Image Credit: Daniel Whitby/ The National Trust
Hello! My name is Vampy (she/her) and I'm a 30-something-year-old nerd from the US. This is my fan blog for Vampire: the Masquerade and general World of Darkness stuff, though I also occasionally post misc and other fandom things.
I make fan work! I write and create art which you can see through my tags #my art, #my writing, and #my media.
I take commissions on a rolling basis. DM me for details if interested.
I have other socials too which you can see on my Card.
I run a WoD Discord art server called Gallery Noir! We've been running for a few years now with an active community and seasonal events. You can see the link for that here: Link with Discord Invite
The current event in progress is the Prompts of Darkness, where sign ups are closed.
I'm always down to make friends or just talk so feel free to tag me or DM me about anything!
I got tagged by @amberkendslacy for WIP Wednesday!
âAre you a cop?â she asked.
Fabien grinned wide as one of the men at the table cleared his throat and began to stand.
âOh sure, a special breed, too; Detective.â
The man who had made to move sighed in relief, dropping back into his seat.
The woman smirked, a mischievous look replacing her irritable expression. âAre you any good? Did you know there are people gambling here? I think some of them are even drinking,â she said in a stage whisper, hand cupped around her mouth for effect.
Fabien gasped, clutching his heart as he took a wide-eyed look around the room.
âMy God, is that what this is?â he breathed. âMy granny said her knitting club liked to meet up to play cards, but I had no idea she meant the illegal kind.â
I tag @eww-raymondwaldo and @vampemoqueen and anyone else who wants to share anything!
Thank you for tagging me!
I don't have any writing ones to share since working on my Prompts of Darkness piece and working on collating the rest into a zine, but I did find some time to start some self indulgent art.
A Lorelai piece and a naughty Phybien piece đ
I tag @crownedinmarigolds @zeiinoviah @mrsqadiral-asmai and anyone else who wants to participate!
i just had a dumb thought.
fabien in my fic world would think he landed a big score getting with phyre the assassin babe like she's his bond girl
but really, he's the bond girl and SHE's james bond đŠ
Long time no see, event peeps! @porcelainseashore and I are opening up the Spring season with a new event type: a writersâ prompt exchange!
Apply to participate as a writer with a list of 3 prompts to put in a metaphorical hat. In return, youâll receive a randomized list of 3-5 prompts to choose from for one or more unique writing pieces.
Post your fic on tumblr using the tag #prompts of darkness and/or Ao3 under the Prompts of Darkness collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PoD2026 and all of the submissions will be collated into a masterpost and zine on Tumblr at the end of the event!
Due to the possible adult nature of the writing prompts, you must be 18+ to enter!
HOW TO PARTICIPATE
Apply as a writer using the Google Form below.
Submit a list of three or more prompts to share with other writers
OPTIONAL: If you have any specific topics or content warnings you want to avoid receiving, let us know in the form.
After the sign up period closes, you will receive a list of prompts randomly selected from a shared pool. You will be guaranteed to receive prompts that arenât your own and arenât in your list of blacklisted topics.Â
You only have to write from one on the list. Youâll receive multiple prompts for choice, though you can do more than one if desired.Â
You are allowed to use the prompt as inspiration in any way you see fit. It doesn't necessarily have to be a story.
Examples include a loresheet, a short fic with OCs, a fanfic with canon characters, a non-fiction piece about a personal experience playing tabletop, opinions on certain lore bits, etc.Â
You have until May 31st to post your piece on Tumblr under the tag
Within the month of June, all posts will be collated into a masterpost and a zine format with visuals for easy sharing! If also posted on Ao3, they will be added into a collection.
DEADLINES
Sign ups start April 24 and end on May 1st
After sign ups close on May 1st, prompts will be arranged and sent individually through your preferred method of contact
Post your story anytime between May 1st to 31st under the tag
GUIDELINES FOR PROMPTS
Limit prompts to one to short word phrases
Prompts should relate to the World of Darkness in some way
They can be specific to a splat (VtM, WtR, etc.) but must be edition agnostic (V5, W20, etc.)
Must not contain slurs or hate speech
Below is a list of starting prompts that will be included in the initial pool:
Rituals and Habits
Havens and Hideaways
Alternate Universe
Combat
Hunted
Forbidden
GUIDELINES FOR PIECES
Minimum word count is 500. Maximum is 4k.
You are allowed to write more than one piece if desired. The word count is per piece.
You must note down which prompt youâve used for the piece.
You are allowed to use adult and explicit themes. If you do so, please tag appropriately.
If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to contact me or Porcelain. I can't wait to see what we all come up with. Good luck and have fun!
Here's the link to the form!:
The deadline for submissions has passed!
We've had a few people reach out about late submissions. We'll allow them with no set date as long as you keep in touch. We will reach out again in about a week's time to see how everyone's doing.
Maybe if I crop it close enough Tumblr won't nuke it? đď¸
Phyre + Fabien for @vampemoqueen!! YESSSS. Thank you for commissioning them from me!! I had a challenging but fun time with the posing! :3
XXX - Full View on the BSKY!
Maybe if I crop it close enough Tumblr won't nuke it? đď¸
Phyre + Fabien for @vampemoqueen!! YESSSS. Thank you for commissioning them from me!! I had a challenging but fun time with the posing! :3
XXX - Full View on the BSKY!
Here's my entry for the Prompts of Darkness writers' event hosted by myself and @porcelainseashore! I'm so excited to work on my first ever community writing challenge in the World of Darkness space.
My prompt was: Weird Obsession
Title: To Know a Body
Summary: The Embrace story of a curious medical student named Lorelai Chen who took her weird obsession to the next level when she finds an undead corpse in her school's basement.
Warnings: Unethical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Blood Drinking, Corpse Desecration, Non-Explicit Necrophilia, Vampire Turning, Canon-Typical Violence
You can also read on Ao3 here!: linkie
Also check out the other fics in the Ao3 collection: linkie
Divider by @diableriedoll
The year was 1985. The main building of the University of Florida College of Medicine had long since closed for the nightâlights turned off, entrance doors locked, and halls emptied of students and staff alike. By all accounts, no one should still have been inside at this hour; technically, it was already morning, with the clock having struck midnight some time ago.Â
Everyone else should have been at home or in their dorms by then. But not Lorelai Chen, an overexcited Second Year Post-Grad with mischief on her mind, having stayed hidden in darkened corridors since the early evening before reemerging to stake her claim.
Before all this, Lorelai had been exactly the sort of student others said was destined for greatness. In high school, she was a straight-A overachiever, adored by teachers and classmates alike. Smart, peppy, vibrant, charmingâalmost aggressively so. The kind of girl yuppie culture in America loved to parade around as proof that hard work and ambition can take you anywhere.
Her parents trusted her. Teachers praised her. Other students were either envious or jealous. People smiled proudly whenever she spoke about medicine and the future ahead of her. She sold them all the same story: that she wanted to become a world-class doctor to help people, heal the world, and make her life mean something.
To her credit, she probably could have. The thought would not have troubled her conscience in the slightest. But Lorelaiâs fascination with medicine had never been entirely altruistic.
What truly captivated her was not health but broken bodies. Diseased bodies. Damaged bodies. Opened bodies. Bodies transformed by violence, decay, or catastrophe into something raw and revealing. She had recognized that fascination long before she had words for it.
She knew it the first time, when she was four years old and standing beside a creek with her mother after they found a pale, waterlogged corpse tangled against the reeds. While her mother called for help, Lorelai stared in wonder, wanting to touch the bodyâs bloated belly.
The second time came at twelve, when she slipped beneath police tape at a crime scene just to glimpse the remains of a bullet-riddled man collapsed in a widening pool of blood.
At sixteen, she lingered too long in the Natural History Museum, studying preserved specimens and dissected cadavers with an intensity that unsettled even the tour guide.
And at twenty, as an undergraduate, she expressed fondness for the medical sciences so much that she received special permission from the department to assist in a full human dissection.
It was at that moment that she stopped lying to herself.Â
Lorelai knew there was something pathological inside her. A lifelong, cancerous fascination with the human body at its worst and most vulnerable. She was drawn to the fragile truth underneath the skinâto what remained when people were cut open, mangled, diseased, dissected, or irreversibly changed by suffering.
This was why she enrolled in medical school. Not to preserve healthy bodies. Not to save lives. But to carve apart the unusual dead and uncover what secrets they kept inside in hopes they would reveal to her a beautiful and terrible revelation about the human condition.Â
Tonight, she had embarked on a secret mission after finding a lead through faculty files she had snooped through about a mysterious corpse that had supposedly remained with the university for generations. One that had no tags, no records, and no recollections from current or former staff about how the body came into their possession. As far as anyone knew, it had always been there. There were strict orders from the Board that it was never to be touched and always kept under lock and key.Â
That, however, did not mean tight surveillance.
The literal lock and key were as old as the nineteenth century, with the physical key being a handmade brass one with a single crude bit at the end. Lorelai had found it in an unlocked glass case in the department headâs office hidden behind a picture frame. There was no way she could not take it and seize the chance to see the schoolâs secret specimen for herself.
With a crude map of the school building in one hand and a bag containing the key alongside other breaking-and-entering tools slung over her shoulder, Lorelai got to sneaking.
It didnât take long for her to find the schoolâs morgue on the bottom level and locate the cabinet with the ancient brass lock. The set of drawers containing the body in question appeared to be as old as the building itselfâperhaps even olderâwith a heavy layer of rust and permanent patina coating the metal surface.
Lorelai stared at it with widening excitement and got to work loosening the openings with oil lube from a can. It only took a few moments for the drawer to be prepared until she could finally with bated breath, insert the key, twist, and unlock.Â
The key worked like a charm and the lock inside gave a satisfying click as it popped. She left the key in as she slid out the drawer with her hands tight on the handle, shaking with anticipation.Â
What she found when she pulled it all the way was astounding. The corpse was of an older man in his approximate sixties who was very well preserved despite being dead for about two hundred years. He was a large cadaver, tall at over six feet and still broad at the shoulders and chest even in its sunken state. His hair and skin were practically untouched: no indents or holes, no examination scars, not even the telltale Y incision mark from an autopsy. It was as if the body was perfectly preserved in its natural state without the need for a mortician or embalmer.Â
This was incredible to Lorelai. She had to put him on the table and find out more.Â
It took a considerable effort from her to lift his large frame out of the drawer and onto a gurney to transfer onto an examination table. She tried her best to be delicate and not damage such a fine specimen, and in that attempt she found herself accidentally enjoying the process. Feeling the weight of him in her arms from the initial lift, the smooth glide of her hands against his elastic skin, the coolness of his body compared to her warmth. She had never had to handle a specimen this thoroughly before, and it made her wish she could do it more often.Â
After she positions him to lie flat on the table, she turns on the examination light above him and considers her options for viewing. A staunch white LED light comes alive and blinds Lorelai for a moment until her sight comes back and she can see the object of her curiosity more clearly. She can see all of him in front of her from head to toe now, completely bare with no tags or marks anywhere.Â
She puts her fingers against his neck to begin her physical examination. No pulse, obviously. Skin below room temperature to the touch. Arteries and underlying structure still present even while atrophied. She takes note of his face, his expression still and calm as if he faced a quiet death without resistance. There is a strange, handsome quality to him, still serene and regal after all these years.   Â
She finds herself stroking his silver hair and hollow cheek despite herself. Nothing wrong with appreciating beauty in a peaceful state.Â
As her finger gently brushed across his lips, she caught what looked like the faintest twitch in his upper lip. The movement made her yelp and instinctively jerk backward.
