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Philippe sits hunched over his desk, his daughter, Sophie, annoying him with questions about the wine cellar and why it is forbidden. She knows why, she'd seen for herself one month ago when she was prowling around the forbidden territory. He changes the subject of conversation, decididing to scrutinize his daughter's clothes instead.

"Father, I just don't understand why-"

"Enough with your incessant nagging," he says," why must you dress like a common street urchan? Your ripped jeans and tight shirts, it is so tasteless." He truly hates how his daughter so willingly embraces the modern world's customs, everything from rock bands, to strange clothing, to sugary and colorful breakfast cereal.

"Father," Sophie says, "I have to dress this way. It's not the eighteen hundreds and I can't dress like it is, it will attract unnecessary attention. To blend in I must dress like all the other people my age." Sophie appears to be anywhere from her late teens to early twenties in age, in reality she is much older than her youthful demeanor and vibrant skin would suggest.

"Despite what you say, I still can not help but disapprove of your choice in wardrobe."

"I suppose we should dress like it's eighteen-fifty-nine." Amelia, a close friend of Sophie's, enters the mammoth library where Sophie and Philippe are conversing. "That's the answer, isn't Philippe? Stop time, live in a warp, become a miserable recluse like you and keep our noses buried in books from the nineteenth century? You make us live as eternal adolescents yet attempt to persuade us to cease living a life. If only I could go back in time and keep myself from ever meeting you. This life of mine,you think it's fun to pretend to be no older than nineteen for these many decades? I have been a child for far too long."

"Wrinkles and aging and coffins buried beneath the earth are better?" He questions furiously, he stands and walks over to Amelia. "The night I met you is the night I gave you a gift more than mere life, I gave you immortality."

"The night I met you is the night I died." Amelia states.

"Why do you say such things?" He booms, his voice bouncing off the cavernous walls. He steps closer to Amelia and embraces her so tightly that the air rushes from her chest. He gently strokes her hair and calmly whispers, "I should rip those fangs from your mouth, you foolish girl." She wrenches herself from his icy arms and snares, exposing her fangs in spite of herself. "Yes, yes, show them! Let me see your pride, my dear!" Philippe

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