This is my response to the Conversion Day Challenge. Yes, I know it's a week late but my hard drive crashed on the 23rd and I was forced to celebrate Conversion day all by my lonesome. Six days to get a new drive, one day to retype the story, one day for Beta reading...Surely even Uncle understands such a delay. Thank you to TBTB for letting me borrow the characters and some wonderful dialogue. Thank you Jules for the Beta on short notice. Of course, since the HP was the one who suggested I write in honor of C-day in the first place... Permission granted to archive at Mel's fkfanfic and the FTP site. Voices From The Past by Jill K. Bejarano August 1998 The light of a single candle danced across the unread pages of the open book upon his lap. LaCroix shifted position slightly and rested his chin upon his steepled fingertips as he gazed at the flickering images on the screen before him. ''Such irony,'' he mused. Despite mankind's preoccupation with history, no one ever manages to learn the lessons. Thanks to the modern God of Technology, satellites beam images to television sets around the world. Mortals everywhere sit enthralled at the throne of the Documentary. They parrot conflicting theories over business lunches and dinner tables. ''Fools,'' he thought. ''Disease, epidemic, famine, starvation, war, catastrophic loss of life...Words and concepts tossed around by naive innocents who will never truly understand their meanings.'' ''One thousand nine hundred nineteen years ago today, on August 24, 79 AD, Mount Vesuvius erupted, burying the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii under tons of lava and ash...'' The narrator calmly continued, but LaCroix was no longer listening... He'd been laughing at Divia. ''I will live forever','' she had said. His head was pounding and his beloved daughter was spouting nonsense. He ceased laughing abruptly and swung his feet to the ground as all hell broke loose. Lucius could barely stand as the earth rocked beneath his feet. ''General, General...Come Quickly. The mountain...Vesuvius is on fire!'' Fool! As if he, Lucius, was capable of stopping the destruction. Divia was still rambling as he strode across the room towards the Proconsul. ''Do you want to live or die?'' she asked. ''You have only moments to decide.'' He whirled to face her, shouting '' The Gods cannot destroy me. They don't have the power. I am the greatest general in the Empire! Nobody has power more than me!'' The Proconsul grabbed his arm crying ''Lucius, a moment longer we will be buried alive.'' He shrugged him off and the Proconsul fled. Lucius raised his eyes to heaven and began to rant ''Come on! Come on! I've defeated enemies more powerful than you!!!'' At that moment, as if to prove how wrong he was, the supporting pillars gave way and several large blocks of stone went crashing to the floor. A feeling of hopelessness began to overtake him as the bust he had so proudly unveiled the night before toppled to the ground. Dust was thick in the air as he fell to his knees reaching for his broken likeness. he thought. he raged silently. Divia moved to stand behind him. She was still blathering on about life. Did she not realize that they were both going to die...here...now? ''Let go your mortal bonds, General. We must survive at any cost. Life can cheat death. It will always find a way. Live or die. What is your decision?'' As if she need ask! As if it mattered! His mouth twisted as he sneered...''To Live Divia. To live.'' LaCroix shook off the memory of Divia's fangs piercing his throat and once again focused on the screen. A bunch of mortal fools digging around in the dirt with paint brushes. Enough! He reached for the remote and silenced the less than accurate commentary being delivered by an exceedingly dusty archeologist. Lucien pushed another button and the sounds of Vivaldi's Four Seasons filled the air. The strains of music faded into the background as his memories once again claimed him... ''Where has she gone? Slipped away like a child in a fairground. Lost in the crowd. Does she wander through the noise searching for the hand that guides? Does she embrace the heavenly alchemy, breathing fresh liberty like the spring flower that brings summer? But summer soon fades into winter and she is left forsaken to face the chill of winter alone.'' He'd been thinking of Janette when he had given that monologue, remembering her departure from Toronto. ''The thing that you fear the most has happened to me,'' she had said. ''Doubt..in what I am.'' ''What you are, my dear, is a vampire,'' he answered. ''It's quite simple, really.'' ''No, it's not so simple anymore.'' ''Nicholas,'' he breathed. ''I like what I am,'' she continued. ''I don't want to change. I don't want to end up like him...drawn to mortals...to humanity. I need to get away