Her heart jumped out of her chest as it skipped. In the time it took for her pulse to regulate itself, she found nothing on his face. The figure went still again the moment the room fell silent, and she felt silly for what appeared to be nothing. A trick of the light playing on her fear of getting caught.Â
Her hands return to him and move downwards as she proceeds with the next step. She presses on his clavicles, upper chest and sternum, briefly pressing a hand down where his heart is when she feels a sudden jolt, a strong pulse before the chest springs upwards.Â
THUMP.
She flinches again, though this time sheâs sure itâs not her anxiety making her see things anymore.Â
This body⌠this man⌠Heâs still responsive to outside stimuli.Â
Which meant somehow, he was still alive.
Lorelaiâs breath caught in her throat.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the corpse beneath the examination light, waiting for more movement. Another pulse maybe. But the body returned to stillness once more, calm and silent atop the steel table as though nothing had happened at all.
Then the medical part of her mind took over. Her fear gave way to instinct.
âOh my GodâŚâ she whispered under her breath as she leaned over him again. âYouâre alive. You need help.â
She had considered backing away and calling for emergency services. An ambulance and EMTs to carry him away and resuscitate him properly. It wouldâve been the right thing to do.Â
But then she imagined police arriving behind them, and reality settled heavily into place. She would be implicated immediately. Charged for breaking and entering and theft of university property. Desecration of a corpse. Â
No way. She couldnât risk her secret getting out. Not here, not now.Â
Her hands moved quickly, fingers pressing against his throat again in search of a pulse. Nothing. She lowered her ear toward his chest and listened carefully.
Silence. No heartbeat. No respiration. And yet she had felt something.
THUMP.
Not imagined. Not nerves. Real.
Her eyes darted toward the nearby equipment shelves. Logic screamed at her that this made no sense, but fascination crushed panic beneath its heel. Whatever this man was, whatever state he existed in, he was still responding. Which meant there was still activity somewhere inside him.
Lorelai immediately climbed onto the stool beside the table and locked her hands together over the center of his chest.
âOne, two, threeâŚâ
She began chest compressions.
His body shifted beneath the pressure, the ancient flesh surprisingly resilient beneath her palms. Not brittle. Not rotten. Elastic. Alive in all the wrong ways.
Thirty compressions.
She tilted his head back and pinched his nose shut before breathing into his mouth. His lips were freezing cold.
Again. Thirty more.
Sweat began collecting against her brow despite the chill of the morgue. Her pulse hammered wildly as adrenaline overtook her exhaustion.
âThis is insane,â she muttered breathlessly. âThis is completely fucking insaneââ
THUMP.
His chest jerked again beneath her hands. This time harder.
Lorelai recoiled slightly before immediately leaning back over him. âCome on,â she urged. âCome onâŚâ Her eyes snapped toward the door when she remembered something. Storage refrigeration units in the cooling room upstairs for specimens, fluids, and blood.
Blood.
If his organs were somehow inactiveâif circulation had haltedâthen maybe external stimulation alone was not enough. Maybe the body needed volume. Nutrients. Oxygenation. Something primitive and reckless formed in her mind.
Before she could second-guess herself, Lorelai rushed toward the refrigeration room upstairs, found it behind an unlocked door, and yanked it open. Bags of stored donor blood stared back at her beneath the cold fluorescent light inside a fridge. She smuggled three O- types into her bag. Â
On the way back, she grabbed an IV stand, tubing, and a catheter. No time for fancier equipment like pumps or monitors; she was going to have to do this manually by hand. Returning to the examination table, she worked quickly and with frightening competence. Needle. Line. Vein access.
The veins in his arm accepted the catheter disturbingly easily, as though they had never truly collapsed at all. She hooked a bag to a pole, squeezed it with two hands and bent the tubing to get an even flow. Dark red blood began flowing down in stages until it was smooth.Â
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the body inhaled. Not a reflex. Not a twitch. An inhale. It was sharp and sudden. Deep enough to make the chest rise violently from the table.
Lorelai froze. The manâs eyes opened. Pale gray and blood shot. Fully aware. The manâs gaze locked onto hers with terrifying immediacy, and she felt something impossible behind those eyesânot confusion, not panic, but intelligence. Old, ancient intelligence. Cold and immense and starving.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. But she couldnât move.
His lips parted slightly. Two fangs descending from the canines slid into view.
Lorelai only had enough time for a single strangled gasp before his hand seized the front of her neck with monstrous strength. The man moved faster than any human body should have been capable of moving.
One moment he was lying beneath her. The next he was on top of her. She screamed as he dragged her downward and buried his teeth deep into her throat.
Pain exploded through her neck. Then came ecstasy.
Heat flooded out her body as he drank from her in deep, desperate pulls. She felt herself weakening almost immediately, her limbs growing numb while her heartbeat thundered louder and louder inside her ears.
The old man made a sound against her throat somewhere between a groan and a starving animal finally fed.
The blood bags hanging beside the table fell as the IV stand overturned onto the floor.
Lorelai tried to push him away at first.
Then weaker. Then not at all.
Her body slumped beneath him as dizziness consumed her vision. The room blurred around the edges. The overhead light smeared into white haze.
Still he drank. Greedily. Like a man waking from centuries of starvation.
By the time he finally pulled away, Lorelai couldnât feel her fingers.
The old man stared down at her with blood running from the corners of his mouth. Color had begun returning faintly to his corpse-like skin now. The hollowness beneath his cheeks softened. His chest rose slowly with unnecessary breaths.
Lorelai tried to speak, but only a wet rasp escaped her lips.
The elder regarded her silently for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, his expression shifted. Amusement.
âA physician,â he said softly, his voice ruined from disuse and age. âHow fitting.â
His accent sounded old. European. He spoke English in a way that was too formal in the modern world.
Lorelaiâs vision darkened further. She realized dimly that she was dying. The man seemed to recognize it too.
âYou woke me before my appointed hour,â he murmured, almost thoughtfully. âBut perhaps that is not without purpose.â
He raised one pale wrist to his mouth and tore it open with one sharp fang. Black-red blood welled from the wound. Then he gripped Lorelai by the jaw and forced his bleeding wrist against her lips.
âDrink.â
She tried weakly to resist. Instinct failed against thirst. The moment the blood touched her tongue, agony erupted through her entire body. Her back arched violently against the floor. Every nerve ignited.
She could feel her heart convulsing inside her chest as something ancient and alien poured into her bloodstream. Cold flooded her veins. Her thoughts shattered apart beneath flashes of impossible thingsâchanting voices, burning towers, circles of blood painted onto stone floors, robed figures standing beneath candlelight while something unseen watched from the dark.
The elder loomed above her throughout all of it, calm and patient. Watching. Waiting.
Lorelaiâs body seized one final time before going still completely. Silence swallowed the morgue. The old man slowly rose to his feet. For the first time in centuries, Regent Alaric von Straub of Clan Tremere stood awake and undead once more.
His gaze drifted across the modernity of the morgue around him with faint disdain. Then down toward Lorelai lying dead at his feet.
No. Not dead. Changing.
A faint smile touched the elderâs lips as Lorelaiâs fingers twitched against the floor beside her. The first stirrings of hunger had already begun. The hunger arrived before consciousness did.
It came as an unbearable emptiness buried deep inside her body, gnawing at her from the inside out until it eclipsed thought itself. Her chest spasmed violently against the tile floor as dead lungs dragged in a ragged breath she did not need.
Then her eyes snapped open. The world hit her all at once. Too bright. Too sharp.
She could hear the faint electrical hum inside the overhead lights. The distant drip of water somewhere in the pipes above them. The soft crackle of old fluorescent wiring hidden behind the ceiling panels. Most unbearable of all was the smell.
Blood.
The copper-rich scent flooded her senses with nauseating clarity. She smelled it splashed across the floor. Inside the IV bags. Drying against her own throat. Emptiness clawing against her stomach with a vengeance.Â
Lorelai lurched towards the spilt blood on the floor on all fours like a dog. She lapped at the expiring blood with her tongue fully extended, slurping every bit she could before the blood turned rancid. But even when it did, she didnât care. For the first few minutes of unlife, she was nothing but a wild animal.
The elder watched her from across the room while calmly dressing himself in dark garments pulled from an old leather case beside the cabinet. The clothing looked centuries out of fashionâhigh-collared black wool coat, linen tunic, tailored trousers, leather gloves and boots. Every movement he made was deliberate and composed now, utterly unlike the starving thing that had torn into her moments earlier.
When lucidity finally returned to her, her hands flew to her neck. No pulse. No warmth. Only smooth skin and tacky blood. Panic surged through her.
âWhatâŚâ Her voice cracked horribly. âWhat did you do to me?â
The elder fastened one silver cuff button before answering. âI saved your life.â
âThatâs notââ Lorelaiâs words caught abruptly in her throat. The hunger sharpened again. Her eyes drifted involuntarily toward the overturned blood bags and her knees on the floor. The taste of grit in her mouth from licking the ground began to sour with old blood.
Her face recoiled in horror.Â
âYes,â he said quietly. âYou understand already.â
Lorelai shook her head violently. âNo. No, this isnât possibleââ
âYou died, Miss Chen.â His voice remained calm. Academic, almost. âI drained you beyond the point of recovery. Then I fed you my vitae before death fully settled. Your body expired. Your mind did not.â His pale eyes studied her carefully. âCongratulations. You are no longer human.â
The words hollowed her out. She stared at him in mute horror. Some distant part of her mind tried desperately to rationalize what was happening. Drugs. Psychosis. A breakdown brought on by stress and sleep deprivation.
But her body knew better. Her body understood the truth before her mind could bear it.
The elder stepped closer.
Up close, Lorelai could see how unnatural he truly looked now that color had partially returned to him. Not dead exactly. Not alive either. His skin remained pale marble beneath the morgue lights, his eyes too still and ancient for any ordinary man.
âWhat are you?â she whispered.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
âClan Tremere,â he answered simply. âThough your generation tends to prefer the more vulgar term: vampire.â
Lorelai let out a strained laugh that bordered on hysteria.
âNo,â she breathed. âNo, vampires arenât real.â
âAnd yet here you are.â
He crouched before her with slow elegance.
âTell me, Lorelai Chen⌠after everything you have seen tonight, do you truly still believe the world is rational?â
She opened her mouth to argue. Nothing came out.
