@vinculxm / starter call
It happens during the night: Mikaela, too proud to feed and just stubborn enough to refuse help, finally meets his fate. In his case, as in the cases of all vampires, fate does not mean death; it means demon. He can’t describe the change he feels when he opens his eyes to the darkness of the room, just knows-without-knowing that it’s there, in the lack of his hunger and the slant to his thoughts.
He sits up. Everyone else is still asleep— trusting, stupid, stupid. Yuu, the closest, snores only a meter away, but Mikaela has eyes only for the sword resting on the ground between them.
Something compels him to pick it up, a memory of the all-consuming desire to protect— and the instant his fingers make contact with the hilt, Mikaela finds himself not with the others, in a shared bedroom, but alone, in a white expanse of never-ending headspace.
Or not alone, actually, because someone’s perched on a sword a little ways off, an impossible balancing act that screams otherworldly. Instinct tells Mikaela that this is a demon, memory tells him that he has just touched Yuu’s sword, and logic suggests that this is the demon contracted to Yuu. He decides to go with it.
“Hey,” he says, and his tone sounds off to his own ears, glib and slippery with a threat lying barely-veiled beneath, “it really isn’t cool of you to be taking over a human, you know.” His hand finds his own sword out of instinct, but he doesn’t draw it, not yet; though Mikaela has an idea of what his subconscious is prompting him to do, he’s still adjusting to this new mindset. “How about you stop doing that?”