from him. To reaffirm what I am.'' ''I agree,'' he'd said quietly. He'd surprised her...he could tell. He gently caressed her face and hid the pain the thought of her leaving brought him. ''You go.'' He would miss her, his beautiful Janette, daughter of his heart. As she lightly kissed his fingertips he reminded himself that they had eternity. They would be together again. He had endured her absence stoically, reassuring himself with the faint echo of her presence in his mind. He recalled with loathing the instant when the strings of their connection had gone still. LaCroix had shrugged off his sense of foreboding. Janette was fine he told himself. She is immortal. She, unlike Nicholas, understands that a vampire's heart must be cold. That you must live for yourself. She is fine. She will return. Lucien shook himself from his reverie. He placed both the book and the remote upon the table at his side and reached for his glass. Janette had indeed returned. As a mortal. How ironic. Here you have poor Nicholas yearning for his lost mortality, constantly searching for a way back to the light, and Janette manages to stumble upon it by chance. He shook his head. At least Nicholas had not disappointed him in this. He could once again feel a stirring of the bond between them. True, the connection was faint, and he had not seen her since that fateful night, but LaCroix found the idea of Janette no longer being his daughter infinitely preferable to the idea of her being gone forever. The strains of Winter filled the room, dredging up echoes from the past... ''Cold... barren... bleak. Winter is the kindest season...The heart will not melt...Chilled by the cold, we are spared the grief, the sorrow, the messy emotions of life. Winter is solace for the lonely. Its cool touch soothes the tattered heart.'' Lucien sighed,'' It seems that none of my family, myself included, have ever mastered this lesson of keeping a cold heart. We have all given in to our passions and suffered for it.'' He shuddered. Divia. Daughter of his flesh. How he had loved her, and yet, he could not be what she wanted him to be. Divia was gone now, forever this time. He had scattered her ashes to the winds. Lucien placed the empty glass on the table and raised his eyes to the single white rose resting on the mantle. His beloved Fleur was gone, as well. Gone but never forgotten. The CD had stopped playing, but LaCroix did not even notice. He sat surrounded by silence and memories, listening to the voices of the past... ''You are my oldest friend.'' Even now he could not believe he had done it. And yet, his child, this son of his, had been in such pain for so long, how could he not? ''If you need me..." he had said. Well, Nicholas...I need you. Too late, I realize just how much I need you. ''I have been delivered from death to a more permanent Hell. Which do you suppose is worse, Nicholas? To die or to be left in a living hell? A form of life whose only purpose is survival...To exist merely for the sake of existing. Such bitter irony...the mortals sustain us...their art, their laughter, their society, their blood. Our eternal lives aren't worth much without them, are they?'' ''So who is the more powerful in the end? The hunter or the hunted?'' Nicholas had asked. ''I don't know. Perhaps there is a power that's greater than both,'' he had answered. Nicholas certainly believed this was so. ''And the possibility frightens you, doesn't it?'' Nicholas had demanded. Indeed, Nicholas, it certainly does. You and your Natalie had such faith in this being. And I, I let your belief sway me against my own better judgment. And still I ask you Nicholas, What kind of God is it, that can create such perversity, that can make such torture? So here I sit. From the fire and ash of Vesuvius I arose, like the Phoenix, a God, Immortal. One thousand nine hundred nineteen years I have existed in this way. My own words, spoken to goad my errant children, have come back to haunt me, to sharpen my grief. The candle fluttered and was extinguished by a sudden breath of air. He did not notice. I am alone. They are gone. All gone. Divia. My beloved Fleur. Nicholas, and his exasperating Dr. Lambert. Even Janette... LaCroix stiffened as a cool hand caressed the side of his face and came to rest on his shoulder. Janette trailed her hand down his arm as she gracefully lowered herself to the floor beside his chair. She rested her head on his knee as he threaded his fingers through her hair. The faint stirring became a torrent of emotion. No words were needed. Here I sit. From the fire and ash of Vesuvius I arose, like the Phoenix, a God, Immortal. One thousand nine hundred nineteen years I have existed in this way. I am no longer alone. My daughter sits by my side and we have eternity to spend together. fin comments to JBejar1989@aol.com