The elder regarded her silently for a moment longer before continuing.
âMy name is Alaric von Straub. Once Regent of a chantry I assume has long since turned to dust. I entered torpor willingly in the year 1826.â
âTorpor?â she repeated weakly.
âA deathlike hibernation. Necessary, at times.â His expression darkened slightly. âThere were wars within my Clan. Betrayals. Hunters. Fire. Ambitious apprentices.â A flicker of old irritation crossed his features. âI chose patience instead.â
His gaze drifted briefly toward the ancient cabinet. âI remember being placed into my coffin at my estate in Stuttgart. I do not recognize this cabinet, nor this place.â His pale eyes shifted back toward her. âWhere am I? What year is this?â
Lorelai stared at him for a moment before answering carefully. âItâs⌠1985. Weâre in Florida. In America.â
The elderâs eyes snapped toward her with inhuman speed. The movement alone made her flinch. His stare struck her like a lightning bolt through the brain. At first, he gave no visible reaction at all. His face remained completely blank as he processed the words in silence.Â
Then as seconds went by, he started to chortle. Then he started to laugh, low and sinister. It built slowly in volume until it echoed violently throughout the sterile morgue, bouncing off steel cabinets and tile walls alike.Â
Lorelai could do nothing but watch and listen. It mustâve been far too long for him. And far too distant for this to be an expected awakening. When the laughter finally began to settle, she couldnât help but ask. âYou⌠hid yourself in Stuttgart?â
âI preserved myself there. And now I am here.â He corrected. âMortals are adequate custodians until they expire and their loyalties die with them.â
The hunger twisted inside her again, harder this time. She doubled over with a pained sound.
Immediately, Alaric seized one of the unruptured blood bags from the floor and held it toward her. âDrink.â
The scent hit her like a physical blow. Lorelai hesitated only a second before instinct overwhelmed disgust. She snatched the bag from his hand with shaking fingers and tore into it desperately.
The blood was cold. Stale. But it eased the agony instantly. She drained the bag in seconds. Then stared at the empty plastic in horror.
Alaric watched with clinical fascination. âGood,â he murmured. âYour Beast is healthy.â
âMy what?â
âYou will learn.â
She looked up at him suddenly, fury beginning to break through the panic. âYou murdered me.â
âYes.â
The bluntness of it stunned her silent. Alaric tilted his head slightly.
âAnd yet you pursued deathly beauty your entire life, did you not?â he asked softly. âYou sought it in creeks. Crime scenes. Dissection halls. Morgues.â His pale eyes sharpened on hers. âYou were fascinated by the boundary between life and death long before I arrived.â
Lorelaiâs stomach twisted. He was right. That terrified her most of all.
âI sensed your fascination with me, Lorelai. With my body most of all.â he continued, giving her a sick, perverse smile. âI am flattered. And for your diligence, this is your reward.â
She hated how deeply those words burrowed into her. The room fell quiet again. Then, somewhere far above them, a door opened and slammed shut. Both of them froze.Â
Alaricâs expression sharpened instantly. âDawn approaches,â he said.
Lorelai blinked. âWhat?â
âThe sun.â For the first time all night, genuine urgency entered his voice. âYou will soon discover that it is no longer your friend.â
Here's my entry for the Prompts of Darkness writers' event hosted by myself and @porcelainseashore! I'm so excited to work on my first ever community writing challenge in the World of Darkness space.
My prompt was: Weird Obsession
Title: To Know a Body
Summary: The Embrace story of a curious medical student named Lorelai Chen who took her weird obsession to the next level when she finds an undead corpse in her school's basement.
Warnings: Unethical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Blood Drinking, Corpse Desecration, Non-Explicit Necrophilia, Vampire Turning, Canon-Typical Violence
You can also read on Ao3 here!: linkie
Also check out the other fics in the Ao3 collection: linkie
Divider by @diableriedoll
The year was 1985. The main building of the University of Florida College of Medicine had long since closed for the nightâlights turned off, entrance doors locked, and halls emptied of students and staff alike. By all accounts, no one should still have been inside at this hour; technically, it was already morning, with the clock having struck midnight some time ago.Â
Everyone else should have been at home or in their dorms by then. But not Lorelai Chen, an overexcited Second Year Post-Grad with mischief on her mind, having stayed hidden in darkened corridors since the early evening before reemerging to stake her claim.
Before all this, Lorelai had been exactly the sort of student others said was destined for greatness. In high school, she was a straight-A overachiever, adored by teachers and classmates alike. Smart, peppy, vibrant, charmingâalmost aggressively so. The kind of girl yuppie culture in America loved to parade around as proof that hard work and ambition can take you anywhere.
Her parents trusted her. Teachers praised her. Other students were either envious or jealous. People smiled proudly whenever she spoke about medicine and the future ahead of her. She sold them all the same story: that she wanted to become a world-class doctor to help people, heal the world, and make her life mean something.
To her credit, she probably could have. The thought would not have troubled her conscience in the slightest. But Lorelaiâs fascination with medicine had never been entirely altruistic.
What truly captivated her was not health but broken bodies. Diseased bodies. Damaged bodies. Opened bodies. Bodies transformed by violence, decay, or catastrophe into something raw and revealing. She had recognized that fascination long before she had words for it.
She knew it the first time, when she was four years old and standing beside a creek with her mother after they found a pale, waterlogged corpse tangled against the reeds. While her mother called for help, Lorelai stared in wonder, wanting to touch the bodyâs bloated belly.
The second time came at twelve, when she slipped beneath police tape at a crime scene just to glimpse the remains of a bullet-riddled man collapsed in a widening pool of blood.
At sixteen, she lingered too long in the Natural History Museum, studying preserved specimens and dissected cadavers with an intensity that unsettled even the tour guide.
And at twenty, as an undergraduate, she expressed fondness for the medical sciences so much that she received special permission from the department to assist in a full human dissection.
It was at that moment that she stopped lying to herself.Â
Lorelai knew there was something pathological inside her. A lifelong, cancerous fascination with the human body at its worst and most vulnerable. She was drawn to the fragile truth underneath the skinâto what remained when people were cut open, mangled, diseased, dissected, or irreversibly changed by suffering.
This was why she enrolled in medical school. Not to preserve healthy bodies. Not to save lives. But to carve apart the unusual dead and uncover what secrets they kept inside in hopes they would reveal to her a beautiful and terrible revelation about the human condition.Â
Tonight, she had embarked on a secret mission after finding a lead through faculty files she had snooped through about a mysterious corpse that had supposedly remained with the university for generations. One that had no tags, no records, and no recollections from current or former staff about how the body came into their possession. As far as anyone knew, it had always been there. There were strict orders from the Board that it was never to be touched and always kept under lock and key.Â
That, however, did not mean tight surveillance.
The literal lock and key were as old as the nineteenth century, with the physical key being a handmade brass one with a single crude bit at the end. Lorelai had found it in an unlocked glass case in the department headâs office hidden behind a picture frame. There was no way she could not take it and seize the chance to see the schoolâs secret specimen for herself.
With a crude map of the school building in one hand and a bag containing the key alongside other breaking-and-entering tools slung over her shoulder, Lorelai got to sneaking.
It didnât take long for her to find the schoolâs morgue on the bottom level and locate the cabinet with the ancient brass lock. The set of drawers containing the body in question appeared to be as old as the building itselfâperhaps even olderâwith a heavy layer of rust and permanent patina coating the metal surface.
Lorelai stared at it with widening excitement and got to work loosening the openings with oil lube from a can. It only took a few moments for the drawer to be prepared until she could finally with bated breath, insert the key, twist, and unlock.Â
The key worked like a charm and the lock inside gave a satisfying click as it popped. She left the key in as she slid out the drawer with her hands tight on the handle, shaking with anticipation.Â
What she found when she pulled it all the way was astounding. The corpse was of an older man in his approximate sixties who was very well preserved despite being dead for about two hundred years. He was a large cadaver, tall at over six feet and still broad at the shoulders and chest even in its sunken state. His hair and skin were practically untouched: no indents or holes, no examination scars, not even the telltale Y incision mark from an autopsy. It was as if the body was perfectly preserved in its natural state without the need for a mortician or embalmer.Â
This was incredible to Lorelai. She had to put him on the table and find out more.Â
It took a considerable effort from her to lift his large frame out of the drawer and onto a gurney to transfer onto an examination table. She tried her best to be delicate and not damage such a fine specimen, and in that attempt she found herself accidentally enjoying the process. Feeling the weight of him in her arms from the initial lift, the smooth glide of her hands against his elastic skin, the coolness of his body compared to her warmth. She had never had to handle a specimen this thoroughly before, and it made her wish she could do it more often.Â
After she positions him to lie flat on the table, she turns on the examination light above him and considers her options for viewing. A staunch white LED light comes alive and blinds Lorelai for a moment until her sight comes back and she can see the object of her curiosity more clearly. She can see all of him in front of her from head to toe now, completely bare with no tags or marks anywhere.Â
She puts her fingers against his neck to begin her physical examination. No pulse, obviously. Skin below room temperature to the touch. Arteries and underlying structure still present even while atrophied. She takes note of his face, his expression still and calm as if he faced a quiet death without resistance. There is a strange, handsome quality to him, still serene and regal after all these years.   Â
She finds herself stroking his silver hair and hollow cheek despite herself. Nothing wrong with appreciating beauty in a peaceful state.Â
As her finger gently brushed across his lips, she caught what looked like the faintest twitch in his upper lip. The movement made her yelp and instinctively jerk backward.
Her heart jumped out of her chest as it skipped. In the time it took for her pulse to regulate itself, she found nothing on his face. The figure went still again the moment the room fell silent, and she felt silly for what appeared to be nothing. A trick of the light playing on her fear of getting caught.Â
Her hands return to him and move downwards as she proceeds with the next step. She presses on his clavicles, upper chest and sternum, briefly pressing a hand down where his heart is when she feels a sudden jolt, a strong pulse before the chest springs upwards.Â
THUMP.
She flinches again, though this time sheâs sure itâs not her anxiety making her see things anymore.Â
This body⌠this man⌠Heâs still responsive to outside stimuli.Â
Which meant somehow, he was still alive.
Lorelaiâs breath caught in her throat.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the corpse beneath the examination light, waiting for more movement. Another pulse maybe. But the body returned to stillness once more, calm and silent atop the steel table as though nothing had happened at all.
Then the medical part of her mind took over. Her fear gave way to instinct.
âOh my GodâŚâ she whispered under her breath as she leaned over him again. âYouâre alive. You need help.â
She had considered backing away and calling for emergency services. An ambulance and EMTs to carry him away and resuscitate him properly. It wouldâve been the right thing to do.Â
But then she imagined police arriving behind them, and reality settled heavily into place. She would be implicated immediately. Charged for breaking and entering and theft of university property. Desecration of a corpse. Â
No way. She couldnât risk her secret getting out. Not here, not now.Â
Her hands moved quickly, fingers pressing against his throat again in search of a pulse. Nothing. She lowered her ear toward his chest and listened carefully.
