shelter of my glossy black coffin. I allowed my head to pivot over idly so that I could take in the sight of Roswell sleeping peacefully next to me, his thin ebony black hair scattered messily about the milky white pillow. A smile played on my lips involuntarily as I stared affectionately at his form, still fully dressed in his usual apparel of black leather pants and a t shirt that was so dark, it seemed to match his dark hair. His soft pink lips appeared to be almost pouting, creating the essence of youth and innocence. My hand seemed to own itself as it ran my fingertips over the strong features of his face, tracing down his jaw line. He stirred ever so slightly, such minimal alteration in his face that no mortal could have detected the change. Smiling, I leaned into him, cuddling up as close to his body as possible. As I ran my fingers slowly through his long, silky black hair, I let out a soft, blissful moan. At the mere hushed sound of my placid mewling, his eyes opened in slow motion, staring at me without expression for one long moment before they seemed to brighten, his lips pulling into a content smirk. His arms slipped mechanically around my back and drew me into him more so, with both of us lying on our sides, our chests pressed into one another as our breathing and heart beats united.

"Ah, so she awakens," he mumbled with a smile, kissing my forehead so gently that my flesh began to tinkle softly.

I sighed within myself, a blissful sigh, one that appeared to ease the agony that was everyday life. Giggling lightly, I tilted my head back to position my lips better, and nuzzled his neck gently. I allowed my mouth to slip lower, tracing his masculine collarbone, my lips brushing against the flesh and bone. He let out a stifled moan, one that he had not meant to become audible, but had been clear nonetheless, no matter his intention. I laughed lightly against his smooth, ivory flesh, his skin seeming to vibrate against my lips as he did the same, and my hands roamed the outline of his defined muscles through his shirt. His own soft hands massaged my back slowly, rolling down my spine and causing me to shiver in pleasure.

"I don't even get a 'good evening'?" he whispered in my ear, pretending to be disappointed.

Before I could even part my lips to reply, the door swung vigorously open, and Gina stood in the doorway with a cheerful disposition. She did not, of course, still being so young, understand what was going on, and rushed over to the bed with a grin on her face that almost seemed artificial. Her footsteps were rhythmic as she raced excitedly towards us, the mattress sinking ever so slightly under the minimal intake of her weight. She sprawled herself out between us once she'd completed the task of crawling like a mere infant towards us. The material smile upon her sweet face seemed to convert itself from faux to genuine as sheer contentment claimed her small figure.

"Gina, my dear," I cooed into her tiny, shell-like ear, "is anything the matter?"

I craved beyond reason to part my dry lips and demand that Gina leave Roswell and I be, but there was some charismatic quality about her that chained me back, forbade me to speak this way to her. And as her tiny head shifted in the pillow to allow those soft eyes to gaze up at me with such sheer gradualness and naivity that most certainly no mortal could resist, I felt a part of me melt inside, a section of my icy heart thaw out gradually the way it did whenever I was fortunate enough to have Roswell's touch upon me. I simply could not hold even the most minimal grudge against such a radiant being, such an innocent dark angel of death. So ignorant was she of even the horror and agony she caused not only her victims, but the families of her prey each night, so unconscious of how deliciously evil she truly was.

"No, mama," she replied respectfully, the smile vanishing from her face as she gazed up at me with wonder that made her appear human.

"Was there something that you needed, sweetie?" Roswell murmured gently, withdrawing his arm from it's resting position upon my shoulder to stroke Gina's pale, ivory cheeks.

Shaking her head slowly, Gina rotated her neck so that she was facing Roswell now, gazing up into his entrancing green eyes as she whispered, "No, papa. I just wanted to be with you. I was lonely."

In respect to her answer, spoken so softly through such fragile lips, I stroked her porcelain cheek and held her close to my body, her heart beating all around me. I could only imagine the ecstasy Roswell had obtained when he had drained her; the taste of young, innocent blood, and the resistant pounding of her heart, fighting with all that of a child's demanding to live. And yet, someday soon she would lose all conscious memory of that time when she had been real, had breathed in the air without tasting the spite of humanity on her tongue. She would grow up, become a woman, and those times of tragic bliss would all be lost in the abyss of time. And somehow, looking at her caused me to feel remorse, an emotion that I recalled Amos had once told me was "unbecoming of a vampire". But the truth was rather blunt; had I not opened my mouth and shared my shattered hopes for a child, I would not have one.

