Vampire. I've been told countless times that when the words first etched their way into my skin, my Mama watched in disbelief, clutching me even more tightly to her chest. The idea was too preposterous, even for the world we live in, full of things that worked wonders, the words of old daunting, old foe, never grew old, but the words, the stories faded away into nothing but tales, haunting. Odd to dream of it, weirder still for it to truly exist. But words of old always held true, and in ways most unexpected.

I was five when I first understood the words that branded my wrist. Overwhelming curiosity in those days of ignorant youth brought on an Age of Peering, over a classmate's shoulder, seeking the words on their wrists. Most were simple things we understood, like fall or stroke, but a rare few held nothing on their wrists, signifying dying from old age. But mine, even then, was far from simple. The bafflement most classmates, and even teachers had when they read mine was both amusing and terrifying to my eyes.

"Vampires?" they'd read, confusion evident in their eyes, "aren't they just fairy tales?" They don't exist, most insisted, but the words on my wrist said otherwise. The mixture of pride and fear when they repeated these words still resonate with me till this day. The word engraved on my wrist eluded me just as it did them, but they made me feel special, because as far as I knew, I was the only one. Little did I know it would be nothing to be proud of, later would I know that one simple thing I'd done in defying my impending doom, would send ripples up the roots of the society I so loved.

But I knew no better then. And I can't say I do now either. But what I know, is that I discarded thoughts of my macabre death, ignorant and unaware of the coils of magic that embedded themselves in the outskirts of humanity, like unwanted weeds in a garden, both too far and too close. Time flowed by like a stream, and I abandoned my end, but it eventually stopped me by. Time, till now, is an inexplicable mystery, just like the shortcomings of human notice, like the rear-view mirrors of cars. They were helpful, but limited such that even in the face of danger, oblivion blinded us.

The next and near-last time I pondered upon my demise; I was fourteen. Then I learnt of beings both lower and higher than us, that the so-called myths we spoke of existed. Not through any wish or means of mine. I wonder...how or where would I be now, were it not for then? When I was fourteen, my world upturned itself. And crumbled beneath my feet over the years, setting in motion something that'd last for years ahead.

A flurry of footsteps, a cloth slapped over my face was all it took.

As well as a loss of consciousness, sending me into an abyss of unknown darkness and depth.

"Give her to me," The words sent shivers up my spine, and broke through the reflection of my idiocy. It was inhuman, with an animalistic snarl to it, but the words were most definitely in English. A piece of greasy, oily cloth was stuffed into my mouth, and I could feel my arms being twisted unnaturally behind me. Thick ropes swathed my hands, binding them in place while black shrouded my vision. Silently, I began to struggle, not daring to open my eyes as cold fear settled in my stomach.
"No, Lucius. Without what we agreed on, I'm not handing her over. "
"I don't have wolfsbane now! The potion will take longer to make. Hand her over. " Even in the depths of my hazy mind, the words wolfsbane struck a chord within me. Why would someone need it? The only reason anyone used it was if...if...they were a werewolf. But that wasn't possible, was it? They didn't exist, they didn't exist, they didn't exist...but something held me back from jumping there, and dread joined the fear in my stomach.

"No!" Snarled the other, his voice faintly resembling a wolf's growl...
"Hand her over, I'll give you more of the potion when it's done. Won't that be good, chum?" Lucius, or whoever it was, pleaded. There was something cloying to the edge of his voice that both enthralled me and terrified me. It was like a hot knife through butter, something dangerous bordered on it.
"Charmspeak doesn't work on me, Vampire." The other spat, snarling. Without explanation, something whirred to life within me as he spoke. But...do vampires truly exist? What in the name of hell was Charmspeak? And werewolves too? How screwed am I? Those words rung through my head then, over and over again, but I continued struggling against my bounds.
"Really?" There was a steely edge to Lucius' voice now, unpredictable and sharp. "Don't test my limits, Dorian. You're nothing but a filthy Werewolf, and I was just being kind."