Silence. No heartbeat. No respiration. And yet she had felt something.
THUMP.
Not imagined. Not nerves. Real.
Her eyes darted toward the nearby equipment shelves. Logic screamed at her that this made no sense, but fascination crushed panic beneath its heel. Whatever this man was, whatever state he existed in, he was still responding. Which meant there was still activity somewhere inside him.
Lorelai immediately climbed onto the stool beside the table and locked her hands together over the center of his chest.
âOne, two, threeâŚâ
She began chest compressions.
His body shifted beneath the pressure, the ancient flesh surprisingly resilient beneath her palms. Not brittle. Not rotten. Elastic. Alive in all the wrong ways.
Thirty compressions.
She tilted his head back and pinched his nose shut before breathing into his mouth. His lips were freezing cold.
Again. Thirty more.
Sweat began collecting against her brow despite the chill of the morgue. Her pulse hammered wildly as adrenaline overtook her exhaustion.
âThis is insane,â she muttered breathlessly. âThis is completely fucking insaneââ
THUMP.
His chest jerked again beneath her hands. This time harder.
Lorelai recoiled slightly before immediately leaning back over him. âCome on,â she urged. âCome onâŚâ Her eyes snapped toward the door when she remembered something. Storage refrigeration units in the cooling room upstairs for specimens, fluids, and blood.
Blood.
If his organs were somehow inactiveâif circulation had haltedâthen maybe external stimulation alone was not enough. Maybe the body needed volume. Nutrients. Oxygenation. Something primitive and reckless formed in her mind.
Before she could second-guess herself, Lorelai rushed toward the refrigeration room upstairs, found it behind an unlocked door, and yanked it open. Bags of stored donor blood stared back at her beneath the cold fluorescent light inside a fridge. She smuggled three O- types into her bag. Â
On the way back, she grabbed an IV stand, tubing, and a catheter. No time for fancier equipment like pumps or monitors; she was going to have to do this manually by hand. Returning to the examination table, she worked quickly and with frightening competence. Needle. Line. Vein access.
The veins in his arm accepted the catheter disturbingly easily, as though they had never truly collapsed at all. She hooked a bag to a pole, squeezed it with two hands and bent the tubing to get an even flow. Dark red blood began flowing down in stages until it was smooth.Â
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the body inhaled. Not a reflex. Not a twitch. An inhale. It was sharp and sudden. Deep enough to make the chest rise violently from the table.
Lorelai froze. The manâs eyes opened. Pale gray and blood shot. Fully aware. The manâs gaze locked onto hers with terrifying immediacy, and she felt something impossible behind those eyesânot confusion, not panic, but intelligence. Old, ancient intelligence. Cold and immense and starving.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run. But she couldnât move.
His lips parted slightly. Two fangs descending from the canines slid into view.
Lorelai only had enough time for a single strangled gasp before his hand seized the front of her neck with monstrous strength. The man moved faster than any human body should have been capable of moving.
One moment he was lying beneath her. The next he was on top of her. She screamed as he dragged her downward and buried his teeth deep into her throat.
Pain exploded through her neck. Then came ecstasy.
Heat flooded out her body as he drank from her in deep, desperate pulls. She felt herself weakening almost immediately, her limbs growing numb while her heartbeat thundered louder and louder inside her ears.
The old man made a sound against her throat somewhere between a groan and a starving animal finally fed.
The blood bags hanging beside the table fell as the IV stand overturned onto the floor.
Lorelai tried to push him away at first.
Then weaker. Then not at all.
Her body slumped beneath him as dizziness consumed her vision. The room blurred around the edges. The overhead light smeared into white haze.
Still he drank. Greedily. Like a man waking from centuries of starvation.
By the time he finally pulled away, Lorelai couldnât feel her fingers.
The old man stared down at her with blood running from the corners of his mouth. Color had begun returning faintly to his corpse-like skin now. The hollowness beneath his cheeks softened. His chest rose slowly with unnecessary breaths.
Lorelai tried to speak, but only a wet rasp escaped her lips.
The elder regarded her silently for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, his expression shifted. Amusement.
âA physician,â he said softly, his voice ruined from disuse and age. âHow fitting.â
His accent sounded old. European. He spoke English in a way that was too formal in the modern world.
Lorelaiâs vision darkened further. She realized dimly that she was dying. The man seemed to recognize it too.
âYou woke me before my appointed hour,â he murmured, almost thoughtfully. âBut perhaps that is not without purpose.â
He raised one pale wrist to his mouth and tore it open with one sharp fang. Black-red blood welled from the wound. Then he gripped Lorelai by the jaw and forced his bleeding wrist against her lips.
âDrink.â
She tried weakly to resist. Instinct failed against thirst. The moment the blood touched her tongue, agony erupted through her entire body. Her back arched violently against the floor. Every nerve ignited.
She could feel her heart convulsing inside her chest as something ancient and alien poured into her bloodstream. Cold flooded her veins. Her thoughts shattered apart beneath flashes of impossible thingsâchanting voices, burning towers, circles of blood painted onto stone floors, robed figures standing beneath candlelight while something unseen watched from the dark.
The elder loomed above her throughout all of it, calm and patient. Watching. Waiting.
Lorelaiâs body seized one final time before going still completely. Silence swallowed the morgue. The old man slowly rose to his feet. For the first time in centuries, Regent Alaric von Straub of Clan Tremere stood awake and undead once more.
His gaze drifted across the modernity of the morgue around him with faint disdain. Then down toward Lorelai lying dead at his feet.
No. Not dead. Changing.
A faint smile touched the elderâs lips as Lorelaiâs fingers twitched against the floor beside her. The first stirrings of hunger had already begun. The hunger arrived before consciousness did.
It came as an unbearable emptiness buried deep inside her body, gnawing at her from the inside out until it eclipsed thought itself. Her chest spasmed violently against the tile floor as dead lungs dragged in a ragged breath she did not need.
Then her eyes snapped open. The world hit her all at once. Too bright. Too sharp.
She could hear the faint electrical hum inside the overhead lights. The distant drip of water somewhere in the pipes above them. The soft crackle of old fluorescent wiring hidden behind the ceiling panels. Most unbearable of all was the smell.
Blood.
The copper-rich scent flooded her senses with nauseating clarity. She smelled it splashed across the floor. Inside the IV bags. Drying against her own throat. Emptiness clawing against her stomach with a vengeance.Â
Lorelai lurched towards the spilt blood on the floor on all fours like a dog. She lapped at the expiring blood with her tongue fully extended, slurping every bit she could before the blood turned rancid. But even when it did, she didnât care. For the first few minutes of unlife, she was nothing but a wild animal.
The elder watched her from across the room while calmly dressing himself in dark garments pulled from an old leather case beside the cabinet. The clothing looked centuries out of fashionâhigh-collared black wool coat, linen tunic, tailored trousers, leather gloves and boots. Every movement he made was deliberate and composed now, utterly unlike the starving thing that had torn into her moments earlier.
When lucidity finally returned to her, her hands flew to her neck. No pulse. No warmth. Only smooth skin and tacky blood. Panic surged through her.
âWhatâŚâ Her voice cracked horribly. âWhat did you do to me?â
The elder fastened one silver cuff button before answering. âI saved your life.â
âThatâs notââ Lorelaiâs words caught abruptly in her throat. The hunger sharpened again. Her eyes drifted involuntarily toward the overturned blood bags and her knees on the floor. The taste of grit in her mouth from licking the ground began to sour with old blood.
Her face recoiled in horror.Â
âYes,â he said quietly. âYou understand already.â
Lorelai shook her head violently. âNo. No, this isnât possibleââ
âYou died, Miss Chen.â His voice remained calm. Academic, almost. âI drained you beyond the point of recovery. Then I fed you my vitae before death fully settled. Your body expired. Your mind did not.â His pale eyes studied her carefully. âCongratulations. You are no longer human.â
The words hollowed her out. She stared at him in mute horror. Some distant part of her mind tried desperately to rationalize what was happening. Drugs. Psychosis. A breakdown brought on by stress and sleep deprivation.
But her body knew better. Her body understood the truth before her mind could bear it.
The elder stepped closer.
Up close, Lorelai could see how unnatural he truly looked now that color had partially returned to him. Not dead exactly. Not alive either. His skin remained pale marble beneath the morgue lights, his eyes too still and ancient for any ordinary man.
âWhat are you?â she whispered.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
âClan Tremere,â he answered simply. âThough your generation tends to prefer the more vulgar term: vampire.â
Lorelai let out a strained laugh that bordered on hysteria.
âNo,â she breathed. âNo, vampires arenât real.â
âAnd yet here you are.â
He crouched before her with slow elegance.
âTell me, Lorelai Chen⌠after everything you have seen tonight, do you truly still believe the world is rational?â
She opened her mouth to argue. Nothing came out.
The elder regarded her silently for a moment longer before continuing.
âMy name is Alaric von Straub. Once Regent of a chantry I assume has long since turned to dust. I entered torpor willingly in the year 1826.â
âTorpor?â she repeated weakly.
âA deathlike hibernation. Necessary, at times.â His expression darkened slightly. âThere were wars within my Clan. Betrayals. Hunters. Fire. Ambitious apprentices.â A flicker of old irritation crossed his features. âI chose patience instead.â
His gaze drifted briefly toward the ancient cabinet. âI remember being placed into my coffin at my estate in Stuttgart. I do not recognize this cabinet, nor this place.â His pale eyes shifted back toward her. âWhere am I? What year is this?â
Lorelai stared at him for a moment before answering carefully. âItâs⌠1985. Weâre in Florida. In America.â
The elderâs eyes snapped toward her with inhuman speed. The movement alone made her flinch. His stare struck her like a lightning bolt through the brain. At first, he gave no visible reaction at all. His face remained completely blank as he processed the words in silence.Â
Then as seconds went by, he started to chortle. Then he started to laugh, low and sinister. It built slowly in volume until it echoed violently throughout the sterile morgue, bouncing off steel cabinets and tile walls alike.Â
Lorelai could do nothing but watch and listen. It mustâve been far too long for him. And far too distant for this to be an expected awakening. When the laughter finally began to settle, she couldnât help but ask. âYou⌠hid yourself in Stuttgart?â
âI preserved myself there. And now I am here.â He corrected. âMortals are adequate custodians until they expire and their loyalties die with them.â
The hunger twisted inside her again, harder this time. She doubled over with a pained sound.
Immediately, Alaric seized one of the unruptured blood bags from the floor and held it toward her. âDrink.â
The scent hit her like a physical blow. Lorelai hesitated only a second before instinct overwhelmed disgust. She snatched the bag from his hand with shaking fingers and tore into it desperately.
The blood was cold. Stale. But it eased the agony instantly. She drained the bag in seconds. Then stared at the empty plastic in horror.
