The darkness was damp and earthy, pressing in on all sides. That's because you're under a fuck-ton of damp earth, said that familiar voice in the back of his mind. Once upon a time, in his old life, he had been claustrophobic. It flashed back at him, from time to time. Manon shrugged it off and continued his crawl through the narrow tunnels leading to his lair, quieting the pestering voices in his head. A vampire acquired a few of those over the course of the centuries.
The gangly Nosferatu deftly manipulated the carefully concealed triggers guarding his lair entrance. Wouldn't do to light ourselves on fire, chuckled his inner demon. Having listened to him for decades, for centuries, the voice had acquired a personality of its own. Manon had almost come to think of it as a companion. He slipped through a small hole in the floor, into what seemed like a collapsed tunnel. To one side was a heavy steel slab. Manon lifted a camouflaged lid off a small keypad. 7705. The steel slab rolled silently to the side. Manon climbed down a narrow steel ladder, and the slab rolled back into place. He reached the floor, finally able to stretch to his full height.
The room was large, lit with bright ceiling lamps set with sunlight-imitating bulbs. Reinforced steel walls were hidden by carefully tended vines and climbing plants, and a number of small trees that spread their canopies up along the high ceiling. Multiple computer screens, some serious computer hardware, and surveillance equipment, rested on a wide wooden table that ran along the entire left side of the room. On the other side was a comfortable-looking futon, a living chair and a glass door leading into an enclosed shower. The center of the room, however, held Manon's attention. Under bright LED lights sat several white-washed wooden trays, filled with herbs and flowers. The chrysanthemums, in particular, were vibrant today.
Stretching his long, clawed hands out towards the blossoms, the vampire began to trim deadheads and shoots from his garden. He glanced to the monitors from time to time, but he did not expect any trouble this evening. He had spent too much time away from home, lately, and it was time to catch up. His flowers were neither immutable nor immortal, after all.
