The ceremony was in procession. Rings of silver hung from the stone halls of the Gothic tower and the guests filed down the hall. They were a dark somber mass, in cloaks that trailed on the floor. The men were tall and pale, like gliding marble statues. The women were regal and tall as well, their lips dark red with sharp white teeth glimmering.
They entered the banquet room, a round space of dreary gray, with stone gargoyles and bats set in the wall high above the guests. There were steps that rose to the throne, made out of crude white marble. Here sat the Count.
The Count was a fearsome man, the ruler of Transylvania, and his eyes were dark slits, rising above a high nose and leering mouth. The most revealing of which were a pair of canines, bloodstained, inside his lips. He waved the guests in, a thirsty bat perched on his shoulder, its eyes fixed intently on the man, or monster, sitting next to the Count.
The son of the Count stood out oddly from the rest of the vampires. His hair was platinum blonde, almost to the point of turning white, and fell down in a wild mane over his broad, pale shoulders. So had been the consequences of not drinking blood for years. The hunt was too cruel for him. His eyes were dark blue, though, and his face sculpted as tall and elegantly as his fathers, just lacking the meanness inside. All eyes were on him.
The guests stood silently in the banquet room as the night fell upon them, and only the beams of the moon shed any light. In the middle of the room was a giant stone pit. Out of it, now, a fog began to rise, and a voice eerily sang, "Reincarnation." The sound of footsteps was heard as someone climbed up the stone ladder in the pit, and raised a pale hand into the air, long, pointy fingers facing the crowd. She rose to the top, a mistress of the night, raven hair falling to her hips as she turned to face the Count. She smiled, her teeth leering in the dark -- pointy, sharp, and blood-stained.
Mel locked the door behind her stealthily and sneaked out into the night.
The night air was chilly, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulder to keep warm. Where was she going? Anywhere to get away from her abusive step-mother. She had taken a year off from high school, having no money to attend the state university she was accepted to what with her father's alcoholic problems, and now, at 19, just wanted to start over. Find a job, some friends, and live in peace and quiet. Mel loved reading, dreaming that maybe someday she could be a poet.
As Mel reached the town's borders, where the woods were, she thought she heard someone following her. Mel whipped around. Silence. She turned back uneasily to the tree branches, and kept walking. Suddenly, a squawking bird startled her. Mel looked to her left and almost screamed. A man had fallen onto the brambles in exhaustion. His pale face was illuminated by the moonlight. Tired, hungry eyes stared back at her.
"Oh, what..." Mel wanted to run. So not wise to talk to strangers at night.
"Help," The man's hair was scraggly, recently hacked, it seemed. His throat sounded scratchy.
"Water?" Mel reached into her backpack. She handed the bottle to him.
"Please...come here." She started to think he was just a perv, and cautiously withdrew her water bottle. "I need...warmth." He uttered. Something about his navy blue eyes pulled her forward. She inched forward.
Suddenly, he grabbed her arm, and pulled her face close, so close she could hear his ragged breathing.
"Milk. I need milk."
"Ok." Mel stifled a giggle as she told the man to wait. She'd have to pilfer from the farmer, but for some reason, the stranger seemed to need the energy.
Finally, the man came out of the woods, and leaned against an oak, his cloak fluttering. He picked up the water bottle, and slowly washed away the dirt from many days of journey. As the dust and grime fell away, his handsome features were clear, the strong dark blue eyes, tall nose, and squared jaw. His hands were rough from prying apart branches as he traveled through the woods, escaping, always escaping his hunters. When Mel returned, he took the milk gratefully and drank, his eyes tracing over her curiously. She was delicate but beautiful, in a neglected sort of way. Her long tresses fell onto her lower back, and though tied up in a ponytail, shined glossily in the moonlight. Her eyes were brown, like the warmest chestnut, gentle and timid, eyes that understood pain. Right now, she was blushing at the stranger's glance, her slender fingers reaching up to brush her cheeks. Her teeth were straight and pearly, not pointy, at all.
"You are unlike any sorceress." The man was entranced. Mel raised her eyebrows. Someone need escorting back to the loony bin?
"Um...thanks."
"What's your name, fairest?"
"Melanie."
"I'm Vladimir, the Second."
"Ahh." Time to escape, Mel told herself.
"Melanie, you seem...so innocent." The man spoke slowly. He flexed his shoulders and sat up straighter. Suddenly, he seemed tall and imposing, new-found vigor coursing through his veins. His eyes turned more intense, and the dark blue orbs pierced right into Mel's blinking lashes, unblinkingly. "Such a hidden gem." Mel didn't know what to say, but the warm heat creeping up through her body seemed to tell enough, her chest rising unevenly under Vladimir's glance.