Alaric watched with clinical fascination. âGood,â he murmured. âYour Beast is healthy.â
âMy what?â
âYou will learn.â
She looked up at him suddenly, fury beginning to break through the panic. âYou murdered me.â
âYes.â
The bluntness of it stunned her silent. Alaric tilted his head slightly.
âAnd yet you pursued deathly beauty your entire life, did you not?â he asked softly. âYou sought it in creeks. Crime scenes. Dissection halls. Morgues.â His pale eyes sharpened on hers. âYou were fascinated by the boundary between life and death long before I arrived.â
Lorelaiâs stomach twisted. He was right. That terrified her most of all.
âI sensed your fascination with me, Lorelai. With my body most of all.â he continued, giving her a sick, perverse smile. âI am flattered. And for your diligence, this is your reward.â
She hated how deeply those words burrowed into her. The room fell quiet again. Then, somewhere far above them, a door opened and slammed shut. Both of them froze.Â
Alaricâs expression sharpened instantly. âDawn approaches,â he said.
Lorelai blinked. âWhat?â
âThe sun.â For the first time all night, genuine urgency entered his voice. âYou will soon discover that it is no longer your friend.â
Thoughts about successfully telling stories and creating chronicles in the World of Darkness V5 systems, especially Vampire the Masquerade V
blog with some good tips and guides for v5 storytellers!
had this tab open on my phone for probably months so i'm not sure if it was tumblr that showed it to me first or what, but i thought i would post the link in case it's useful to anyone! personally i think this is all fairly solid, clear advice :)
The tallgrasses are flattened, with only a few charred patches still managing a pitiful upright struggle. The bobcats and bison are gone now; the hawks have moved on. The milkweed and goldenrod and aster are all ash, the flatland poorer for it.
Silence fills the air, save for the dry wind through dead things. To Emmaline, it sounds a bit like the rustling paper of her grandfatherâs Bible. He would flip through the pages with slow hands, reading verses at funerals. He was no preacher, but Pa could read and that was good enough for a place such as this. They werenât fancy folk, and so spread out it was hard to make a church.
And now, there arenât any folk at all.
Pa is dead, and Emmalineâs far-flung neighbors have left. Sheâs been forgotten. No one will read at Paâs funeral, for he wonât have one.
Emmaline pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The flames had ignited in the dead of night, and she only wears a nightdress under the lacey wrap. Indecent, she thinks, but thereâs no one around to see it. Her feet are bare, stained with dirt and soot, blistered. The ground is still hot.
The summer heat feels freezing upon her skin, somehow, the hazy smoke-screen sun above uncaring, unfeeling. It had beaten down upon the plains for days, weeks, unending and without rain. The prairie had barely held on, just on the cusp of drought-death when the fire had come. Sheâd heard of fires like this in stories; thereâd been a large one in the newly-founded state of California a couple years ago.
The white shawl has gone gray from fallen ash. It was the prettiest thing Emmaline had ever owned, ruined now.
Thereâs movement from the corner of her eye. She lifts a hand to shield her gaze from the sunlight. A vulture circles her, perhaps wondering when sheâd keel over. Sheâd make a good meal, at least enough for a single vulture, despite her bony frame. The bird would likely find no other food for miles.
Emmaline thinks her skin might be burnt. She canât feel much, though. Sheâs hollow, the shock and loss of her home and grandfather almost making her feel as if nothing had happened at all. Funny, how that works. The worst of it numbs you the most. The young woman just stares and stumbles around, looking at the husks of her neighborsâ homes and wondering vaguely how sheâs alive.
Perhaps the better question is why. Why has God spared her? Perhaps He needs a witness to His judgement. Perhaps He is punishing Emmaline for something. She canât know. And thatâs what her Pa always said: Godâs ways are unknowable.
When a woman appears at her side, Emmaline thinks that perhaps sheâs an angel. Emmaline wonders if she herself has actually been a ghost this whole time, and this woman is here to collect her soul to God.
The woman looks strange, clothed in a loose white dress not unlike Emmalineâs own nightgown. She holds out her hand.
âCome with me,â she says. âIâve been sent for you.â
Rescue, perhaps? Emmaline is so tired she canât bring herself to doubt. She finds herself slipping her palm into the womanâs.
The woman turns, leading Emmaline somewhere else. Emmaline wonders how this person got here, so far away from any towns and in the middle of wildfire wreckage. She canât ask, so she stares at her guideâs skirt as it drags over the broken ground.
âWhatâs your name?â The woman asks after long minutes.
Emmaline meets her gaze as the lady glances behind at her. She only shakes her head.
âCanât speak?â The woman grins at her, small, the first expression her face has made. âThatâs alright. He doesnât need you to speak. Heâll love you regardless.â
Who? Emmaline wants to ask, but her mouth wonât move. It hasnât for a long time. She was Paâs strange granddaughter, the silent girl.
Above, the vulture is gone.
They walk for hours, until Emmalineâs heels are bloody and her skin is soaked with sweat. Theyâve long since passed the edgeline of the fire where the embers glow brightest.
Emmaline begins to feel faint and her mysterious guide lets her pause to drink from a stream. Theyâre far enough away now that the land is unaffected, whole. Emmaline notices the woman doesnât drink any water, just twists her neck toward the direction theyâre headed while she waits. A peculiar, faraway look is in the ladyâs gaze. Emmaline splashes water on her skin; it stings against her cheeks.
Evening turns to night before they seem to near their destination. The woman goes quicker now, her grip tightening on Emmalineâs hand. The land is hard here, less the plush grassland of Emmalineâs home and more scrubby dirt.
Lamplight breaks on the horizon, peeking from the windows of clustered buildings. Theyâre the only structures as far as the eye can see. The moon just barely reveals their square profiles; the sky above is near starless despite the lack of clouds. Emmaline feels a little like a moth to a flame, unable to go anywhere else as her guide pulls her along. She hopes for food and clothes, her physical needs breaking through her numb devastation. Her mouth is dry again, aching for relief.
They come upon a church.
Its paint is chipped, revealing sun-bleached wood beneath. The place is of the familiar sort: unassuming, humble. Protestants of the plains were content to gather in little chapels such as this, without grandeur. Its steeple is topped with a cracked bell only just visible as the night sky reaches down to envelop it.
Thin-bodied people linger around the front entrance, on their knees or heads ducked in fervent prayer. One of them tries unsuccessfully to climb the woodslats to peek in the windows. All are dressed in gauzy pale cloth.
âLucy,â one of the men gasps, scrambling up to Emmalineâs guide. He clutches at Lucyâs dress. âWhy wonât the preacher see us? The door is locked.â
Lucy says, âHe is welcoming another to the herd tonight.â
Several heads swing Emmalineâs way. Their eyes rake over her with jealous hatred, sharp enough to make her flinch.
âWhy?â The man asks, gaze hot and twitching between Lucy and Emmaline. âHe has us.â Thereâs a large bruise on the underside of his gaunt jaw and the skin under his eyes matches a purplish hue. He looks sick.
Lucy purses her lips. âYou know that Josephine wasnât strong enough. She must be replaced.â
From over Lucyâs shoulder, Emmaline catches sight of a sheet upon the ground. A pair of bare feet stick out from under it, with a shovel cast nearby. The burial waits.
A tiny seed of fear wriggles through her shock and into Emmalineâs consciousness. Perhaps it was a mistake to follow Lucy. Perhaps she was safer back in the lifeless prairie, all alone.
Lucyâs grip is too tight to break away. Thereâs something unnatural about it, something unshakable like a vice. Besides, Emmaline is so exhausted she doubts sheâll get far. The soles of her feet throb. If she runs, coyotes will toy with her until she gives up.
The churchgoers whisper feverishly amongst themselves, unhappy at a newcomer. They seem like children desperately clinging to a shared belonging, unwilling to let another touch. Meanwhile, Lucy produces a heavy key from a chain around her neck and unlocks the church door. She ushers Emmaline inside, shutting it quickly behind her. Emmaline hears the bolt slide back into place.
The interior of the chapel is sparse. Pews line the room under a vaulted ceiling. Shadows curl in the corners where the lamplight dares not to penetrate. An iron note hangs in the air, climbs into Emmalineâs throat, and sticks there.
She turns, her hands shaking as she tests the exit. The door rattles, echoing into the space behind her. She can hear the other people just outside shuffling and waiting to be allowed entry. Someone cries with envy.
Emmaline freezes, pinned in place by some unseen force. She feels the terror of preyâpanic that makes her go stillâlike a fawn in the grass knowing it has been discovered.
She feels her hair shift, the length of it pulled to the side to drape over her shoulder. A nervous chill breaks out along the exposed skin. A hand caresses there, fingertips chilled. There were no footsteps upon the old wooden floor.
âRelax, Emmaline.â
As quickly as her terror came, it leaves. Her knees almost buckle and she leans forward on the door to catch herself.
A low laugh meets her, soft and edged at the same time. She feels a hand guide her around.
A pastor stands before her. He is robed in the dark clothes of his station, a flash of white fabric at his neck. Heâs older than her, graying at the temples, bearded. His handsomenessâmature and distinguishedâmakes her blush. The man smiles, eyes filled with a kind of pity that suggests he is far removed from her suffering. âYou poor, sweet thing,â he says. Thereâs a glint along his straight white teeth. Emmaline finds her attention caught on his mouth. Sheâs again reminded of the coyotes.
With a gentle hand on her back he leads her further into the church. The pastor circles her, eyes roving her up and down.
Emmaline feels ashamed of herself. Her hair is loose and unbrushed. Sweat makes her thin gown cling to her skin, semi-translucent. Grime of dirt and cinder smudges her limbs. Before him, she feels small and strange and ugly, and yet, part of her enjoys the attention in a way unlike anything sheâd ever felt before. His gaze is special, she thinks. Rare. She has a strange desperation to pass whatever test he currently appraises her for.
He breaks the silence to recite, âI am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.â He steps closer, runs a light touch along her back, from one shoulder to the other. Goosebumps follow in his wake. The Gospel of John somehow sounds like the poetry of a lover from the manâs mouth. âAnd other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.â
His footsteps slow until he stops just in front of her. They nearly touch again. She can smell him, the scent of something like smoke and char clinging to his robe. She heats, despite her shame. Her pupils are blown large in the darkness of his comfort.
âI lost a lamb recently. Josephine was her name.â He smiles lightly, as if recounting the fond memory of a lost pet. âA fine girl, but fragile. God holds her soul now.â
His gaze flickers, eyelids batting closed. He draws in a deep lungful of air, scenting more than breathing. When he opens his eyes again, they are dark and hungered. Emmaline finds her balance tipping toward him, as if a magnet pulls her. The room seems to grow darker, shrinking to just the two of them. She canât look awayâdoesnât want to.
The preacher regains some kind of control. He tucks a lock of her hair behind an ear. One of the straps on her nightgown has fallen and he rights it, fingers lingering just a moment on her skin. âThe Lord often asks difficult things of us.â When he speaks again the words are like the very ground beneath her feet, immutable and unquestionable. His voice resonates with the power of heaven. âYou will try to endure, Emmaline, for as long as you can. You will not leave the pasture.â A pause. âThere are wolves beyond that would take you from me. Do you understand?â
She nods. Her jaw is slackened. A heady charge grips her, though any concern of sin is wiped away by the priest.
