“Never thought I'd live to a hundred,” said Tristan. He was smoking a cigarette. “And there was a time when I thought this would send me to my grave.”
A woman who wore a floor length dress gazed into his eyes as he spoke to her. She walked up to him with sultry in her gait. She pressed her body against his as she ran her fingers through his hair.
“You don't look a day over twenty,” she said. Her lips glistened after she licked them.
“That's really nice of you to say Emma,” said Tristan. “You never age a day yourself my love, but you already knew that.”
Their lips locked that brought forth a familiar rhythm as their body temperature rose by the inducement of provocative friction when the doorbell rang.
“She's here early,” said Emma.
“We could ignore her for a few minutes,” said Tristan.
“A few minutes won't suffice,” said Emma. “We'll continue this later.”
Emma pulled away from him to open the front door where a woman stood waiting.
“Hi, I'm Isabel Reagan,” said the woman. “We spoke on the phone about an interview.”
“Yes, we've been expecting you,” said Emma, with a cordial smile. “Please come in.”
Isabel entered the home with eager anticipation. “I know I'm early, but I wanted to get a head start if that's Okay with you,” she said.
“Yes of course,” said Emma, closing the front door and locking it. “Let me get my husband, and please make yourself at home.”
Emma showed her in then went into a dark corridor. She left Isabel in the living room. Isabel stood in front of the fireplace where an old painting was hung over the mantle. She stared at it infused with curiosity as the moonlight beamed through the window panes that induced a pensive mood.
“Yes, that's me a long time ago in case you were wondering,” said Emma.
“Holy Crap!” exclaimed Isabel.
“I'm sorry I didn't mean to frighten you,” said Emma.
Isabel turned around then stood in awe at the sight of Tristan. His long, black hair seemed to billow out though no breeze was present.
“Hello, I am Tristan,” he said. He extends his right hand.
“Hi, Isabel . . . Isabel Reagan,” she said.
“Pleasure to meet you,” said Tristan. “I see you've met my wife Emma.”
“Yes I have,” said Isabel. “She's wonderful.”
“And I agree with your sentiment,” said Tristan. “Can we get you anything before we begin?”
“I'm fine actually,” said Isabel. “I have a bottle of water in my backpack.”
“Then please let us have a seat,” said Emma.
The couple sat on an old Victorian sofa. Isabel set up a camera on a tripod and began recording their session. She sat on a chair across from them.
“So you guys are vampires huh?” said Isabel.
“Yes, yes we are,” said Tristan. “We are young vampires actually.”
“Well you both look young that's for sure,” said Isabel.
“I barely turned a century old today,” said Tristan.
“Oh, Happy Birthday,” said Isabel. “I mean if you celebrate that sort of thing.”
“Thank you,” said Tristan. “And yes, we do commemorate the day we were created.”
“And how about you Emma?” asked Isabel. “If you don't mind disclosing your age.”
“I don't mind at all,” said Emma. “I am older than Tristan by a century.”
“So you're two hundred years old and he's barely a hundred,” said Isabel. “Does that feel odd in any way?”
“Age does not define us,” replied Emma. “Nor do we regard it as a disparity.”
“So you guys feel completely age appropriate for each other?” said Isabel.
“Yes,” said Tristan. “When a vampire finds his equal, that bond knows no limitations.”
“What if he or she looked like a child?” asked Isabel.
“That would be impossible,” said Emma.
“How so?” asked Isabel.
“If a child was turned into a Vampire, he or she would mature exponentially to his or her physical pique,” explained Tristan. “However, their mind would mature accordingly.”
“So their bodies would mature rapidly minus their minds?” asked Isabel.
“Yes,” said Emma. “A vampire's mind can only develop through life experiences same as a human.”
Interesting, thought Isabel. She took a moment to gather her notes. She paused the camera and checked its battery life. She rummaged through her backpack for a few things, set them on the table, then resumed to record.
“Okay, how about this crucifix,” said Isabel. Holding out the cross necklace like a ward. “Does this affect either of you in any way?”
“Not at all,” said Emma.
Enthusiastically, Tristan smirked and covered his mouth with his hand. He decided to hold in the laughter because he found that Isabel was comically entertaining. Then Isabel held a garlic clove in her hand hoping to provoke any negative reaction, but the couple just gave her a vacant stare.
“So crucifix check, garlic check,” said Isabel. “How about holy water?”
“What about it?” replied Tristan.
“Does it do anything to you guys?” asked Isabel.
“No, it does not,” replied Tristan.
“Oh wait!” exclaimed Isabel. “I almost forgot.”
She pulled out a mirror from her backpack and held it in front of the couple. To her disappointment they had both cast a vivid reflection.
“Okay, nothing really suggest that you are both vampires except your claims and your goth clothes,” said Isabel.
“You need proof . . . of course,” said Tristan.
“Yes, I need to prove to the world that you guys are the real deal,” said Isabel.
“Why didn't you say so,” said Emma.
The couple grinned and exposed their fangs which lengthened to their fullest extent. Their eyes turned red and feral, and their fingernails grew out further more. But it was not until their faces turned hideous that struck the ardent reporter with fear. She quickly grabbed her things and stormed out of the living room, but had fumbled at the door locks. Isabel was panic stricken and dared not to look back when she felt the presence of something rather foreboding. In the corner of her eye she saw a pale hand that reached out towards the door locks, and with ease, unlocked them. Isabel did not question the unexpected gesture, and kept on running until she got to her car. With a quickness she threw in her things and sped off into the night.
“They always freak-out in the end,” said Tristan. “Yet they're the ones who asked for proof.”
Emma leaned her head on her husband's shoulder and said, “Never gets old.”
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