A Stolen Kiss in Ancient Rome
The moonlight cast long shadows across the marble columns of the Roman villa. Lucien stood motionless in the garden, his pale skin glowing like polished ivory. His dark eyes watched the young woman dancing at the feast inside.
Amara moved like flowing water, her red dress swirling as she spun. Her long dark hair caught the light from dozens of oil lamps. When she laughed, the sound made Lucien's cold heart skip.
"You should not stare so openly at the senator's daughter," a voice warned. Marcus, Lucien's oldest friend, appeared beside him. "They say you are different. Strange. The other nobles whisper about you."
Lucien smiled, showing just a hint of his sharp teeth. "Let them whisper. I cannot look away from her."
The feast spilled out into the garden. Drunk party-goers stumbled past carrying wine cups. The sweet smell of roses mixed with incense. Through it all, Lucien tracked Amara's movements.
She noticed him watching. Their eyes met across the crowd. A blush colored her cheeks as she quickly looked away.
"Be careful, old friend," Marcus said. "Your kind cannot love mortals. It only leads to pain."
But Lucien was already moving through the crowd toward her. He could not help himself. Something about her called to him, like a song he had known long ago.
Amara stood alone now by a marble fountain. Water trickled musically behind her. She tensed as Lucien approached, but did not run.
"My lady," he said softly. "May I have this dance?"
She hesitated. "My father says I should stay away from you. That there are... rumors."
"And what do you say?"
Her dark eyes studied his face. "I say that rumors are often wrong. And that I would very much like to dance."
Lucien took her hand. Her skin was warm against his cool touch. As they began to move together, the rest of the party seemed to fade away.
"Your hands are cold," Amara whispered.
"The night air," Lucien lied smoothly.
They danced until the moon rose high. When they finally stopped, they were alone in a quiet corner of the garden.
"I feel as if I know you," Amara said. "How is that possible when we've only just met?"
Instead of answering, Lucien bent down and kissed her. Her lips were soft and sweet. For one perfect moment, his eternal life felt new again.
A shout broke them apart. "Amara! Where are you, daughter?"
She pulled back, eyes wide. "My father! I must go." She touched Lucien's cheek gently. "Will I see you again?"
"Nothing could keep me away," he promised.
As she hurried back to the party, Marcus emerged from the shadows. "Now you've done it. There can be no good end to this."
"Perhaps," Lucien said. "But for the first time in centuries, I feel truly alive."
The night wind carried the scent of roses and destiny. Lucien knew loving her would bring danger. But his heart was no longer his to command. Whatever came next, their fates were now entangled forever.The Colors of Florence
The sun dipped behind Florence's red-tiled roofs. Lucien walked through streets filled with art and life. It had been over a thousand years since Rome, but he still searched for Amara in every face.
Paint-stained workers rushed past. The air smelled of fresh oils and marble dust. Art was everywhere in this golden age they called the Renaissance.
That's when he saw her.
She stood in front of the Medici palace, sketching. Her dark hair was tied back with a red ribbon. Though she wore different clothes, her soul shone through just as it had in Rome.
"Beatrice!" a sharp voice called. "Stop dawdling with your drawings."
She jumped, nearly dropping her papers. "Yes, Mother! Coming!"
Lucien's heart leaped. Beatrice. In this life, that was her name. But behind those familiar dark eyes lived Amara's spirit.
"Your art is beautiful," he said, stepping closer.
She spun around, startled. "Oh! I... thank you, sir." A blush colored her cheeks - just like before.
"I'm Lucien. I'm a patron of the arts." He gestured to her sketches. "May I?"
Beatrice handed him the papers shyly. His cold fingers brushed hers. The touch sent sparks through them both.
Her drawings showed the city's grand buildings, but with magical twists - dragons curled around bell towers, angels perched on domes.
"You see the world differently," Lucien said softly. "Special. Magical."
"Most people think I'm strange." She took back her sketches. "Mother says I should focus on finding a husband instead of drawing fantasies."
"Never stop drawing what your heart sees."
She smiled. "Do I know you? Something about you feels... familiar."
Before he could answer, a servant appeared. "Lady Beatrice! Your mother insists you come now."
"Tomorrow," Lucien said quickly. "I'll be in the plaza at sunset. Show me more of your art?"
She nodded and hurried away. Lucien watched her go, joy mixing with worry in his heart.
"Playing with fire again, old friend?" Marcus materialized beside him.
"She's back, Marcus. After all these years."
"And you'll what - court her until she discovers what you are? Watch her grow old while you stay frozen? Break both your hearts again?"
Lucien shook his head. "I can't stay away. Her soul calls to mine across time itself."
The next evening, Beatrice brought more drawings. They walked through Florence's bustling streets, talking of art and dreams.
"Tell me about your family," Lucien said.
"Father's a merchant. Mother wants me to marry rich." She sighed. "But I dream of painting in the master workshops. Creating beauty that lasts forever."
Forever. The word echoed in Lucien's mind.
Days turned to weeks. They met in hidden gardens, shared secret smiles across crowded squares. Beatrice's art grew bolder, filled with mysterious figures in shadows.
"I keep drawing this man," she told Lucien one evening. "He looks like you, but in ancient clothes. Standing in a Roman garden." She showed him the sketch. "Isn't that strange?"
Lucien stared at the drawing - himself, exactly as he'd looked the night he first met Amara. "Perhaps it's a memory from a past life," he said carefully.
She laughed. "Now who's talking fantasies?"
But later that night, she had a dream. A dream of dancing in a villa, of cool lips kissing hers beside a fountain. When she woke, the name "Amara" echoed in her mind.
At their next meeting, she studied Lucien's face. "Who are you, really? What is this connection I feel?"
