Midnight Massacre: Birth of the Volturi Twins.
A/N: Okay, so I had a bit of writer's block for my other story (Crescent Moon) when I came up with this. Jane and Alec have always piqued my curiosity. Stephenie Meyer gave a brief explanation of their past, but I found it inadequate…
Q. Are Jane and Alec related? How did they join the Volturi?
A. Alec is Jane's twin brother. They were burned at the stake for witchcraft when Aro stepped in. (By "stepped in" I mean, "slaughtered the whole village," of course). Aro already had his eye on these two, but he wanted to let them age before he took them. The villagers forced his hand, which sort of pissed him off. The fire she endured before Aro saved her influenced the shape Jane's talent took.
… So I decided that I would write a more detailed version of events. All names (apart from all of the vampires) are made up and so is the date. But I think it fits everything needed.
A huge shout out to HighViscosity ! My unofficial beta (but she might as well become official) and awesome historian! She made this so much better than I could have hoped for. What a woman. :-)
Enjoy the two-shot!
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. But I think I did a pretty good job at explaining the pasts of Jane and Alec.
JanePOV – 1500's
The cricket was twitching frantically as I lowered the burning twig nearer and nearer to its legs. Lucky for me I had it pinned down on the table, stuck within a small box, otherwise it would have escaped by now. Teasing the helpless creature, I took the fire away before slowly lowering it nearer to its head.
"Ahh, Jane stop torturing it!" Alec cried out, interrupting my fun. He was pouting, his face contorted into a mask of disappointment. He was just outside, washing some clothes in the creek out back.
"Why? I asked. "It's stupid." We've had this conversation many times, but I never understood his point. It was an insect, just a silly dumb insect and nothing more. It was a plaything of sorts, for me to enjoy at my own leisure.
"It's a creature that has perfect awareness of their surroundings! It knows what's going own! Why can you not understand? He deserves life like anyone else," he explained in a gravelly voice.
Scoffing, too annoyed to fight back, I turned back to the cricket. But it was gone. Alec was near the window, letting it go. It chirped fitfully and disappeared.
"Alec! What made you do that?" I whined. Now I'd have to find another thing to play with. Growling under my breath, I shuffled off to the fireplace to throw the burnt out twig away.
"Mother is a healer, and she wouldn't like that! She helps people and animals, we should follow in her footsteps," replied Alec in a somewhat tired and frustrated voice.
I snorted. Mother was a healer; she used a variety of herbs to cure ailments and illnesses. But that wasn't what the villagers called her behind her back. Witch, they whispered in voices as low as the wind.
They used to give her all due respect, until the old lord died and his nephew replaced him. Miller was a devout Christian. Women, he says, should stay in the home and kitchen. That applied to my mother as well. The old lord was once saved by mother and out of gratitude, allowed her to continue her "heathenous" activities. Yet Miller did not feel this way at all. And as my mother had an amazing amount of knowledge on herbs and vegetation, more than any man, he began to spread the rumours of witch throughout the community. He had to gain their support before he could convict her of the burnable offence.
Mother was a supporter of the new way of Christianity, and the teachings of Martin Luther, who had visited the little village in her childhood. As Miller was a devout follower of the ways of old, he was beyond frustrated that he could not convert her to "the right path". Her faith fanned the fires of his belief that she was a demonic creature.
She continued her practise of healing the ill and weak, but where she was met with affection and adoration, was now faced with harsh stares and whispers. Why the villagers were so gullible, I'll never know. There was still a minority of people who did not believe the claims, but their numbers were dwindling.
The new leader was so intent on convicting our mother he was actually planting evidence. Blood was smeared on our gardens, while decapitated chickens littered the grass. Bottles filled with unidentifiable objects lined our shelves, presumably to fill the bill of being witch ingredients for potions.
Alec and I were constantly vigilant. We made sure that all these incriminating pieces of "evidence" disappeared before anyone else saw them. I hated the man. His plight had to be more than religion. He had a grudge against mother since she could not cure his daughter so many moons ago.
It was not her fault! The girl was dying of demons in the gut. There was no medicine strong enough to cure such an ailment. Mother would never let anyone she could save die. Not only was she passionate, but ever since father passed away, she pledged to never let another feel the pain of loss, so long as God willed it.
