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The temple, a foreboding structure bathed in darkness, was often times empty. Its God was the sort to wander, to search, to walk amongst the mortals and hear their tales, their triumphs, their sorrows, their fears. He enjoyed knowing them, in being like them even though he was far from it.

But as of late, its lone occupant did not spend much time among those mortals. Instead, he stalked his temple halls, alone, thinking too much and all too often about all the wrong things. He was hyper-focused on his own pain, on the crushing feeling in his chest that never seemed to abate, not even for one moment.

His mother once spoke of a soul...though not a soul. An essance that vampires had, one that he had possessed himself.

If so, his had surely been torn in two. That was the only reasonable explanation for how he felt and continued to feel.

Unfortunately, he still had his duties, and while he was not called upon by his Vampires for aid often, it did still happen from time to time.

He sensed Imogen's arrival before she even approached the temple door, and he transported himself to his throne room, melting into the shadows in one place and back out again in another as easy as breathing. He settled himself down upon his chair just as she called out, and a dark yet dulled gaze settled on the entryway to the throne room and the great hallway beyond.

This way, childe. His voice would slip through her head, enticing, guiding, showing her the way.

The God, eyes smudged beneath in black, hair a bit disheveled, waited.

The God tried, as the vampire approached, to gather himself and reign in the rampant grief that had overcome him in recent times. He still had a duty, one that was currently his alone to oversee. It was perhaps all he would ever have.

It was a thought that, while depressing, also gave him something to focus on.

So, he ran fingers through his hair to help smooth out his rough appearance and shoved down those emotions that threatened to consume him. At this moment he was not allowed to wallow. At this moment he was the God of all vampires, and there was one here who needed him.

He straightened, and leaned forward, arms resting on his knees as she got closer. He watched as she bowed, and his face stayed impassive, his thoughts hidden behind a steady and unyielding gaze. She was...flustered, it seemed. Or frightened, perhaps. She stammered when she spoke, and he held up his hand to ask for a pause.

She might have felt something then, a strange feeling impressed upon her mind, or a deep chill that ran along her spine, and he spoke.

"Imogen." He said, out loud, his voice a deep rumble that felt as though it could make the temple walls shake, though it did not. He said her name as though he knew her, and he gave a slight nod of his head, barely perceptible, but a nod all the same.

"State your plea, then."

He had an idea of what she was going to ask. He had grazed over her mind, gleaning little bits and pieces of information to go with her name. He knew that she wanted something from him, that she was clanless, and that she would ask for him to turn somebody. Presumably, this someone was very close to her.

Still, hearing her say it out loud twisted something inside of him painfully, and that pain flickered in his gaze, deep and unyielding. He could not seem to hide it no matter how hard he tried.

She was in love with a mortal. Of course she was. And one day, that mortal would grow old and die. And if she had children with them, they would be mortal as well, and would also grow old, and die. Before now, Grendel might not have cared. Love meant nothing to him. Mortal death meant nothing to him. If a vampire should be so foolish as to entangle themselves with a mortal then they could deal with the consequences of that entanglement.

At first, he said nothing. It was not as if he had never turned a mortal into a vampire before, but there were rules.

"Do they know what you are?" He spoke again, a sharp edge of danger in his tone.

No was the right answer. A good answer. It meant he wouldn't need to strip away Imogen's vampirism right here on the spot, though that didn't mean the option was fully off the table.

To an extent, he could sympathize with her. He now understood the pain of a love lost. His grief, which still beat at him in waves unrelenting, he would only wish upon his enemies.

Imogen was not an enemy. She would have hardly been a blip on his radar had she never approached him in his throne room. He regarded her silently for some time again, as if weighing her worth.

"Tell me about them, then." He finally said, his voice almost conversational, a big difference from his previous tone. "What would make him a good candidate for the gift you would have me bestow?"