Carmilla and Laura

by S.D. Simper

“I try to be accommodating to my friends,” I replied, unable to settle the welling pit of something inside my stomach at her gaze, a sensation I could not find the word to name. “Goodnight, dear friend.” Carmilla squeezed my hand and left me with a kiss upon my jaw. I wanted to follow; I wanted to run.

“In lieu of a suitor, I shall love you instead,” she said, and I heard amusement on her tongue. She kissed me at the side of my lips; oh, how the gesture confused me. “How can you say you love me? We are of no relation, sweet Carmilla, and we have only met a day ago.” “My darling, you speak such silly things—we met thirteen years ago, and my affection for you has only grown.”

I might’ve stumbled back for shock, but Carmilla held me gently enthralled. “You are perfect, my darling. You’re perfect, and you are mine. I could never think less of you.” She thought the world of me, and I felt like a wolf romancing a lamb. “You hardly know me.” “I told you—we met thirteen years ago. That nearly makes me your oldest friend.” Carmilla’s blush blossomed in tandem with the light fading from the window. Drenched in darkness, she whispered, “Not a silly country girl—a princess in a tower.”

I knew not what I faced, only that she bore the visage of the woman I loved.

Though her fangs still protruded, I saw no menace; only teeth too large for her mouth, an abused animal prepared to fight.

If she were a monster out to ruin me, would she not have done it long ago?

“Thank you for trusting me.” “You did not reject me when you saw me as a monster.” Still, I saw relief in Carmilla’s breathless expression. “And for that, I would give you anything.”

Carmilla did not believe in God, but she believed in me.