There was an uncomfortable sound of what sounded like blades snapping open, only bones this time. Rather obviously, I couldn't see. I could hear lunges back and forth. Still struggling, I'd loosened my bounds enough for my hands to slip through. The noise they made around me covered the sound of my hands slipping through, and I mentally heaved a sigh of relief, gathering information of where I was as they struggled. Acutely, I could hear familiar voices fading behind me and Church bells ringing. Not far behind, then. My hands felt around for possible weapons. As my fingers traced over whatever I was resting on, I felt raised ridges upon cool concrete, with a sticky, hot substance I hoped never to identify. After what seemed like ages of fruitless searching, my fingers finally fell on what seemed like a hilt. Wrapping them around it, I fingered the hilt, the leather almost unnatural in my hands. It'd been years since I picked one up, after all. Save for the dirk I kept concealed, but it'd be a bad idea to take it out now. Engraved with a curse that'd send most spiralling away and aggravated. Not now. I explored the weapon in my hands, slowly weighing how to use it, heart beating faster with every passing second.

As I held my breath, I pulled my weapon closer, letting my energy imbue itself within the blade, hoping, hoping...That whatever noise they made blanketed me, and their fighting distracted them from me. As the seconds that passed like minutes slipped by, butterflies pooled in my stomach, but something spurred me forward, confidence both faltering and growing within me. Taken by sudden fury, I sprang to my feet, the filthy rag flying out of my mouth, blindfold ripped off savagely. I've had enough just listening to them. I'm not an object, not a weapon, not a bargaining tool. And with these two fighting over me like beasts- correction: they are beasts.

They deserve nothing the way they screech.

The way they howl.

They're nothing better than animals.

They should be dead.

The words reverberated through my head, and I snapped. Not waiting for my blurry vision to clear, I leaped up, springing in the other direction, not waiting for any of them to move, waiting for one of them to cross paths before plunging down- "She's free! Get her quickly- "

By the time the filthy Werewolf got the words out of his mouth, it was already too late. Pulling my blade from his body, I watched with savage pleasure as he slumped forward, as warm blood trickled down my hands. "Did you really think I'd be that easy to deal with?" A cold laugh rang through the room, and my head snapped, only to meet with...

The sight of him took my breath away. He was stunning, the way darkness chased beauty. His blue eyes and blond hair could have fooled anyone into thinking he was innocent, but not me. He approached me with his fangs bared, yes pooling with predatory intent. It was painfully obvious what he was about to do. As if I'd let him do that. Warily, I took a step back. His pupils dilated at the sight, and I could have sworn in a heartbeat he nearly drooled. But...what was he? Who was he, and what did he want with me? My eyes didn't fail to recognise the coronet on his head, and as animalistic as he was, there was an air of royalty to him.

"Who are you?" the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and the gleam in his eyes shone even brighter now than they did before. Cold bees swarmed my stomach, stomping on the courage I'd had only moments ago. "Why don't you step closer to find out?" Lucius purred; challenge evident in his voice. My heart started beating ever so quickly. Inhuman, animalistic, but not uncultured.

"What if I say no?" At this, his eyes flashed red, and he bared his canines threateningly. "Come here now." Something in his voice compelled me forward, but I resisted. No. Come here.... his voice reverberated through the corners of my mind, sending tingles up my spine. Inexplicably, I lurked forward. Digging my heels into the ground, I resisted the urge to obey. So, this was what charmspeak is... Glaring back at him, I glowered with as much fury as I could muster. He met me with equal drive and willpower, save for the goddamn smirk on his lips. The way he looked at me gave me chills, with such animalistic desire that my heartbeat went from speeding to erratic. Still, I resisted the urge to punch him in the face, waiting for a more opportune moment to sink the blade of mine into his neck.

As the two sides of my brain warred, a beast unfurled within me. As subtly as I could, I mentally carved a symbol, a rose into the blade. An unbridled beast in me roared. Taken by sudden frenzy, I shot forward, plunging my dagger into his chest, before pulling it out, and sprinting as far away as I could. However, I was too late- His fangs grazed my throat briefly, but he collapsed not long after, giving up on chasing me lopsidedly before exploding.

I was out of the doors before I knew. Without caring where I was, I let my body take over, throwing myself into wild abandon. What I wasn't aware of was the fact that I'd stained my blade with more than blood that night. As I ran, ink ran through my blood, staining me with a mark only few in centuries ever bore. The Mark of Cain.

Somehow, I got home safely. I can't say the same for those after.

Because the animal I'd killed, murdered, was none other than Lucius Crestfallen, the King of Vampires. Soon after, our society was filled with them, infiltrating and killing off humankind. But all had a common goal. Search for the girl with the Mark of Cain. This was when doors were locked, when all children walked in groups, fearing for their lives, wishing for mercy at the hands of such monsters, only to receive little to none at all.