He took her hand. "What if I told you some loves are strong enough to cross centuries?"
Thunder rolled overhead. Rain began to fall, but neither moved to seek shelter. Standing in the wet square, surrounded by the glory of Renaissance Florence, two souls found each other once again across the vast ocean of time.Storm Over Paris
Smoke filled the Paris streets. Angry voices echoed off stone walls. The year was 1789, and revolution was in the air.
Lucien watched from the shadows as a young woman in a plain dress hurried past. Her dark hair was hidden under a cap, but he would know that spirit anywhere. In this life, she was called Marie.
"Citizen! Your papers!" A guard stepped into her path.
Marie's hands shook as she searched her pockets. "I... I must have left them..."
Lucien moved quickly. "She's with me," he said, showing forged documents. "My servant."
The guard squinted at the papers, then waved them through. Marie shot Lucien a curious look as they walked away.
"Thank you, monsieur. But I'm no one's servant."
"Of course not." He smiled. "I'm Lucien. And you are?"
"Marie Dupont. I work at the bakery on Rue Saint-Jacques." She studied his fine clothes. "You should be careful. The people don't look kindly on aristocrats these days."
"I'm not what I seem."
"None of us are anymore." She adjusted her cap. "These are dangerous times."
A crowd gathered ahead, shouting about bread prices. Marie started to edge away.
"Wait," Lucien said. "Let me walk you home. It's not safe."
"Nothing is safe now." But she let him accompany her.
The small bakery where she lived smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon. While she worked, Lucien visited daily, watching her knead dough with strong hands that had once held artist's brushes in Florence.
"You're different," she told him one evening. "The way you talk about the past... it's like you lived it."
"Perhaps I did." He helped her clean flour from the tables. "Do you believe in past lives, Marie?"
She paused. "I have these dreams sometimes. Of places I've never been. Rome... Florence... A man with eyes like yours."
Before Lucien could respond, shouts erupted outside. The street filled with torch-carrying citizens.
"They're raiding the wealthy homes!" Marie pulled him into the storage room. "Hide here."
In the dark, their faces inches apart, memories stirred in her mind. "I know you," she whispered. "Somehow, I've always known you."
"Yes," he breathed. "Through all the centuries, through every life."
The mob passed, but danger remained everywhere. While Paris burned and kings fell, Lucien and Marie found moments together in the quiet dawn hours.
She began to remember more. Dreams of marble columns, paint-stained fingers, lives lived and lost. But with remembrance came fear.
"What are you?" she asked one night. "Why don't you age? Why do I feel like I've loved you forever?"
"Because you have." He touched her cheek. "Your soul keeps finding mine across time."
A pounding at the door interrupted them. "Citizen Dupont! You're suspected of harboring aristocrats!"
Marie's eyes widened in panic. "You must go! They'll kill you!"
"Come with me," Lucien pleaded. "We can leave France tonight."
She kissed him fiercely. "Not yet. My family needs me here. But find me again, my love. In another time, another life."
The door splintered. Lucien vanished into shadow as soldiers burst in. They found only a simple baker, no trace of the immortal who loved her.
Months later, Marcus found Lucien watching Paris burn.
"She chose to stay," Lucien said quietly. "To face whatever comes."
"Her courage remains constant in every life." Marcus clasped his shoulder. "As does your love."
"I'll wait," Lucien vowed. "A decade, a century - however long it takes for her soul to return."
Below them, the city that had seen a thousand years of love stories continued its violent transformation. But some bonds, Lucien knew, were stronger than revolution, stronger than time itself.Shadows of London
Fog rolled thick through London's cobblestone streets. Gas lamps cast eerie shadows as ladies in bustled dresses hurried past. The year was 1888, and darkness lurked in every corner.
Lucien adjusted his top hat, watching the crowds outside the Royal Opera House. Then he saw her - Elizabeth Watson, her red hair gleaming under the lamplight. His heart, though long silent, seemed to leap.
"Miss Watson!" called a plump woman. "A lady doesn't dawdle!"
"Coming, Mrs. Higgins." Elizabeth gathered her skirts, but her eyes met Lucien's. Recognition flickered there, then confusion.
Later that week, they met properly at a society ball. "Mr. Blake," she curtsied. "I feel as though we've met before."
"Perhaps in dreams?" He bowed. "May I have this dance?"
As they waltzed, she whispered, "I do dream of you. In strange places - ancient rooms with marble floors, sunlit studios filled with art, a warm bakery..."
"Tell me more about these dreams." His hand tightened on her waist.
"They feel so real. But that's impossible, isn't it?" She looked up at him. "And you - you haven't aged since I first saw you five years ago."
The music stopped. Mrs. Higgins appeared, frowning. "Elizabeth, your father wishes to speak with you."
"Meet me tomorrow," Elizabeth whispered. "Hyde Park, noon."
"Some bonds are stronger than time itself - they echo through centuries, calling souls back together again and again." 💫
The park was bright with autumn colors. Elizabeth sat on a bench, reading poetry.
"Tennyson?" Lucien asked, joining her.
"How did you know?" She smiled. "Do you enjoy poetry?"
"I was there when much of it was written." He touched her hand. "Elizabeth, what if I told you your dreams are memories?"
She didn't pull away. "I'd say that's impossible. Yet..." Her fingers traced his cold skin. "You're not like other men."
"No. I'm not."
A shadow fell over them. A tall man in black stood watching.
"Marcus." Lucien nodded to his old friend.
"The Council is concerned, brother." Marcus's voice was low. "These meetings are becoming noticed."
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Council? Brother?"
"There are many things you need to know," Lucien said. "About who you were. Who you are."
Over the next weeks, they met secretly. Lucien told her...
[Content restricted to members only]