He draws closer. âYou love being my lamb, Emmaline.â His hands ghost up her sides, tracing over her hip bones and ribs. He wraps his palms around her jaw, her neck. She bends open for him like a branch weighted with ripened, dripping fruit. âYou donât want to leave your shepherd, Emmaline.â
Pain stabs at her throat.
Her pulse dedicates itself to Him as He drinks. Emmalineâs heart works harder, pushing her blood quicker at Him, begging Him to take more. Her body tightens and relaxes in euphoric waves. She forgets the hellfire and ash of yesterday; she knows Him only.
She smiles, blissful, enlightened.
Somewhere deep in her mind Emmaline hears her grandfather, his aged voice and his Bible paper rustling. He speaks of Psalms in his slow way. Pa tells her, âKnow ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.â
A big thank you to @porcelainseashore and @vampemoqueen! This was so fun!
A young woman with light brown hair gritted her teeth as she flipped the lock on the window to an abandoned building. Once she heard a click she knew that she got the lock. She slide the glass up and slipped inside with ease.
With two feet planted firmly on the ground, she surveyed her surroundings. Half stacked boxes, magazines that were piled carelessly and fell to the ground because of that fact. There were glasses, vases, and other nicknacks; she wasn't here for any of this junk.
She located the door into the inner basement, with as much natural light that can filter in. She knew that her prey wouldn't be in this room. She found one pushed against the far right of the room. She climbed over boxes and made sure not to break anything.
Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob and she twisted it open. She felt surprised at first and then had to shake it off. She needed to focus on the task at hand.
Find the monster's lair and hopefully destroy it. She looked at the time on her phone, she should have plenty of time she thought as she pocketed it. She stepped into the dark hallway, and yeah, she had to be in the right spot. Looking to the left and right, there were several doors on either side of her, along with the stairs to the ground floor.
She moved to her left and went to the first door, and cutting on a flashlight so she could navigate. The room was empty with nowhere that anyone could hide. She walked out and heard something clatter to the floor, she jumped lighting the direction where it was coming from. She looked around and didn't see anythingâŚ. Not even a rogue can or something.
She shook her head, and needed to get over her nerves. She continued with her search and cleared the entire area on the left, she started on the right side.
Another, much louder clatter and thud of things falling to the ground. It came from the room she originally made her entry into the basement. Then she heard the telltale sign of click clack of nails on the concrete floor. Her shoulders relaxed.
"An animal must have gotten in," she muttered her breathe, but didn't let that deter her from her task at hand. Her heart hammered in her chest regardless. She drew her machete from it's sheath that she had strapped to her back.
Her grip was sweaty on the handle and she had a nervous urge to run away. Her group, the people she met and told her the truth of the disappearance of her Mom. Apparently they told her that she was in danger, and she just laughed it off.
Her lips pressed into a tight line as she forced herself to move to the first door. This one⌠lockedâŚ. hmmm. This could be it.
She wanted to check the other doors first before picking this lock. The other doors were open, and in the back she could hear the animal moving as she entered the last one. As she walked out, there was a huge beast, a dog? No, a fucking wolf.
It lunged at her and she brought her other hand to the handle, swinging at it. It dodged the attack and shifted backwards. Paced the narrow hall, its eyes on her careful of the blade now.
"Get back," she said, stepping forward. It only lowered it's head and growled at her. Lips pulled back to show its long, white fangs.
Her heart sprinted in her chest and she panted, what the fuck? She didn't know about this, at least the hunters didn't mention any animals. She took another step forward and it snapped and snarled at her. She yelped and stumbled back a couple of steps and the beast closed the distance. Her feet frozen to the ground and the beast took the opportunity and jumped. She closed her eyes and brought the blade down.
She felt the resistant of the flesh and bones as it made connection with the blade in her hands. It yelped and rolled away before lunged again. A little more confident she kept her eyes opened this time as she brought the blade down meeting the beast's body. This time it fell to the ground, she rose the blade over head and brought it down again, and again, and again.
It stopped moving and stopped making noise, and she dropped the machete to the ground. She started to head to the door, to the way out, but she stopped. Sweat poured down her back and face and she looked back to the locked door.
She only had one more door left, she could confirm it and then just let the hunters know. They didn't even know that she was out doing this, she shook her hands in front of her before bringing it to her face. She muffled a scream.
She moved to the door and started to pick the lock. Thankfully it wasn't a fully secure lock, and she was able to pop it open.
She realized that she had dropped her flashlight and her machete, she went to both to pick them up. She stood up straight, and most of the work was done⌠She needed to follow it through, what would be the whole point of it if she just left right now.
She turned, and aimed the flashlight in the direction of the room. She opened the door, and pointed it in there.
There were two bodies on the floor. Two women, one with their arm draped over the other's waist. It could be the picture of any couple, there is another worry⌠what if she was just killing two normal people?
The sunlight⌠she thought, she grabbed the ankles of one and dragged it out to the room. She struggled with getting the body around the boxes and she just needed to get the woman into the sun light.
Red hot heat burned her hands and the woman went up in flame, well just her feet though. She grabbed the clothes of the woman and lifted the rest of the body into the sunlight. The woman woke up to scream as she burned in front of her eyes.
Olive panted and pushes herself as far awhile from the scream and thrashing body. Until it stopped moving and collapsed into a pile of ashes.
Olive finally collapsed under the weight of her own body, what she had just done, and the realization that vampires are real. That one of them killed her mom. She panted and smothered a scream as she rolled on to all fours staring at the ground.
What the fuck. What the fuck?! What the fuck?!?!?!!!
She got up and immediately collapsed, the world spinning. She had to finish off the other one, they would come after her she was sure. She grabbed the machete and finished off the other one by cutting off the head.
She watched the body degrade into ash, she stared at the pile. Her eyes vacant and hollowed. This is her life until she gets killed or she avenge her mom.
My entry for the prompts of darkness event hosted by @porcelainseashore and @vampemoqueen ~
CW: Animal death, graphic descriptions of violence and gore and corpses, cannibalism, dehumanization, canon typical treatment and thoughts on thinbloods, implied sexual content, explicit language, gore, religious cults
Words: 3.7k
A roadtrip fic involving a Lamia and a Thinblood and a trail of bodies left in their wake.
I was once a normal kindred. Or well, as normal a kindred could be when they're as old as I am⌠or was. It's hard to explain. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.
Caine's Tears, letâs start there. Caine's Tears is a pair of ruby teardrop earrings, crafted sometime in Sumer when I walked the earth. They are beautiful. The housing is simple, as most things were back then, but the rubies? They are a jewelers masterpiece⌠or nightmare. Faceted in ways that make the eyes hurt when studying them, overlapping and intricate, which makes no sense. It never has. Then again, I suppose for what they do it adds a layer of protection. Or that might have been the intent?
What matters about the earrings, is that I came into possession of them. Well thatâs not all that matters, but the rest comes later. They were my favorite accessories, and I never left my haven without them. Their more interesting qualities didnât manifest for a few years. Not until I consumed one of my childeâŚ
It was a relatively normal night, until he came to my haven, demanding to be let in and for my earrings to be handed over. I was taken aback by this! Normally he was such a good boy that this outburst had come out of nowhere to me. I tried to reason with him, but it fell on deaf ears. The confrontation turned violent. I⌠I had no choice but to kill him. But I didnât want to just banish him from existence, if I drank from his soul, I could always keep him with me! So I did. And I carried him with me always.
Thatâs when everything really started.
After sunset, I would wake and occasionally hear a whisper in the darkness of my chambers. At first, I attributed it to one of my servants, being closer than intended when I roused. But, after a while, I realized the whispers were not coming from far away, they were coming from my earrings. It was the voice of my childe. He offered me advice and secrets occasionally with the strength his soul could muster, whispering in the stillness of the night. I could hardly believe it. Iâd meant to keep him with me, but this was even more than I dreamed. Another voice soon joined him, a kindred who had entered the town a few nights before had made a nuisance of herself, killing indiscriminately, and so I took her power for my own. A few nights passed before I heard her voice, so different from my childe, whispering to me. The voices soon grew in number, offering advice and secrets as they did so. They were ever so helpful! I shouldâve known better, I should have kept the power of the jewelry secret, but occasionally the opportunity to use its knowledge was too hard to ignore.
Someone found out.
The next night I awoke to a servant standing above me, stake held aloft for just a moment before it was shoved into my heart. Torpor sets in quite quickly, but I had never been one to be totally unaware. Which means I know what happened next but I was powerless to stop it. A friend of my childe walked into the room not much later. Smirking down at my prone corpse, he reached for the earrings and I wanted to scream as they left my body, the dearth of whispers jarring after so much time with them as my companions. Thatâs when I heard him start talking. About how long he had waited to get his hands on these, how if my childe had just done as he commanded it would have been so much quicker. As he pierced his own ears, the rubies dangling from his lobes, I watched as the whispers started for him. So much quicker than they had for me, and his eyes widened. Then they locked onto me, and I saw when he made his decision.
The next thing I remember is red. Red as far as the eye can see, then I began to whisper.
After a while, if youâre strong enough, you can hook into whoever is wearing the earrings. You can watch through their eyes for a bit before beginning to⌠consume them. Slotting yourself where they should be, almost swapping places. I never finished this transformation. Most are reticent to give up their autonomy, no matter what the souls within the earrings offer up. Some, however, can be persuaded. The last of my attempts bore some kind of fruit. A Tremere who wanted to understand and experiment finally gave in to the first taste, but he was fighting me. Until he couldnât anymore. Because a small group of kindred had come and they torpored him and me. I was halfway there when they waltzed in. The girl was infuriating, her whip hurt and she wouldnât stand still, we couldnât get our hands on her. Two of them tasted our blood, but didnât consume us. Leaving us on the floor as the earrings were removed. I didnât flow back into the earrings though⌠I stayed, and I turned my attention to the kindred I was attached to⌠and I began to consume.
Written for Prompts of Darkness, hosted by myself and @vampemoqueen!
Prompt - Acceptance. AO3 Link
Forced as Dhampyrs to work together, Hailin and Nobuo have never seen eye to eye. An altercation with a gang lord makes them reflect on old prejudices.
Content Warnings: Blood and violence, injury, cannibalism, racist language, hurt/comfort, references to Mage.
Authorâs Note: Iâm finally writing for Wynterâs mom! Itâs fun exploring her younger days before she became the austere figure her daughter knew. For context: Hailin, Nobuo, Soon-hee, and Wai Mun are a group of Dhampyrs who are under elusive orders from their respective Courts to work together.
They had planned for it, meticulously, leaving little to no room for error. That had to count for something under Nobuoâs lead. He wasnât one to throw caution to the wind, nor did he suffer fools gladly. Priding himself on precision and perfectionism, he controlled the motley crew of dhampyrs, himself included, with an iron hand, and she hated that.