Because these were half-monsters. They were as alien to us as we were to them, holding as little sympathy as our forebears did. They grew in number, and the streets were full of frenzied feeding, blood splattered all over. It was nothing short of terrifying, to say the least, when a hand grabbed your collar, roughly pulling into an alley, before roughly shoving your shirt aside and drinking you alive. Some days they grew impatient, and simply ripped off your shirt. Some days they wanted more, and I'll leave the rest up to your imagination.

I'll never forget the first time they did that to me, hands tracing and groping all over me as if I were nothing more than a mere object, a toy to play with, as fangs traced over places that no other human should have access to, clothes ripped off without a single thought as they left me lonely and crying in an alleyway, clothes tattered and torn, my body aching. They were no where near kind, and I was disgusted, both with myself and what they'd done to me. I couldn't imagine tumbling home in that state, but what choice did I have? Still bleeding, I dragged myself home. The journey was far too long for my liking, and I was acutely aware of the semi-naked state I was in. I was lucky it was night, but that incident sparked fury within me.

As I made my police report, all I could hear was his taunting voice, over and over again. All I could hear was the male officer's callous laugh, the words "You deserve it," unspoken but known. The sympathy of the other officer, who'd wanted to hug me as to provide comfort, were I not too afraid to get it then.

No one, absolutely no one should have been able to do that. No one and no thing should have been able to do that. Desecrate our bodies, penetrate and infiltrate them that way, without remorse and comeuppance. No one deserved to be laughed at when they're at the lowest point of their lives. Maybe this ironic, considering what I do later on, but I wish to remind you- I wasn't the only girl they did that to. I wasn't the only one in the sea of cases, of misogyny and prejudice that piled upon us, day by day.

So, I made a promise to myself.

From that day forth, I refused to let anyone step on me, or any other woman, other man. Not in that way. I launched myself into practise, training in the fine art of combat, of killing. No one deserved this. We needed to end this, as quickly as possible. I refused to be prey. If we were to play that way, I'd much rather be the predator. I hunted each and every one of these imposters down, cut every one of them down.

The words on my wrist faded with ever splash of cold blood that licked my skin. The Mark of Cain only grew darker. With ever kill, I got better and better at aiming, and vampire numbers dwindled down. Did I feel any remorse? Any pity?

For what they'd done to me and so many others, no. I'd do this over again in a heartbeat if you asked me to. It wasn't fair to them, but it wasn't to us, humans either. Quick deaths were better than the prolonged ones they offered. Blood stained my hands, slowly but surely, and now...

The last vampire sits cowering at my feet. She's a tiny thing, with ebony hair and beautiful sky-blue eyes. But the things she's done are far from beautiful. She'd murdered, killed and raped. Smiling wickedly with as much energy as I can master, I deliver the final blow. Then withdraw my stunning bloodstained blade. The blood no longer fazes me. Instead, I look with macabre interest as blood flows out of her limp form, her eyes shuttering as her energy drains to the ground. As her blood seeps into the earth's crevices, returning to what feels like home.

The once-living carcass becomes nothing but ashes, scattered and stained, but so do I. I crumple to the ground, letting exhaustion overtake me. What had once meant to be joy and relief is now nothing but a numbing, emotional abyss. Letting the pommel slip through my fingers, I watch dazedly as it hits the floor with a metallic clang. What exactly had this meant to me?

Slowly, I raise my hand, watching as the last of ink embedded in my skin vanishes and morphs into my hand, before faded away. Like a curious fish at the edge of a clear pond, ink resurface onto my hand. Only, this time it is in the form of a horizontal eight, in purple ink that reminds me of the sky, of the stars I'd so loved. Infinity.

Letting the last of my energy seep into my bones, overtake me and wrap me in a warm blanket, I slip under, into a world of fairy tales, of beautiful gardens, where vampires have never and never will exist. Unbidden, an age-old children's rhyme plays again...

One day, animals of old will resurface, Bringing back those of its kind.

Once friend, now foe, waiting for another to realize

For there will be a bringer and a leaver.

And then a believer.

All three shall she be, her name young and bright.

Lythnia her name shall be

Twice crossed she must be, then thrice again,

Until then we await her awakening,

Until words of eight mean no more.

By then she'd have attained immortality, and lived for infinity

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