Episode 5 – The Same Blood

LILYPIE: NIGHT IN THE CITY

Episode 5 – The Same Blood

I woke up to the smell of blood.

Not the scent of dried blood like the night before — this was fresh, warm, and thick in the air.

My eyes flew wide open. Henry was no longer sitting in his chair. The living room was a mess: tables overturned, glass shattered, deep scratch marks raked across the walls. The bodies of the three hunters still lay where they had fallen, but now there was a fourth one as well.

A young man, dressed in torn black clothes, his throat ripped open, blood spilling out across the wooden floorboards.

And Henry… Henry was hunched over the corpse.

His face was stained crimson, his fangs fully extended and bared. He devoured like someone starved for an entire decade, wild and unrestrained.

I tried to scream, yet no sound would leave my throat.

“Henry?” I breathed out in a whisper.

He jolted sharply and spun around in an instant. His burning red eyes locked straight onto me.

For two whole seconds, I was looking at something that was no longer Henry — something wild, ravenous, and completely unrecognisable, with no trace of knowing who I was.

Then he stumbled three large steps backward. He roughly wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, his breathing heavy and ragged, just like a trapped beast fighting against its instincts.

“Don’t look at me,” he rasped, his voice rough and guttural.

I ignored his warning and walked closer. My knees felt weak and shaky, yet I forced myself to keep moving toward him.

“Did you… did you drink his blood?”

“He died while fighting me,” Henry answered quickly, the words rushing out. “I didn’t choose this. My body did — it acted on its own.”

I stopped right in front of him. The smell of iron mixed with the faint lingering scent of tobacco was overwhelming and sharp.

“Are you… okay?”

He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Okay? Lilypie, I was seconds away from lunging straight at you. If you had woken up even ten seconds later, I would have attacked you.”

I swallowed hard, fear prickling under my skin, but I refused to step back.

“That very first night you carried me through the sky, you were hungry too, weren’t you? But you never bit me, or even tried to hurt me.”

“That was before,” he replied, gesturing toward the body on the floor. “Before I tasted this blood. The blood of hunters — it smells different. It’s sweet, rich, and intoxicating. It clouds my mind and makes me lose all control and reason.”

The blue flames in the fireplace flickered and dimmed, and the soft golden glow that usually lingered in the corners of the room grew faint, almost vanishing entirely.

My gaze fell upon his trembling hands — the same hands that yesterday taught me how to hold a knife properly, the same hands that just this morning placed warm toast in front of me.

“If it is this difficult for you to hold back, why haven’t you run far away from me and stayed away?” I asked softly.

Henry closed his eyes, weariness written all over his face. “Because for the last two hundred years, all I did was run. I ran from this hunger, I ran from what I have become, and I ran from anyone or anything that could ever make me feel human again.”

My chest felt heavy and tight, my heart aching for the loneliness he had carried for so long.

“You are not alone, Henry,” I said — repeating the very words I had whispered in my heart the night he took me flying high above the city.

He opened his eyes, and this time, the intense red hue had softened, becoming less fierce and dangerous.

“You are foolish to trust me this much.”

“Maybe I am,” I offered him a small, gentle smile. “But you are just as foolish for keeping me here and protecting me, despite knowing the risk.”

Silence settled between us, heavy yet comforting.

Then Henry did something unexpected. He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall, moving as far away from the dead body as possible, looking almost like a child sent to stand in the corner as punishment.

“Pick up the knife,” he said quietly. “If I lose control again and start turning wild, stab me. Do not hesitate or wait, just do it.”

I reached for the knife lying nearby. It felt cold and heavy in my grasp, the weight of it feeling much greater than before.

“Do you truly believe I have the strength and courage to do that?”

“You cleaned my wounds and wiped my blood without an ounce of fear,” he answered calmly. “That takes far more bravery and strength than driving a blade into flesh ever could.”

I sat down on the floor too, keeping a safe distance of about two metres between us — far enough to be safe, yet close enough to speak freely.

We did not sleep that night. Instead, we shared stories until the sky began to brighten.

He told me about a woman he met two centuries ago, named Aisyah. She was an ordinary human who found him wounded and lost deep in the forest, shortly after he had first turned into a vampire. She was the one who patiently taught him to speak his mother tongue again. She was the one who held his hand every time he felt as though he was fading away, losing himself to his darker nature.

“She was murdered,” Henry said, his voice empty and void of emotion, as if he was speaking about something far removed from himself. “She died protecting me. Ever since that day, I swore never to let anyone get close to me again.”

I listened carefully, never interrupting, letting every word sink in.

When he finished, I shared my own story in return. I spoke of my father’s death when I was twelve years old, leaving us behind in hardship. I told him about working two jobs at once, just so my mother could finally quit working as a cleaner and rest. I confessed that even now, I was still afraid of the dark, yet I feared even more the feeling of being useless, weak, and helpless.

Henry listened in silence, no laughter, no mockery, no unnecessary comments — simply listening.

As dawn broke and the first light appeared, the warm golden glow inside the house slowly returned, growing brighter, softer, and more comforting once again.

Henry looked at me, his gaze lingering and searching, as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle written across my face.

“You know what is the strangest thing of all?”

“What is it?” I asked curiously.

“The blood of those hunters… the scent is exactly the same as yours.”

My breath hitched, and I fell completely still, stunned by his words.

“What do you mean?”

Henry shook his head slowly, confusion visible in his eyes. “I do not know the reason behind it yet. But tomorrow night, we must go back to Kuala Lumpur. There is something there, something hidden, that I feel you need to know — something connected to this mystery.”

I nodded slowly. Fear twisted in my stomach, yet there was another feeling rising too — curiosity, determination, and a strange sense of belonging.

It felt as though all the scattered pieces of the puzzle that made up my life were finally beginning to fit together, one by one, revealing a bigger picture I never knew existed.

That night, for the first time, sleep did not come because I was afraid or exhausted.

I slept because I was waiting for the coming night.

Waiting to uncover the truth.

Waiting to find out what connection my blood truly shared with the world of vampires.

[To be continued]

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