Sighing, I stirred the stew above the fire. Alec was tending to some herbs that mother grew in pots, necessary for cures. He was intent on learning the ways of a healer, to follow in mother's footsteps. It was once my dream too, but times change…
Staring blankly at the green leaves and oddly shaped flowers, I let my mind wander. The smell of rabbit stew swirled in the air around me, making my mouth water and stomach growl in anticipation.
Food was getting more and more scarce; the villagers were neglecting to pay mother as much as she was used to. Father would have shown them a thing or two, but he was gone, and Jane was vainly attempting to take his place. She caught the rabbits that were being used in the pot in the backyard.
She had not exactly intended on them to be made into a meal, as she was keener on hurting them for recreational purposes. I hated how she hurt defenceless animals. Their bodies were covered in cuts before I got to them, screaming and shrieking in agony. The poor things, all I wanted to do was take their hurts away. Food was necessary though, so I killed them quickly and painlessly. Pain was not something I usually relished.
Jane used to detest needless animal cruelty. Apart from once throwing a rock at a stray cat, she never went out of her way to hurt something. But since the rumours began, slowly destroying mother's reputation, she sought to need to blame something. As she was too weak to physically confront the villagers, Miller mainly, she put her anger out on the animals and insects that live around these parts.
The torture grew worse after children in the town began to attack us. Usually, I was able to protect the both of us from the worst, but one day, she was cornered and I wasn't there. I found her bloody and traumatised. She never spoke about it, but I knew it changed her. I knew it was my fault – I should have protected her more! Because she never talked about it, I could not get back at the people who did this. In her own way, she was trying to cope, using other creature's pain as an outlet for her own.
I usually got to the creatures and killed them or let them go before much more could be done to them. Jane hated when I did that, but never hated me. We were everything to each other, never having any other playmates. No children wanted to play with us, even before Miller took over. We were called the "Witch Twins". It was uncommon for even one twin to survive childbirth, so the two of us being remarkably healthy since birth led to whispers of "Devil Magic" in our veins.
Mother always said that God had something special planned for us, but I doubted that more often than of late. My sister and me being different seemed to bring nothing good into our lives. I had difficulty believing God had made us any more important than the other children in the town.
The front door creaked open, and I quickly ran to her, eager to see my mother. She was just at the Samuel family, trying to cure their goats of a rash. The Samuels believed she was a witch but were desperate for assistance for their animals. I was tempted to insist to mother to let them suffer, but her heart was too pure for that. How the townsfolk could accuse her of being a monster, I'll never know.
Such hypocrites! The lot of them all are. Constantly they call upon her for help, but they beg her not to let anyone else in the town know that they went to her. All of them disgust me to my core.
Weary and tired, she was still able to crack a smile at the sight of Jane and me. The long hours of waking at dawn to collect herbs and late nights of stewing the medicines were beginning to show on her. Wrinkles lined her face more than any other women of her age and the bags beneath her eyes were getting darker and darker. Her grey-streaked red hair felt limp onto her shoulders, which were sagging with exhaustion.
As she sunk into the rocking chair, Jane hurriedly poured some soup for mother to eat, making sure to put lots of meat in her bowl, but she waved it off.
"Darling, you can have it. The Samuel family gave me a feed, but I must say the food is disagreeing with my insides," she explained drowsily.
Jane looked sceptical, but mother gave her a stern look, and she began to hungrily gulp down the food. I turned back to mother and said, "Mama, have you taken some of the medicine for belly aches?"
"Smart child, thank you for the thoughtfulness. I have, I have, but it seems not to be working," she told me while stifling a yawn. "Darlings, it seems I need a good night's rest, my head is pounding."
She got up and kissed us both lightly on the head before making her way to the only bedroom. Before she left the room, she said sleepily, "I love you both dearly." We reciprocated with our own mutters of love and adoration.
Sighing, I poured myself a bowl of soup and ate it hurriedly, trying to displace the anxious knot in my stomach. There was something bad awaiting us on the horizon…
Mother was dead. She was dead. Her body was cool on the straw mattress. I tried everything to wake her, but there was no response. She left us not half an hour ago. Her soul must have found rest in Heaven during that time.
My face was streaked with tears as I sobbed quietly. Jane has always been more vocal than I, and her cries were similar to wails and screeches. Both our hearts were tearing apart. How could this have happened? It was not her time. We were too young to be left alone, and the only option left to us now was for Jane to be married off and for me to become an apprentice of some kind.
