"The Conquest of One’s Self" (Byron)

[Maalik]

Maalik's un-life had taken more than a few turns over the years. The past few nights, however, had probably been the most eventful in centuries and it seemed, quite excitingly for the Nosferatu, that this was just the beginning. His letter, delicately penned with quill and ink, had reached the Prince and he had met with the delightful Arabella soon afterwards. Sure enough, he had been summoned for a more direct meeting not long after the encounter. His thoughts were not solely on the Camarilla, however. A significant portion of them dwelled upon the extraordinary human child, Cereza. How strange it had been, to meet one so young yet so formidable, despite her lack of sight. Furthermore, the fact that she had sensed his presence was nothing short of astounding...

The day passed slowly and, as was often the case, the Nosferatu had struggled to sleep. He eventually abandoned the idea, instead focusing on making sure the Malkavians were as comfortable as their fractured minds would allow. When he knew the sun was about to set, his steady, softly uttered prayers echoed off the cold stone walls of the Labyrinth as he walked back to his personal library. Clawed fingers gently plucked a shallow wooden box from its resting place on a shelf. Drawing the air into his lungs (a novel experience for one that technically doesn't breathe), Maalik blew the dust from the lid and allowed himself a smile, hoping the Prince would appreciate the gift that lay inside. The smile quickly faded as he opened the box, the torchlight reflected in his gaze echoing the turbulent emotions that burned within.

"When a thing disturbs the peace of your heart..." he whispered, echoing the words of the Prophet (ﷺ), "Give it up..."

Closing the box once more and placing it on one of the many tables, often buried in books and scrolls, that stood in the library, the old Kindred crossed to his prayer mat. With the sun having just set, it was time for one of the five daily prayers uttered by Muslims to their God. Although he knew it would take time to get to his destination, just as he knew the one he was to meet would not take kindly to waiting, prayer was never something to be rushed.

Some time later, the Nosferatu emerged from the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the city, feeling the wind caress the cold skin of his face as he exited the crypt housing one of the many hidden. Miraculously, he was early, so took the time to wander between the elegantly carved crypts and headstones, wondering, as he often did, who these mortals might have been during their brief existences.