When Hailin thought of Fujiwara Nobuo, she pictured a bone white room, sharp clean lines, and glass so clear that a single ray of light could pierce through it undistorted. It was as if he had cut out the soul from his shell to stay impeccable and pristine, constantly placing himself on a pedestal above them. She hated him all the more for it, and swore that one day she would cause his ruin. It would be her greatest joy to see the back of him, she believed.
For now, she had to keep her head down and obey, like she always did with her family, the mandarins at Court, and every single being in the impossible order of hierarchies she reported to. Hailin let out a despondent sigh, earning her an irritated scowl from Nobuo, and a raised eyebrow in concern from Soon-hee. Wai Mun was already ahead of them, scouting out the place.
A group of dhampyrs walk into the lionâs denâBaoâs den, to be exactânow what could go wrong? Anyone, and that was everyone, who knew Bao spoke of his name in fear and revered whispers in the seedy underbelly of Hong Kong. These nights, he ran a tight ship, the gang he led were ferocious and brutal, unflinching in the face of death. What made them loyal to a fault? Many wondered, but never found the answer.
Just as they approached, a volley of bullets ripped through the air, and in a flurry of movement, each of them narrowly dodged to avoid them. Taking cover, they returned fire at their assailants.
âHow the fuck did they expect us? There wasnât supposed to be anyone along this passage!â Wai Mun yelled in between shots.
âWasnât the surveillance cut?â Soon-hee added.
Nobuo remained stoic, but his lip curled in disdain as he replied, âSomeone must have tipped them off.â
From the other end, they heard the thundering of footsteps, men shouting and clamoring as they brandished machetes wildly above their heads. They were being surrounded and ambushed. All routes of entrances and exits that they had so laboriously mapped out were rendered useless in a couple of seconds. It was almost as if the gang had predicted their every move.Â
Who would have sold them out? Hailin struggled to visualize a name or a face of one of their adversaries. There were plenty, but none of them could have figured it out. They had been careful, hadnât they?
A thug rushed toward her, but she countered him easily, her combat prowess honed from her years of training since young. Grabbing his machete, she sliced the blade into another man's chest, watching him crumple to the floor as blood sprayed across her blouse.
âCannon fodder,â she remarked without batting an eyelid, and Nobuo nodded curtly in response. These gangsters had been sent over to harass them and detract the group from their real goal.
Wised up, Wai Mun gestured at a small clearing in the path ahead. âNab the bastard, Fujiwara. Iâll flush these guys out.â
âIâll stay and cover you,â Soon-hee declared.
âHailin, with me!â Nobou barked, as he anticipated a break in the gunfire before dashing across at full pelt.
Finding herself once again stuck with her nemesis, she suppressed a grumble of displeasure as her legs carried her in time with his, following closely behind. The two of them made their way past the horde miraculously unscathed, fighting off any stragglers as they ventured deeper into the nest.
Yet for Hailin, there was something exhilarating about such nights, living life in the fast lane, not knowing if she would get to see another day. It was a feeling of freedom in the loud, bustling city of neon lights, jam-packed traffic, and cramped buildings, away from the stuffy Courts she had served at. She wished it could last forever.
Soon, they encountered what they were looking for. Long shadows danced around the walls as Bao gathered his belongings, while a bunch of his fiercest men stood watch, fingers poised around their cleavers and at the trigger. A severe glance from Nobuo cautioned her. He shook his head to emphasize his warning.
Right on cue, she heard that little voice in her head, the one that returned to her in these moments where she walked a tightrope, egging her on.
Forget him. Do it. Youâre so close. Donât you want to see Bao squirming at your feet like the worm he is? Come on. Do it!
Hailinâs penchant for taking high risks often drew the ire of not only Nobuo, but also her father, who had acknowledged her talent, but disapproved of her recklessness. She wondered where her defiance came from. Was it the luck that her kind possessed? The rush and thrill of gambling with it, as if it would never run out?
And so, she attuned herself to the vibrant scarlet energy in her body, bending it to her will as she focused on a cigarette that one of Baoâs cronies was puffing. The room became enshrouded in a thick cloud of smoke as the men scrambled around, baffled, and coughing violently. Seizing the opportunity, she leaped toward Bao, landing with a roundhouse kick to his neck.
Suddenly, she found herself back at her starting position, crouching next to Nobuo, going through the exact same motions as she had done a minute ago. It was as if her mind couldnât catch up to the physical pull of her body, except this time, Bao was prepared and evaded her strike, causing her to lose her balance, and fall in a heap to the ground.
What the fuck!
Before Hailin could react, a pair of pallid arms, ice cold to the touch, snaked around her waist. She felt her breath punch out of her lungs as she was yanked flush against a chest, then blow after blow of heavy shotgun shells reverberated through her ribs, but there wasnât any pain. Turning her head, she came face to face with Nobuo, his skin toughened and corpse-like, having called upon the dead, dark art to shield her.Â
The surprise in his eyes was evident, as if he couldnât believe that he had just jumped in, sacrificing himself for her. Time seemed to slow down as she peered at him in astonishment, similarly unable to comprehend what he had done. He could have left her to die, and she wouldnât even have blamed him for it. It was an easy way to get rid of her, after all, and hadnât that been what he always wanted?
A raucous blast interrupted her reverie, and they watched wide-eyed as Bao screamed and vanished into thin air, sucked into an invisible vortex. There was something uncanny and vulgar about it, like reality had been warped. Hailin heard tales of these strange, shamanistic folk, whose practices were more prevalent than others in the region. So, as it stood, Bao had actually been one of them? But where had he gone to?
By this point, Nobuo was doubled over, groaning in pain as he soaked up the damage. He didnât have much more to spare. Through gritted teeth, he commanded, âGo! Take the stuff and get out of here! Iâll regroup with you later!â
âFujiââ
âHavenât you caused enough trouble already?â he hissed.
Hailin bit her tongue to prevent herself from lashing out. Shoving her to the side, Nobuo opened fire on the remaining gang members with his uzi. The distraction he had caused bought her time to swipe the items of interest from a nearby counter and book it out of the room. If they couldnât get Bao this time, at the very least, they would have his curiosities to tamper and trade with.
Halfway through the maze of corridors and hallways, she stopped. A sense of unease built up within her, as no matter how much she had previously convinced herself that she would be happier if he were dead, she couldnât bring herself to leave her teammate behind. Spinning on her heel, she headed back in the direction from where she came.
Drawing near to the location, it was unusually silent, but as her ears pricked up, Hailin could make out the low sound of growling and snarling. Guardedly, she peeked into the room and the sight in front of her made her gasp. Blood and viscera stained Nobuoâs mouth, shirt, and hands, as he feasted on one of the men that he had put down next to him. His jagged teeth chewed into flesh, and spindly claws gripped his knife as he carved it into the victimâs bowels.
He behaved like a rabid dog in his bloodlust, and her Pâo lurched forward both in fear and excitement, recognizing one of its own. Hailin covered her mouth in shock. Never in a million years had she thought that someone like Nobuo, who carried himself with such nobility and esteem, would debase himself to such a nature. Alerted to her presence, he finally looked up and met her eyes in a mixture of fury, terror, and defeat.
Having suffered grievous wounds from his altercation with Bao and his men, and running low on the life force he needed to mend them, Nobuo found himself in a precarious position. He was incapacitated with the final bullet in his chamber emptied. Consuming other humans for their Chi was a quick and dirty solution he reserved for situations like these. It was something that filled him with shame, but as long as no one knew, he could tuck it away in a box and never speak of it.
Instead, his crimes had finally caught up to him. The deities were enraged, sending that girl he detested over to mock and brand him as a demon worshipper. Such as his luck would have it. Nobuo let out a bitter laugh as he leaned his head against a pillar.
Who was the âdirty savageâ now? he questioned ruefully, recalling the insult he had hurled at her, as well as the ones she spat back during their first meeting. All because they were born on the opposing sides of history.
However, Hailin stood rooted to the ground, staring at him, unblinking. He couldnât read her thoughts and it made him furious.Â
âWhat are you waiting for? Nowâs your chance,â Nobuo challenged. He would accept whatever fate was to befall him head-on, honorably and without a shadow of a doubt.
At this, she twisted her mouth and strode toward him. Stooping to his level, she draped his arm over her shoulders, lifting him to his feet and escorting him out. From a safe distance, Hailin set off a homemade explosive to get rid of the traces of evidence before escaping. Nobuo stumbled into her side, limping as she guided him through the passageways. Brows furrowed in a haze of confusion, he blabbered on in protest.
âShut up!â she snapped, dragging him along more forcefully.
He relented, his constitution still frail and weakened from the fight. By the time Hailin reached Soon-hee and Wai Mun, Nobuo had slipped into unconsciousness. She felt for his pulse, and it was faint, but still present.
âWhat the hell happened?â Soon-hee exclaimed, assisting Hailin by propping Nobuo up on the other side. Her gaze darted from his grisly, ensanguined face to the gaping holes that riddled his body. Wai Mun was looking on similarly.
âHeâs lost a lot of blood,â Hailin replied tersely, burying his secret with her. âBaoâs disappeared. Some sort of shaman, I think, but we have his trinkets.â
âRight.â Wai Mun nodded, hurrying them toward a getaway van before hopping into the driverâs seat. âWe need to beat it. The police will be here any second.â
They shuffled in and tore off the road at breakneck speed, leaving the wails of sirens and their flashing lights behind.
Back at the safehouse, Nobuo drifted in and out of wakefulness over the next few days, gradually recovering as he felt his vitality return to him. Now and then, he heard the murmur of voices of whom he assumed were his associates, caught a blurry glimpse of someone by his side, and picked up the subtle scent of the sea and jasmine.
He dreamed of home and longed for it. The serenity he found in its harsh landscape, rural and unspoiled. The crashing of waves, the white blanket of snow, and the chill in the air that gripped his bones, offering him solace and clarity. Not like the noisy and pungent smells of a city he didnât belong to, in which he felt so foreign and alone, despite its dense crowds. He had been sent to prove himself, needing to be strong, and never showing an ounce of weakness. Because he was perfect. He always was.
Eventually, when Nobuo roused, he saw the last person he expected in the room with him. For a while, Hailin noticed as he observed her in confoundment and curiosity, but paid him no mind, continuing to busy herself with dressing his wounds, which had mostly healed. She could sense his mistrust in the way he stilled and shrank away from her, as if this were a trap that she had laid out for him.
After a bout of silence, Nobuo sat himself upright. Clearing his throat, he suggested, âYou want something in exchange. Is that it?â
He was smart, Hailin had to admit that at least. It wasnât too far out from what she might have done, had it been under different circumstances. He knew how she played her games, toyed with her subjects like chess pieces, infiltrating them one by one, without them realizing that they had been deceived.
