Why do I come? Is it curiosity, or envy or something else? I think it was curiosity the first time, wanting to know what was so attractive about her. I move to the next window and watch her as she brushes her hair, smooth white arms elegant. I hover as I watch her. She reaches for cream cleanser. Odd how some things do not change over time. The ritual is still the same even if the cosmetics have changed slightly.

She is like me in some ways, except her height shows that she has been well nourished, no shortage of food here. Her hair shines as mine never did and she has never gone hungry or wanted. I envy her that so much. As a mortal I was always afraid. I cannot remember a time when I did not fear. As a vampire I was still afraid. I am young still and the young are vulnerable. I try to be strong but I was not raised to fight.

She finishes with the cleanser and pours a skin tonic onto cotton wool and wipes it over her face to remove the last of the make up. The bone structure is excellent. I have seen her do this before now many times, unable to look away. She begins to smooth on a face-mask. I can smell the lemon scent of the mask as it begins to set on her face in white streaks.

I can see why he wants her, craving her so much that though he comes to me for consolation, it is her face in his mind, her image that comes through his blood. So I sent him away. I will not be used as consolation because he lacks the courage to take action. I have been used in the past but when I came to Toronto I decided that I would stop it, that my body would be mine.

Lacroix helps. He is very kind to me, I do not know why. The rumours are that he is cold and cruel but I have known only an amused tolerance. He finds me attractive, most men do. He thought I was stupid, most men do that too. They don't realize that someone who has no value learns a lot passively, by osmosis almost.

He was surprised that I could talk about books and music. I used to use libraries as a way of getting away from the community, a way to forget what I had become. When they opened late I would go there. I could pass for a student and use the late opening university libraries to study and read. So I learned about Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. I studied calculus and immersed myself in the Bodleian library reading books that are older than I am and teaching myself Greek. I wanted to be something more than a dancer, a sex object for the enjoyment of men. I have been that all my mortal existence and as a vampire I wanted to use my mind. My sire was never that bothered but I made myself learn.

I look through the window again. She has finished peeling off the mask and is wiping away the remains. Her skin is flushed pink and I can smell the sweetness of her blood. No wonder my sire is so intoxicated by her. I am jealous because he never thought of me with the same mixture of desire and respect. He never respected me at all, perhaps I am not the sort of woman people respect. I am a dancer, one step up from a whore. I am a vampire because he did not respect me. If he had respected me he would not have brought me across.

Not that I hold that against him so much now. I hated being immortal to begin with. I had wanted to die, to cease the pain that my life was. For many years I just survived, trying to keep a low profile, coping and nothing more. It was only when the fever came, when my life was truly threatened that I realized how much I wanted to live. It was just after the fever that I went to Lacroix for the first time. In his blood I sensed the same feelings I was having, delight in having survived, sorrow at the deaths and determination to survive. We clung together, savouring the contact and the sharing. It is good to have someone to share with. The fact that he is unbelievably good in bed doesn't hurt. Now I have decided to live rather than exist.

She rubs moisturizing cream into her skin. I am a fool to come here, a fool to watch her. We have nothing in common really, other than a superficial resemblance. Plus the fact that my sire is hopelessly in love with her, and afraid of what would happen if he made a play. What of her feelings? I have watched her for many evenings and know nothing of her feelings towards him or anyone. If she loves him, she does not disclose it. I think she is a little afraid. She always has a stake under her pillow and others in the living room.

I watch as she walks to her bedside, the silk of the expensive negligee billowing around long legs. She picks up a book and I can see the cover. It shows a handsome dark-haired man in a tuxedo and long cloak. There is a woman in his embrace, pale and blonde and on the edge of a faint. Her clothes are Victorian. I smile as I see the blood on his lips and the mark on the woman's throat.

Obviously she is not immune to the lure of the vampire. Most mortals wonder how it would be. I feel a spark of fondness through the jealousy. A part of me wants to like this mortal with her fantasies and vampire erotica. I should go, give up this pointless voyeurism.

I cannot though, for I see in her all that I could have been if I had been born to wealthy, caring parents and given enough food and attention. For all that we are different we have much in common. I can see what draws my dear sire. His religion divides women into ladies and harlots and she and I are two sides of the same coin.

I should leave her now. I should fly away and not come back. It is true folly to return as I do. She is mortal, I am not. I could kill her very easily. The temptation to do so is very strong. If I did then my sire would turn to me for consolation. I could ensure that nobody knew it was my doing. I could have him completely and make him mine as I consoled him. I would be everything, for once he would place me above all others for nobody else could understand it. I feel my fangs descend into my mouth at the idea. I have never come first for anyone. To remove this challenger, this mortal with her romantic fancies and well fed body, would give me power over him. He wouldn't need to know, I could do it and have him for my own.

But would I want him on those conditions? One of the dreary Russian books I read considered that. You are to make society with the objective of making men happy but that to create it you had to torture one thing to death and build the edifice on its unavenged tears. Something like that, it sounded better in the book. The question is whether it is an acceptable deal.

I think I would find the price too high. I could have my sire but would I want him? I think not. I have changed too much. I don't need him or any other man now. I like Lacroix and enjoy the kick of having a community elder. He is a very considerate lover and even quite amusing. I am content but I do not love him because I cannot trust him. I cannot really trust any men, something in me rebels at the idea. Men have done so much damage that it is hard to see them as anything but the enemy, a species to be conquered, kept at arms length and never trusted.

Perhaps we could even become friends, she and I. As I say we do have a lot in common. For a moment I am strongly tempted to go to her and smile. We could talk and perhaps make a friendship.

But what would I say? I laugh softly. There is nothing I could say, nothing we would have in common. I smile. "Hi. I've been watching you, so I thought we should get to know each other." I sigh. That sounds so stupid. Try again. "Hello. I think we should talk."

"Sounds good to me." I spin, almost losing my position as I hear the voice. She has opened the window now and is studying me. I had been so involved in my thoughts that I had not heard her speak. She does not seem surprised to see a vampire hovering outside her window. "You want to come in?"

"Yes," I say eventually. The decision is out of my hands and I slide through the window, into the well decorated flat. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I was just curious." I feel myself wanting to blush but vampire pallor does not allow it.

"You're not the only one." She smiles and extends a hand. "I'm Tracy Vetter."

"Ursula Fontaine," I reply, taking her hand. Hers is mortal-warm and slightly callused, with nails cut functionally short. Mine is paler and smaller, the nails long and painted pale blue. We look at each other awkwardly and try to find something to say.