Sighing softly, I rolled into a sitting position, Roswell's eyes gazing over me as if searching for something. He often looked at me this way, leaving me in utter confusion as to what he was pondering. But shrugging it off, I rose to my feet, the coolness of the floor beneath the flesh so refreshing and relaxing.

"I might as well prepare myself for tonight," I said monotonously as I advanced step by step towards the open door. "The night is young, after all."

Roswell left out a soft groan, perhaps in irritation, or perhaps in ease. And as I advanced through the empty hallway, listening to the soft cracks under the floorboards as my weight challenged them, I heard small, scurrying footsteps behind me. Moments later I halted outside the slightly open door to the bathroom, rotating my neck and taking in the sight of Gina clinging to my evening gown.

The scene had all the significance of a beautiful painting, such detail and emotion, with almost a hidden message concealing itself in the strokes that had composed Gina's brown eyes. Her little white face was half buried in the silky, mint green decor of my gown, her tiny fingers curled around the material. Her black hair was simply divine, giving the impression that it was never dirty or untidy; always sleek and shiny, so radiant and silken. Oh, but I could have spent an eternity gazing at that lovely creature, a china doll that had been blessed with eternal life. Oh, how I loved her so!

"What is it, dear?" I questioned her softly, lifting her fairy-like figure into my arms.

She immediately snuggled up to me, her arms naturally coiling around my neck, her head rolling involuntarily to rest upon my shoulder. I could have shuddered in pleasure from the feel of it, such youth, such dependence on me for survival. And perhaps that is what I loved about it so deeply, that if I left her alone, she would die. Yes, she needed me, really needed me in order to live, and that bound me to her in a way that is unimaginable to any who have not experienced it first hand.

"Can I get ready with you, mama?" she asked in an airy, naive voice.

Chuckling softly, I kissed her cheek and assured her, "But of course."

Watching her face light up with such an innocent grin was enough to melt the darkness inside of me momentarily, to relieve the agony of cold remorse, knowing that some day she would discover what she truly was. I carried her into the bathroom, seating her upon the edge of the white marble sink, which she was small enough to sit on. Her pale, skinny legs dangled over the edge, legs that I was certain had once been nothing more than bone; desperately malnourished. Her curious brown eyes followed me, observed my every movement, every twitch. And once I had heard the hinges of the door click, signifying it was closed, I carelessly began to remove each layer of my clothing, allowing them to fall piece by piece into a scattered pile upon the floor.

I could not help but glance up then, to see the beautiful brown eyes glancing over my body inquisitively, asking questions by the thousands without doing so much as speaking a single word. She was speculative now, more so than usual, glancing from my exposed body down at her own, as if mentally comparing them to one another.

In the back of my mind I felt an emotion that I could not specifically decipher. Fear, perhaps? If it was indeed fear, I'd have never admitted it then, not even to myself. But whatever the analysis, all I could consider was that one day she would be older, wiser, and all the more inquisitive. The day would come when she would wake up and look at herself, her beautiful youth, her everlasting childhood, and wonder why she was unable to change as the world around her changed.

"I want to be just like you," her little voice said suddenly in an almost distant tone, interrupting my thoughts.

Flattery. It was not a feeling I had grown accustomed to in any way, shape, or form. But whether or not I realized it at the time, I was most certainly flattered that Gina though me that stunning, beautiful enough to be worthy in her eyes. And she was worthy in my own, my love, my child.

"Would you like to take a shower as well?" I asked her, obviously avoiding her statement, unsure of how to respond.

She grinned, nodding her head and slipping off of the counter slowly. Ah yes, the ignorance of young children, too inexperienced in the world to realize when they are being set up, too easily distracted. I assisted her in removing her own white evening gown, feeling as though I were a mortal mother. Lifting her beautiful, naked body into the shower with me, I turned on the cool water and let the rhythm of it's drumming against my skin massage my stress.

Oh, I remember these times, these days, these weeks, these months, these years, when Gina was my child, really my child, in name as well as in identity. Those times seemed to race by me as the years continue to do, as though the blink of an eye marks the lifetime of an average mortal.

But these were only the first years, and soon enough Gina, as anyone would do, began to age. And with her age came the growth of her questioning as well as her mind. But the thing I failed to understand for the longest time was this: Gina just wanted to be like everyone else... and didn't understand why she wasn't.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, it was just exam week and I haven't had much time for anything lol. Well anyway, please R&R. You know the drill lol.