Oh, what mountains Mayerling would move to make Sharon smile like that, the pure joy that suffuses through her—and through him, he must admit—that makes it feel as though everything that matters will be all right, no matter the trials and tribulations, no matter anything. His heart stretches and beats. Mayerling wraps his arms around Sharon, not wanting to let her go.


"We are both so happy, so similar in emotion, that I know not that we can distinguish your joy from mine," Mayerling admits, amused by that layer of difficulty in determining the veracity of the bond.

Despite that overwhelming happiness, Mayerling can feel yet the bloodlust, the eternal instinct and psychological need for blood. Only because he trusts himself can he hold his arms around her, an embrace that could easily become a vice were he to lose control of himself. Such instincts and urges are not the way Mayerling wishes to test the bond, yet it is a part of him Sharon lacks, something intrinsic, something not even rage and hatred can be mistaken for.

One hand comes up to stroke Sharon's face. His expression is serious. "Search within yourself, within what feelings may originate from me, and see should you find the urge for human blood," Johan says softly. "Even in moments as wondrous as these, it is there." It is always there. A constant.