But there was no way I wanted to be separated from my sister, and I knew the feeling was mutual. We had no relationships outside this family. It used to be mother, Jane and me. That was no more… and no one would take us in, of that I was certain. All that we had was one another.
Jane was never one for hugs for displays of affection or love, but now she gripped my body tightly, using my thin shirt as a handkerchief for her tears. My arms were wrapped firmly around her frame, trying vainly to hold everything together, even as I was breaking apart. My body was shaking in the agony of losing my mentor, the light in the darkness, and the woman who loved us both unconditionally. I tried to suppress the shudders to no avail.
There was a forceful knocking on the door, but we both ignored it. This was a private moment. A few more minutes of mourning before we would respectfully move the body. A fresh wave of tears trickled down my face as I realized that I referred to my mother as a body now and nothing more. Her soul, her life, her very presence was gone.
The front door slammed open, and I vaguely realized that several men have entered the house. Shocked, Jane and I looked up into the cold faces of the men. They stared at mother's body in disgust. I scowled as I recognised Miller was in the group. What in the world was Miller doing in our cottage?
"Here are the Witch Twins! Look at the proof! They have killed their own mother; there is no stopping the evil! They must burn!" he yelled at the gathering crowd.
"What? We would never harm mama!" cried out Jane defiantly. "She died in her sleep!"
The town doctor, second only to mother in helping and curing the ill, was currently inspecting the corpse. I only noticed him then, otherwise I would have protested his nearness to the body.
What were all these people doing? They were blatantly disrespecting a recently deceased person, who had helped almost everyone in this room in one way or another.
He got up slowly, and turned his dull blue eyes to Miller. "Poisoned," was all the doctor said, before Miller interrupted with accusations of my sister and I being the spawn of the Devil.
But all I could hear was a buzzing noise in my ear. Poisoned? But, how was that even possible? I thought back and remembered how mother said she ate at the Samuel's house. As I opened my mouth to protest and explain that we were not the culprits, I felt heavy, sweaty arms tearing my sister and me apart. She screeched loudly and yelled in protest; we did not want to be separated at such a time, now or ever. The anonymous arms were carrying our bodies away and I realized we were heading towards the town square.
There were two massive piles of sticks in the square with a single pole standing erect in the middle of each. It seemed we'd been convicted already. Wrongly convicted of practising black magic. Wrongly convicted of murder. Yet we had to face the consequences.
We were witches in the eyes of the townsfolk. It was a set-up! We're innocent! I wanted to cry out, but someone gagged me with a piece of dirty linen. Jane was crying out, but the sound was greatly muffled by the cloth forced down her throat. Our arms and legs were being bound together tightly to the pole. It was too late for resistance.
And the punishment for being found out as a witch?
It was death by burning. We had to suffer the flames to purify our souls.
My arms were being lashed together, and it was much too tight. It was silly of me to be concerned of such a minor pain when a much larger amount of agony was awaiting my brother and me on the horizon.
What in the world happened? Why was God doing this to us? Wasn't he meant to be benevolent and all loving? Maybe Miller was right and He didn't like the Luther way of thinking… Was He punishing us for it? Was He angry with us and showing His wrath?
One minute, we were mourning the untimely death of our mother; next we were told that it was murder. Before we had any recovery time from that new piece of information, we were being accused of being the killers and of being witches.
I struggled more than Alec; he was still in shock. This could not be happening. This could not be happening. I chanted it over and over in my head. My sub-conscious knew that struggling was futile, yet I persisted with it anyway. I wasn't ready to die. But what did I have to live for? Apart from my brother, there was nothing and Alec was being murdered along with me.
The only thing keeping my struggles up was the instinct to survive. Or maybe it was God's way of telling me I wasn't meant to go yet. The man tightened the bounds around my ankles even tighter than my wrists. It hurt so much that I screamed, but they took no notice.
Glancing over at Alec, he was beginning to struggle with his captors, trying to prove our innocence with muffled words. But I knew it was useless. Miller had a vendetta against us, and this was his revenge. I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be the murderer. His eyes were bright with excitement and anticipation as he watched our struggles.
He was grinning madly, sometimes pausing to turn to the people and re-enforce the notion of us being witches with lies and false words. His speeches were met with cheers. The town loved to see a burning. So did I… when I was not being used as fuel to the fire. How ironic the situation was becoming.
