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Nobody had listened to Avid when he tried to warn them of danger.
He'd told them of vampires - of sharpened canines and eyes of snakes, voices like honey and appearances given by the gods themselves. All he received in turn was mockery; turned shoulders and whispers behind his back.
Crazy, they called him. Paranoid, if they were being kinder.
"Y'know Avid, you remind me of someone I once knew."
The chains were so heavy. Wrapped around his wrists and ankles, shackling him down. None around his neck, however - no, his neck was cleared of all cloth, metal, and debris. A blank canvas for ruby red eyes to devour.
If Avid squinted, he could almost see the cyan that had once been Scott's hair color among the newly donned snow white. The color of innocence, of purity, marred by red eyes that studied Avid like he was a meal.
"Her name was Cassandra."
There was a tug on the chains, drawing Avid closer. Scott was at the head of the table, one leg crossed over the other. In his left hand were the golden chains that bound Avid to him, slowly winding them around his hand over and over.
Avid couldn't fight back. He had fought for so long.
"She was a prophet - though few actually believed her to be so."
Avid was standing right before Scott. Even as the vampire was sitting so casually in his seat, Avid was barely taller than him. He felt small regardless - a prize that Scott had won.
Oakhurst was burning in the distance somewhere. Avid could almost taste the smoke on his tongue.
"She prophesied the fall of Troy. And no matter how she cried that the city was doomed, that it would fall… none believed her. Such a tragic fate, don't you think?"
Scott held out his free hand. Expectant. As was his duty, Avid placed one of his own into it - allowed Scott to turn his wrist to the ceiling, to expose where two tender bite marks still lingered. Not enough to kill, certainly not enough to turn - but enough for a snack.
"You foresaw the downfall of Oakhurst. And you were right every time you guessed a vampire."
Scott's fingers traced over veins and arteries in Avid's arm. Gentle, almost reverent. It sent a shiver down Avid's spine at the sensation.
"So tell me, prophet - does it feel good to have been right?"
Avid said nothing. No one had listened to what he had said before.
Because no… no, it didn't feel good to be right. Avid hated that he was right, and hated that no one had listened to him in the first place. Why hadn't they just listened to him?
But in the same breath, Avid had been vindicated. Even as the town was torn apart, Avid had laughed with a manic glee because he had been right. The entire time! Avid! Had! Been! Right!
Avid just wished people had listened to him sooner.
Scott grinned, his fangs reflecting the light of the few candles allowed in this banquet hall, and bit deep into Avid's wrist. Avid didn't flinch - didn't want to give Scott the satisfaction.
Cassandra of Troy had not burned with her home. No, Troy had burned as Cassandra was carted away as a trophy. Her death came later, at the hands of Agamemnon's spurned lover. She had tried to warn him, tried to stop it - but no one had listened to her.
Avid would not burn with Oakhurst. As Scott indulged in Avid's blood, drinking his fill from his prize's wrist, Avid's eyes lifted to meet Owen's across the room. There was a look, in brown turned crimson, that set in Avid's soul the knowledge that Owen would be his demise. Owen would let nothing leave Oakhurst, living or dead.
Unlike Cassandra, however, Avid kept his voice to himself. He would give Scott no indication of what was coming until it was far too late.
It's not like anyone would listen to him, anyways.