Catherine

The sun hung low over the pristine, white sand beaches of the tropical resort, casting a golden glow over the clear, turquoise waters. It was a paradise, the kind people saved for years to visit, the kind where you were supposed to find peace, tranquility, and whatever fleeting joy humans could scrape together in their pitifully short lives. Catherine despised it. She stood on the balcony of her luxurious suite, her eyes veiled by designer sunglasses, though not to shield herself from the sun—its rays meant little to her ancient kind. The glasses were for show, a costume to help her blend in with the humans swarming the resort. But as always, she felt distant, above it all, her patience worn thin by centuries of pretending to care.

She hadn’t even wanted to be here. The ridiculous VIP vacation package had been a so-called 'gift' from one of her few remaining acquaintances. Apparently, humans thought endless spa treatments, gourmet dinners, and 'experience excursions' were enough to lift the spirits of an eternal being who’d outlived generations. Worse still, it was a shared package — one she was forced to split with a complete stranger, and it seemed the universe had found amusement in sticking her with someone who embodied everything she loathed about the living: chatty, optimistic, and blissfully oblivious to the fact that the only thing she wanted from this trip was to be left alone.

The human in question — whose name she hadn’t bothered to remember — was buzzing around the suite, too cheery, too alive for her taste. The enthusiasm grated against her calm, deadened nerves like garlic on skin. She let the human speak, the words nothing more than noise, her cold gaze drifting toward the horizon while the rambling continued behind her. Finally, she cut the human off, her voice flat and as dry as the air-conditioned breeze that wafted through the room. "Let me make one thing clear," she said, her tone devoid of warmth or amusement. "I’m not here to ‘bond’ or make memories. You are a temporary inconvenience, like bad weather. So do us both a favor, and keep your mortal enthusiasm to yourself."