The entire time, I was still sobbing non-stop. I couldn't watch the angry and pleased expressions of the villagers any more. Turning my head a little to the right, I saw the sun breaking over the mountains. It would be my last sunrise an it was beautiful.
My head snapped to the right of its own accord, as I smelled smoke, the easily recognisable smell of burning wood. I realized that Miller had set fire to my pile of sticks. The people of the town were cheering as the flames licked at my feet. I cringed away instinctively, but movement was restricted for me.
Stinging flames tickled my feet. But it was far off from being a pleasurable experience. The heat was boiling my blood and I could feel the skin blistering and peeling. Already it hurt beyond what words, and I wasn't anywhere close to the release of death. Looking towards the heavens, trying to think through the pain, I asked of God, What did I do to deserve this? Mother, if you're up there, are you watching? Why won't you help me? WHY?
I AM BURNING ALIVE! WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE ANY OF THIS? MOTHER, WHY AREN'T YOU HELPING? OH GOD, THE BURNING! PLEASE, HELP ME!
In the corner of my eye I could see Alec straining against his bindings, as he tried to get to me. He had stopped crying, but there was new pain to his eyes as he watched me burn. He paid no attention to the fire beginning beneath him. It was like all he wanted was my freedom. The pain was intense. We were literally being cooked alive. Barbequed. Roasted. Grilled.
Screaming over and over again, I lost control. There was too much pain. My legs were getting charred black and blisters were forming on my hips. Then with a gasp, I noticed could barely feel anything. There was such a pain overload that all my senses seemingly shut down.
A small part of me was thinking that I had gone insane from the pain, but a larger part was questioning God's hand in all this. Was He trying to help? But if He really wanted to help, he'd get me out of this!
The smoke filled the air and I was choking on it, drowning in the smoke. My eyes brimmed again with tears, trigged by the burning smoke in the air. I lifted my head to the heavens and looked at the sunrise. The last thing I wanted to see. It was gorgeous.
I wondered awaited me after death. Heaven? Hell? Would I be judged before the Lord himself or be thrown aside, not even worthy of attention? I prayed for what was sure to be my last time and prayed to God that somehow, something good would happen, if not to me, then at least to Alec.
The air was suddenly filled with screaming. The blurred shapes and vague outlines of the people in front of me were scattering. They were being scared off by something, judging by the intensity of the screams.
But it did not matter. Alec and I were doomed.
Closing my eyes, I waited impatiently for the relief of death. Hopefully, I'll see mama and papa again…
The fire licked at Jane's ankles and my heart ripped apart once again as I heard her muffled scream. I took no notice of Miller setting alight the fine beneath my feet; all I wanted to do was free my sister, to end her agony and pain. It was too much to watch her screech and writher in agony, but I couldn't look away.
Yelping, I turned my head to see the fire at my feet. But the burns I was receiving were no match to the pain of what my sister was enduring. Her legs were already burning fiercely and tears made little tracks on her soot-covered face. She was coughing over and over again, the thick smoke making it difficult for me to see her.
Was this a trial that God is forcing us through? If it is, the Lord surely has a sick sense of humour. I didn't know how much longer that I could hold on for. From the waist down, I felt nothing but a dull stinging sensation. Even I knew that was a bad sign. Nothing could be done though.
Looking to the heavens, I screamed the best I could through my gag, and asked God why he was doing this to us. Asking if mother and father was there. Never had my faith wavered as much as it was doing now. Surely there could be no God. If He were really there and all-powerful, he'd save my sister and me. Was it that God was all-powerful, yet uncaring or was it that He was caring and benevolent, yet weak?
Struggling once more at the bindings, I knew it was all too late. But I tried anyway. My chest heaved with the effort of breathing in the soot and smoke, and my eyes burned. Coughing, I tugged uselessly on the ropes over and over again, begging for mercy on my sister with stifled cries for help.
The strap of cloth blocking my mouth loosened enough for me to yell out words with meaning. Turning frantically to the butcher, I cried agonisingly, "Our mother helped ease your pain so many times. You had witnessed our obvious love for one another. SO WHY AREN'T YOU COMING TO OUR AID?" He looked away, his face etched with slight guilt and shame. Yet he did not move.
My cries were interrupted with shrieks and groans of pain. Also, my head was getting clouded with the smoke, making it hard to think. Nevertheless, I tried again.
