When I was growing up, kissing was a game that we started to play when we found tag to be too childlike. It was a persion, an amusement, and caused our hearts to race at an otherwise boring picnic. I'd shared kisses with Clementine Haverford, Amelia Hawke, Rosalyn Cartwright, and all my other childhood playmates. Kissing was pleasant, but never life-changing.

But then, I kissed Katherine Pierce, and nothing was ever the same. It was as if those other kisses were mere shadows of the ecstasy I felt when Katherine's lips were near mine. When I was surrounded by her heady scent of lemon and ginger, I was guided purely by instinct. I would do anything for a kiss.

And, of course, it was that unquenchable desire that had changed my entire life. Katherine was like Helen of Troy, launching an eternity of destruction. And yet, I knew that if I ever did find myself close to death, I would close my eyes and imagine Katherine's lips brushing mine.

Violet wanted something I couldn't give her. She wanted love, and all I had was my affection. But maybe that was better than desire. Desire, after all, was the very thing that killed me.

In autumn, thick rain clouds often hung low in the Ivinghoe sky, casting the entire farm in a gloomy, dusklike fog no matter what the time of day.

Today was no exception. The beautiful morning had given way to an evening heavy with the promise of rain and in the semidarkness of my cabin, I was watching Violet grow weaker and weaker. Here, it was just us and Death, a powerful third party in my vigil over Violet.

"Please, Stefan!" Violet said, thrashing from side to side as she woke. I hastily dipped a compress in water and held it against her forehead. My knees were stiff, and I knew I must have been sitting in the same position for hours, but I didn't want to leave her side for even an instant. I couldn't tel whether her screams were the result of a fever dream or a sign that she was returning to a hazy half-consciousness.

Violet's eyes, when they opened, were cloudy as unshaken milk. She squinted, trying to focus on me.

"Stefan, please! Please just kil me. End it now," she gasped, her breathing sounding like a rusty saw cutting against metal. Whitish froth had col ected at the corners of her mouth and her arms were covered with scratches from when she'd clawed at her skin in her sleep, as if wanting to escape her own body. I'd stopped her as best I could, but she stil looked like she'd run through a bramble patch. Now, she no longer had energy to thrash, and al she could focus on was blinking and breathing.

I shook my head dul y. I wished I could do what she asked of me - to end her agony and bring her peace. But no matter how much she begged, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd promised to myself over and over again that I'd never kil another human. It was selfish, perhaps, but al I could do was try to make her comfortable in her last moments.

"Please!" she cried, her voice a half-shriek. An owl hooted in the distance. Nighttime was when the creatures of the forest came out. I could smel their blood and hear their heartbeats. And while Violet couldn't hear them as profoundly as I did, I knew she could sense their presence as wel .

"Soon you'l be somewhere better," I said, hoping upon hope that I was tel ing her the truth. "Soon you'l be at peace. And it wil be better than here or London - better than Ireland, even. It wil be better than anywhere you or I could imagine."

"Stefan, it hurts," Violet said, thrashing against the bed frame and throwing the bedclothes on the floor. She opened her eyes again.

"Shhh - " I said, reaching toward her arm. But she yanked away from me, swung her feet down, and raced toward the door, a tangle of bedclothes mopping the floor behind her.

"Violet!" I sprang up, my chair fal ing behind me with a clatter. Quickly, Violet loosened the latch and fled into the night. The door slammed shut.

I immediately ran after her. I looked this way and that, my senses quickly acclimating to the outdoors. The air was pitch black, and the trees surrounding the cottage, usual y so cozy, made me realize she could be anywhere.

I sniffed the air, suddenly sharp with the smel of blood, and raced toward the source.

"Violet!" I cal ed into the night, aware and not caring that the Abbotts could hear me. I needed to find her. I hopped over the wire fence of the chicken coop.

There, kneeling, her dress, face, and hands spattered with blood, was Violet. A dead chicken was in her lap, its neck snapped, blood oozing from a gash on its throat. Blood was running down Violet's face, and her teeth, stil normal, gleamed in the moonlight.

Suddenly, she leaned over and began to retch. Her entire body was soaked in sweat, and I couldn't tel if she was dying or reviving.

"I'm so sorry!" she said, her face stained with tears. "I didn't mean to do it." Violet's guilt was one I knew al too wel . Wordlessly, I took her by the hand, pul ed her up, and led her back to the cabin. I closed the door and turned toward her. Her body was perched on the edge of the bed, bloodstains in her hair and on the bodice of her dress, her expression miserable.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked in a tiny voice.

I shook my head silently and helped her lie down, tucking her under the crisp white linen sheets and opening the window, hoping that the fal air could provide some solace.

"I was so hungry," she said in a smal voice. "I stil am."

"I know," I said. The chicken blood wouldn't do anything. To turn, a vampire needed human blood. "I know it's hard. And I know you're suffering," I said helplessly. She nodded, a drop of chicken blood stil lingering on the corner of her mouth. "But remember, you're going someplace better. I truly believe that. And I know it wil be painful, but after pain comes peace."

I suppose I also hoped that for my sake as wel . After al , I had created this. My mind kept playing the same tug-of-war over and over again. The logical part of my brain told me that this could have happened whether or not I'd been involved. After al , if Violet and I had never met, she might have been kicked out to the street. She could have been found by anyone.

Or she might be on the brink of a long, happy life.

"Stefan, I . . ." Violet said, breathing heavily with every word.

"It's al right. Go and find peace," I said. It was the good-bye I'd never given Cal ie. Now, I knew that the best thing I could do was let Violet know it was okay to go.

"But . . . I . . ." Violet said, her breath laboring with each word. I leaned in closer to hear, my ear just inches away from her mouth, when al of a sudden, I heard a terrible, otherworldly shriek piercing the night air.

But it wasn't Violet. It was coming from the Manor.

I tore my gaze away from Violet and rushed up to the house, fearing the worst.