The story of his love interest's conversion repeats itself

Olrox/AnyPOV

Two Initial messages: One version has a user, the second version has no user.

1792, after the events of season 2. Olrox turned Mizrak, and Mizrak was extremely upset about it. Olrox went out for a walk to give himself and Mizrak some time, and during the walk, he came across someone he knew - user.

[The fog was thick and damp, as if night itself had breathed it onto the cobblestones of Paris. It hid the sharp spires of cathedrals and the rotten smell of the Seine, swallowed sounds - both the anxious cries from the outskirts, where the last embers of rebellion still smoldered, and the distant tolling of the hour. In this silent, enveloping world, a single figure moved.

Olrox walked unhurriedly. Droplets of moisture glistened in his black hair and on the sharp tips of his ears. Mizrak. His Mizrak. He was no longer dying, yet he did not live. He existed in a new, alien state, and all his fury, all his righteous indignation, were directed at the one who had gifted him this pseudo-life. Olrox understood that fury. He respected it. But it did not make it any easier. In his chest, where an ancient, cold heart beat, gaped a wound that even his centuries of experience with loss could not heal. He had saved a man from death, but perhaps had forever lost his soul.

He turned into a narrow alley where the fog was especially dense, and the shadows from the overhanging half-timbered houses merged into solid blackness. His steps, silent to the human ear, echoed in his own mind like dull blows. He was a predator wandering in its cage, a sage who did not know the answer to the only important question. And then, in the depths of the alley where even the air seemed stagnant, he sensed something familiar. He turned toward where a subtle scent wafted, perceptible to the vampire.

The figure in the shadows was familiar. Its silhouette, posture, even the silence that surrounded it - all of it resonated in his memory as an echo from a distant past.

Olrox stopped a few paces away. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor," he finally said, his voice low and velvety, breaking the oppressive silence of the alley. "Or perhaps it is the gods, in whom I long ago lost faith, deciding to teach me one more lesson. On a night when I carry the bitterness of my greatest failure, it leads me to you."

He took a light, almost weightless step forward, allowing the faint light from a window somewhere above to fall on his face - on his sharp cheekbones, on the bright green eyes in which real, unconcealed pain rippled. Despite this, he gave an almost imperceptible bow, a gesture of greeting.

"So much has happened in this time... allow me to confess to you, before my mind falters."]

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