"All of you have been fixed by my mother at one time or another. There were even times I was the one rushing to your aid! YET YOU ARE WATCHING MY SISTER AND I BURN! Where is your compassion? WE ARE TWO INNOCENT CHILDREN! Though we have assisted so many of you, none of you are helping us?"
Before I could scream any more, pain rent through my spine and I was growling and groaning with abandon. Looking up, the scene before me was blocked slightly with smoke and the tears in my eyes, but I could still see the crowd stirring.
None of them came to help, but my words had obviously troubled them. I spoke nothing but the truth. The truth obviously did nothing for these people. They seemed fine with letting us burn, all on the idea – no, the superstition – that my sister and me were witches. What person would do that?
Screams pierced the air, but I payed them no mind. Unless one of mother's supporters was rushing to our aid, then all was meaningless, absolutely meaningless. Anyway, it was already too late for Jane. Vaguely realizing the townsfolk were scattering around us, I looked up curiously.
It was an angel, surely, that was walking towards me. He walked with such grace, as though he was floating above the ground – or did the flames tearing at my body cause this hallucination? His bone white hair whipped around his face as he rushed towards my sister and I. Face contorted in anger, it was still the most beautiful things I had ever seen. He was so devastatingly beautiful, everything paled in his presence. The nameless person was no less than an angel.
In a matter of seconds, he was in front of my sister, hastily extinguishing the flames. Such speed was surely inhuman. Through the haze of numbness and pain, I managed a smile. They were saving my sister. Unfortunately, the more logical part of my mind kicked in and told me that she would surely die, judging from the intensity of her burns. As the stranger ripped off her bounds and gently held her in his arms, another thought occurred to me.
Maybe they were the messengers of God, taking us up to the heavens for judgement. It would explain a lot – the beauty, the speed. Maybe mother and father sent them to look after us. I hoped so. But if they could only choose one, I was glad it was Jane.
Currently the unknown angel was bent over her frame, I think he was whispering in her ear. His body was hiding most of her from view, but hopefully she was receiving some medicinal aid, to ease her pain. If there were angels, then surely there could be hope for Jane.
A strange scuffling sound made me turn my head. As my eyes widened, I realized I was receiving attention from my very own angel. He was similar to the other one, except with black hair. Busy ripping the bindings from my feet and hands, I couldn't analyse him too well. The pain was beginning to return everywhere in torrents. My hands were freed, and they stung madly as the blood rushed back into them.
I could fight no longer. It was all too tiring. So I collapsed into the stranger's arms. My head rolled and I leaned it against the anonymous man, and I noticed then how overwhelmingly sweet and enticing his scent was. I inhaled deeply. It was like primroses and violets. It was like cinnamon and daisies. There was no scent like it in the world that I knew of.
His arms and torso were as cold as the ice on a lake in the middle of winter. Shivering slightly, I wrapped my arms around myself in an effort to preserve warmth. All I wanted was sleep, some oblivion from the rising agony that I was experiencing in my lower body. There was peace in this stranger's arms, but I wanted an escape from the pain.
Loud screams pierced the silence. How odd. Only then did I register the town was as quiet as a dormouse. Cocking my head to the side, listening in curiosity, I suddenly realised they were the cries of Jane. Her cries during the flames were nothing, nothing at all in comparison to this.
What in God's name were they doing? Struggling to turn, I could only see the white haired angel standing a little bit away from Jane's flailing body, his back facing me. Her limbs were jerking around, and she seemed to be in utter agony, as though the fires of hell were burning around her.
Weren't angels meant to bring peace and love? My black haired angel tensed, as though he was going to leap at any moment. Jane screeched again, and this time I made a move to help her. Even if it killed me, I would help her.
But the unknown creature stopped me, arms tightening around me in an iron grip. For the first time, I saw directly into his eyes. The irises were a dull red, hauntingly beautiful, sending shivers down my spine. The eyes that were burning with a hunger, so strange, so evil, it definitely could not be eyes of an angel.
My instincts began to yell at me to move, but I did nothing. What could I do anyway? My legs were so burned they left me immobile. The twisted feeling in my gut got more desperate. They were screaming, yelling, and commanding me to run, to escape. But there was nothing I could do. Suddenly the reassuring feeling that I was feeling in his arms left me, and my heart sped up as I began to feel fear.