âSometimes, you do what you have to do, Fujiwara. Iâm sure we both know that very wellâŚâ she began. Rising from his bedside, she went over to the sink and let the faucet run. Cold water splashed onto her hands, washing them clean. She waited until she had turned the tap off before continuing.Â
âIâm not telling anyone and thereâs no price attached.â
Nobuo uttered a scoff in disbelief as he shifted his gaze away, looking out the window. It was all tarmac, chipped paint, and concrete. Dull and gaudy collectively. âWhy?â he whispered, more to himself than to her. âWhy are you helping me?â
An audible sigh fell from her lips. Her shoulders slumped and she let her head loll before pulling herself together and regarding him.Â
âI donât know,â Hailin responded truthfully. âI should hate you for what your people did to mine, but whoâs saying that? Do I really hate you or am I forced to because of somebody elseâs hate? Does it make sense? I just⌠I donât see why. When you saved me back there, what made you? What made you think of me as anything more than Chinese scum? Do you really believe in that? I called you a devilââ
âA Japanese devil,â Nobuo interjected, though the ghost of a wry smile appeared on his face.
Hailin huffed in exasperation. âYes, that. I donât even know what it means anymore. Do you? Itâs just words Iâm constantly repeating, and I donât think I feelâŚâ she broke off, holding her breath as she searched his eyes desperately for an answer. Werenât they the same? Cut them both, and they would bleed.
Her face had gotten hot with embarrassment, a reaction she experienced every time she had an outburst like this. Like a reminder of her vulnerability that she had failed to rein in, to keep her emotions in check. On the one hand, she envied how calm and composed Nobuo seemed, yet on the other, he felt most human to her when she had witnessed him at his lowest.
âI donât think I can hate you, Hailin,â he said softly. âAnd believe me, Iâve tried.â
She nodded, understanding the conflict that he had endured with a certain intimacy. Brushing aside the strands of hair from her face, Hailin gave a hint of a smile. Then, she bent her head, saying, âIâm sorry,â even though it came unnaturally to her.
In a similar fashion, Nobuo bowed slightly to acknowledge it, his deep brown eyes reflecting hers. âI apologize.âÂ
There was a hesitance and stiltedness to it, but it was a start.
My story for Prompts of Darkness, hosted by @vampemoqueen and @porcelainseashore! It mentions a character who belongs to @girlnextvore (not saying who to avoid spoilers), who also made the divider.
This features Helena Van Houten on her 30th birthday. If you wanna read it in Ellipsus with the Open Dyslexic font, you can do so here.
It's late morning, and I'm preparing for a more quiet day in my home.
My family is asleep since all of them work nights. Various people work around the houses during that time so I'm not completely alone. I'm attempting to get all the knots and tangles out of my hair; simply existing gets it all out of sorts. Mama used to help me do it, but now she's on third shift so I need to do it alone.
Could I ask for help from somebody else? Yes, but I despise most people touching my head.
I'll go with a more simple look for today, since taking it all off later to change into my party outfit would be too much work. Besides, it's my birthday, I can dress however I want as long as I have clothing on. And if anybody who's awake has issues with a hoodie and PJ pants, that problem is theirs alone. Looking at the time, I decide my hair is brushed enough and that breakfast is far more important.
Tying my hair back with one of my ribbons, I stand up from my vanity and step outside of my room. One of the people hired mainly to keep me company pauses, a smile on her lips.
"Happy birthday Helena."
"Good morning Melody, and thank you!" I carefully walk past her to head downstairs to the kitchen. I'll do a light breakfast, I think, and then spend some time reading. Making a little parfait, I make my way into the dining room. I pause upon seeing a wrapped box with a tag on the table.
"Open upon waking up - Palmira" Oh, it must be a present from one of our close family friends; Palmira Reyes. I fondly recall when we met her and her associates a few years ago. Each one promising a special gift upon our next birthday after we'd known each other for a while. I had noticed that none of them seem to age, but upon the promise to learn why, I didn't investigate further.
All I know is that I am now the last one to receive that gift, and it will be tonight.
I pull the box over to myself after I finish my breakfast, I do not wish to forget to eat after all. I carefully unwrap the present, setting aside some of the wrapping paper. It's purple with black bats all over it, it's really cute, and it will fit in marvelously in my current wrapping paper album. After freeing the box, I see a second tag.
"If you see any matching mourning rings, set one aside - Palmira." Hm, interesting.
Upon opening the cardboard box, I am greeted by beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous stained wood. A dark oak, if I were to guess. Pulling it out very carefully, I can see it's an older jewelry box. I even find the keys attached with a string to one of the handles. And as I set it down, I can hear it rattle.
Oh, Palmira knows me so, so well.
It's on the taller side, and in the middle is two little doors with etched glass; the doors have little locks, which is what the keys for. I will certainly find necklaces in there on a little round turning mechanism with hooks to put things on. On the sides of the doors are the drawers; two shorter ones on top and one longer one on the bottom that also have a lock. Taking my new keys, I unlock the middle first.
The necklaces are nice, and I set one aside for tonight. It'll be perfect with my outfit! The shorter drawers hold earrings and broaches, which I don't need tonight. The bottom drawers, however, house the things I want the most. Which, of course, are rings.
And oh my, there's a lot of them!
Before I sort through them, I stand and go to get my sorting trays. Well, I say trays, but they are long, shallow drawers that I found at an estate sale years ago for cheap since the standing jewelry box they belonged to was gone. And they are perfect for ring sorting. I very carefully pour the rings into one and sit down to begin sorting.
Pretty much all of them are perfect, with only a few going into the second tray for me to sell or give away. And, to my surprise, I find two mourning rings! Which is pretty rare since most people keep the ones from their family, or donate them to museums. And there's something more rare about them.
They match.
The bands are of average width, gold on the inside with inscriptions and black on the outside with gold detailing. In the middle of the outside of the band, is thin gold that was shaped to look like a casket. The inside of the casket is black with a painted, hazy white skull. The casket is sealed with a clear material.
Carefully, I pick one up, put it on my right ring finger, and find it fits.
Keeping it on, I set the other one aside. It's not my size, and was clearly meant for another person in the family. I keep Palmira's note in mind, and I will find something to keep it in for later. I go back to sorting the rings, putting the ones I desire to keep away before setting the others aside. Standing, I pocket the spare ring, carefully pick up my new jewelry box, and bring it upstairs to my bedroom.
I have time to kill, and I'm feeling a good book at this time.
It's now night, and I'm getting ready for my party.
Shortly after sunset my family came to visit me while the main house next door was being prepared. We had some quiet time together while I opened my birthday presents from them. Mama helped me brush my hair after so I did not have to struggle like I did this morning before she wandered back next door to help finish preparations.
I pause, staring at myself in my mirror. I'm mostly dressed, my make up is done, and all I need to do is tie back my hair. I nervously twist my new ring on my finger, just looking at myself in my over sized button up shirt that I put on to protect my clothing from make up. The thoughts about my new gift tonight wash over me, nerves whispering briefly in my ear.
But I want to know what comes next.
I finish my own preparations, removing my shirt before heading down to my den.
Sitting in one of my refurbished arm chairs, I wait for the familiar sound of the front door opening and two sets of feet entering my foyer. It soon greets me, and I turn my head to the open entry way that connect the two spaces together.
"In here." Palmira is the first to enter, with her close friend Deysi following right behind her. Nothing needs to be said, and I stand as the first woman steps to me.
"Happy birthday, Helena." She kisses the top of my head, smiling, "How are you feeling?"
"Thank you Palmira. I feel a little nervous, but I'm more excited than anything." I look to the other woman, "Good evening, Deysi."
"Hello birthday girl." She steps over, also kissing the top of my head. "You ready for that party?" I nod my affirmation.
"Good, did you sort through the rings?" I show Palmira the ring I'm wearing before pulling the matching one out of my hidden pocket. "Oh, how excellent! Let us head over then." She takes one of my hands as I pocket the ring again. I follow behind, with Deysi behind me.
"Now, you're going to be seeing a lot of people from your family's birthday parties this past year. However, there are three women here tonight especially for you. Do not worry about the why, you will find out later. I know what to look for when you interact with them, okay?"
"Okay."
"Deysi?"
"Aye, I know what to look for as well." I hear a chuckle, "They did bring presents for you too, kiddo. Don't sweat the details, you got this."
Do I?
All the usual people are here. A table sits in the middle of the biggest room in the house, and it's piled with presents. I will open those later, after my main gift. I stifle my curiosity as I work my way through my guests. I do not know all of them personally yet, but I manage to recognize them enough to properly greet them all.
The mysterious Dunsirn lady even comes to greet me herself.
After some time, I'm approached by Palmira. She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder as she guides me to a more quiet area of the house. It seems most people were told to steer clear, for now, and they have listened. Aside from Deysi and three women I've never seen before.
Two are proper, in full black suits, and are white. The first has buzzed hair, which I think may be black, along with friendly green eyes. She smiles at me as she presents a plushie; a white bunny with black spots wearing a pair of blue overalls. I'm not given her name, but I thank her for the present. The second has shoulder length, wavy brown hair, though her brown eyes are much more serious. She doesn't give me much of a reaction as she presents me the blue bunny plushie, which clearly came from an Easter selection at a store.
The two of them seem nice, but my eyes do not linger on them. The third woman, however, catches me off guard.
She certainly stands out in her three piece, dark green suit with a pop of snake skin in her vest. The suit complements her skin color, brown. Her hair goes to the back of her neck, mostly brown with darker roots on top. She wears over, gold glasses with no frame on top. A brief smile crosses her lips, allowing me to see her tooth gap. She has multiple earrings in one ear, which is impressive. Her right hand features a stylized tattoo of a snake with its mouth open, with what looks like an eye that's vertical in the middle.
In the few seconds I look her over, I notice her chest tattoo due to her leaving the top of her shirt open. Along with the scars on her face, and her nose ring. After a moment she holds out another bunny plushie; this one is based off my beloved crème dâArgente and is wearing a little yellow sundress.
I carefully take it, thanking her. She smiles at me again, and I feel my heart flutter.
I hear Palmira whisper to Deysi, but I don't fully catch it. Maybe something about "this one", which means nothing as of the moment. I am soon guided back out to the main party to go have some of the party food. I hold my new bunnies close.
But I hold my crème dâArgente the closest.
It is eleven PM, and Palmira is guiding me to the door down to the basement. I hand her the ring upon her request, she takes my hand, and we go down together as the door closes behind us.
And soon, I get my gift.
I now know what I am.
I get a brief lesson from Palmira, about what is going on. She calls me kindred, a Cappadocian. She tells me I will get more lessons, of course, just like my family. But for now, she wants me to enjoy the rest of my party. I clean myself up, and we head towards the stairs.
She quietly hands me the ring I had set aside while still human. I'm given a quiet nod, and I think I begin to understand as I look at her and Deysi. The way the two are always together, the way she stands behind my sire. My mind goes to the three women at my party, and I understand completely. Quietly, I turn and go upstairs, opening the basement door to see the woman from before.
