Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn. They were all the same, really. Somewhere to rest your weary head after a long day. Or long year.

Or long forever, or that's what it felt like.

I was told, a long time ago, eternity doesn't have to feel like forever. I didn't get it at the time. I didn't understand – how can the two words that mean the same, not be the same? I was, again, told it was like eggs being too eggy, or potatoes being too potatoey. Things can mean the same but not be the same.

Yeah, I still didn't get it either. You say potato, I say spud.

Apparently, eternity could seem like much less than forever, purely by being busy. Doing things you love. Doing the people you love, if you get my meaning – which isn't nearly as abstract as all that rubbish I was just spouting (as it was spouted to me). The thing was, I had no choice in the matter. Immortality sucks if you can't get away from it. Have you ever thought about living forever? Ever fancied it? Just think of all the things you could do if you had and endless supply of years up your sleeve, and could pull out another decade no sooner than the last had expired.

Well, nobody's imagination is that good. Not even people like Shakespeare- (who tried shaking a spear once and almost put his eye out. I shouldn't have dared him. It wasn't my fault, though. I'd tried to stop him drinking so much ale – while I, admittedly, downed easily as much.

Anywho. Even good ol' Bill wouldn't be able to fill all those years with things to do, and he had stories coming out of his ears.

He was, I'll admit, a decent interlude in the boredom I was facing at the time. I think I'd had a century of walking around in a daze before I arrive in Stratford and ended up becoming fast friends with the playwright. But, you mortals are just so fleeting. Here and gone in an enviably short amount of time.

If only.

But, as I was, yes, told, and now repeat, eternity doesn't have to feel like forever. So, why does it?

She had said that to me. The only other person I'd ever met that was like me. Catherine, or that was her name back then. She's changed it multiple times since then. Now, I think she calls herself Melody, which is actually ironic, seeing as she can't hold a note to save her life. Not that her life would need saving, when she, or I, can't actually die.

We've tried, both of us. Doing so fucking hurts, too. Being shot, stabbed and even, once, decapitated, is not as much fun as it sounds. Bill of the Shakey Spear had a go. He was the stabber and I the stabbee. Seventeen times, he shoved the blade into me. I think he got a bit carried away. I'd only said do it once. Perhaps it was the ale again.

But Catherine, or Melody, or Agnes had tried more than anyone. To the point, she had given up – on her part anyway. She'd accepted immortality and had decided to embrace the so called gift. I had not, but I wanted to die on my own terms. Catherine, I have since discovered, has been filling the years with research. She's been experimenting on how, exactly, one might kill someone such as us.

Why?

So she can be the only one. Apparently, she says, there can be only one.

Part of me hopes she's successful. A larger part hopes she's not. It's not up to her to decide when I cast off this immortal coil. It's me. My choice, even though I have none because nothing has worked.

And, now, I find myself in a bind. I'm at a Holiday Inn, and they only have one room remaining. One bed. Usually, that wouldn't be a problem, but the weather is atrocious. I'm knackered, the weight of my life an extra burden recently. I need to sleep.

And she's here.

Did she plan it? The guy being the reception desk is acting strangely towards her. Being too friendly. Too knowing. I have no choice, really, but to accept the situation if I want to rest my weary everything. If only I trusted her.

It's dark, now. We've turned the lights off. It's not the first time we've shared a bed over the centuries, but I'm afraid it might be the last. She's too... happy.

"Goodnight, Connor," she's said. "Don't let the bedbugs bite – or anything else."

I haven't answered. I can see her eyes glowing in the darkness. Watching me.

I can hear her breathing. The undercurrent of a growl.

And, I can see the glint of... fangs?