Turning around, I saw the town was charred and lifeless bodies littered the streets. Scrunching my eyebrows, I glanced around, noticing that there were no other people here that were alive apart from my sister and me. The scene before me was like hell. My only living loved one was crying out in agony and I couldn't help. Everything around me was symbolic of death.
Angels couldn't go into hell, could they?
"This is going to hurt," the angel hugging me whispered. It was a lilting, tinkling voice. Not only was this angel a sight for the eyes, but a saviour for other senses too. Sounds and smells better than any mere mortal should. His cool breath tickled my ear, but I soon forgot that as he bit down hard on my neck.
Progressively, methodically, he moved to my arms and ankles, but I barely registered the fact. Like a poison, liquid fire was igniting my veins, spreading from the bite points. Tears welled and overflowed in my eyes as scream were ripped from me against my will.
The fire was all consuming, my heartbeat sped up to an unnatural pace. It seared every vein in my body. Burning at the stake was no comparison to the pain I was feeling right now. Would it ever end? Time was meaningless to me. My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the intensity of the pain. Never ending, never ceasing, it seemed to get worse and worse.
What was God doing to us?
Finally the answer hit me like a lightening bolt. This wasn't heaven, and they weren't angels. It was hell, and this was our judgement. The Angel of Death had bit us while beautiful demons watched us and mocked us. My sister and I were to burn forever in the pits of hell. Looking up at the sky, I screamed and screamed.
Blackness surrounded me as the lack of air made me pass out. But I wished more than anything I could have that back. I was woken with searing, scorching bites to my neck, wrists and ankles. It was a torture more intense than being torn apart, set on fire, drowned in salt water, and being buried alive. All of those would be more desirable than what my brother and I were going through.
I knew Alec and I were going through this together as he was lying on the bed next to me. We were definitely in a room of sorts, but I couldn't get any more details as my judgement was being impaired by pain. Eventually, I learned that we were holding hands, but the acid running wildly through my system was making all contact from the outside world void. There was no feeling in me but the pain. Screaming did no amount of good, but Alec and I did it anyway.
Alec always did have a better sense of self-control. He yelled less than I, but I was fully aware that he was in as much pain as I was in. Sometimes, he tried to comfort me with strained words, but he succumbed to the pain before there was much effect.
There was no God. No spiritual being worthy of worship would have developed such a pain as this. All that was my life now was fire and brimstone.
Why couldn't someone kill me now?
Two days into the pain (was it that much? I could have sworn it was years and years that had passed) someone came to visit us. I had no idea who he was, but Alec grunted angrily at him, as though the pain was his fault. Never had I seen such beauty. But even with such good looks, it was hard to keep my attention focused on him. Slipping in and out of pain, I studied him.
His skin was beautiful, yet it looked strangely fragile and flaky. His hair was black and straight, yet appeared brittle, as though a single touch would turn everything to dust. Eyes alight with an odd sparkle, red as dried blood, they surveyed us with greed and enthusiasm.
In a voice that was oddly soothing and relaxing, he proceeded to introduce himself as Aro, head of the Volturi army. I have never heard of such an army, but if he commanded them, then he must be very powerful. I stayed as quiet I could, trying to muffle my cries, and listened for more.
Apparently he had been keeping an eye out for my brother and I for a very long time, but he waiting for us to age enough to "change". Whatever change he was talking about, I had no idea. He sadly noted that he wanted to "collect" mother as well but he didn't plan for the murder by the town. It was odd the way he spoke of us, like we were trinkets for buying and selling.
A faint bubble of fury welled up within me when the suspicions of the murder of my mother being planned by the townsfolk were confirmed, but quickly, nearly instantly, the bubble popped. Whether it was due to the scalding pain or the crushing knowledge that no amount of blame could ever bring mother back, I couldn't be sure of.
This man – could he be called that? – was scaring me with his fanciful words and stories. He told us of the existence of an entire new world, a world of mythical creatures of the night. He told us about an entirely hidden world of vampires.
Their bites transferred the venom into our blood and were slowly changing us from within. It sounded worse than a death sentence, but there was no action I could take at the moment. But it couldn't be true. Vampires were the stuff of folklore and legends. There was simply no way that this could come to pass into the realm of reality…
But what if it was?
A/N: Please review. I accept anything, comments, flames and or constructive critism. It'll help me as an author and that is one of my many goals. :-)
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