"For she was beautiful -- her beauty made
The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade:
No thought of living spirit could abide-"
The Witch of Atlas - Percy Bysshe Shelley

🩸

The pair found someone more insane than them.

Serafina's lips curled over her teeth in a strained smile, "Summoned you? We found this safe house by mistake. We were traveling further South to call upon you, but we needed a place to rest before we finished our journey."

Nabra shook her head in time with her lifted pointer finger, "No. This safe house lives in another realm, veiled to this world. Only when someone is searching for my talents specifically can it appear."

"Fascinating," Cian murmured, and Serafina kicked his foot under the table. The look he sent her way was lethal. But she did not need his sarcastic dialogue to ruin any chance of getting information out of the witch.

It was his idea, and still, he knew little of how to romance others into his bidding. With a face like his, he often did not have to try.

Where they lacked in planning, Serafina triumphed with pure honesty.

"Do you have any allegiance with Octavia, the Empress of Sanguine Enclave?"

She spits out the name, its harsh lines nipping at her tongue. Just the mention of the woman made her body quake with unbridled ire. Cian did not appreciate her lack of finesse, but he sat back in his chair and kept his lips sealed.

"Do you?" The witch questioned back, revealing nothing of her loyalty.

Serafina saw the truth as a victory, no matter which path Nabra chose. If she was with Octavia, Serafina would kill her. If she rejected the empress, she was a potential ally.

"I want her dead."

The witch's lips spread once again, her amber eyes turning into sunlight, "It is written in the stars as such." She licked her lips, her rounded features shadowed with malice, "I would like to help."

While Serafina's spirit rose, Cian grew more suspicious.

Nabra's enchanted eyes spotted his speculation. She shuddered her next breath, addressing the young vampire instead, "I had four sisters. Octavia was gracious enough to leave me with two." Aggrieved, the witch smiled without humor at the memory.

Serafina started to apologize and then stopped. That was not what she wanted to hear when her father was murdered by the Empress. She desired to be suited in armor and an army.

"Every being she brutally cut down will be avenged. My father and your sisters included."

The Sanguine Council had killed many since her first becoming. It had been easier to turn a blind eye and speak of cruelty when it had been outside of her doorstep. She regretted it now, only rebelling in small, meaningless doses.

"I just need to know how. I am a newly turned vampire, and I do not drink human blood. I have no special abilities." Ancient vampires each possessed a skill, honed after years of drinking blood and harvesting it's power. "Octavia battled for her position as Empress and won."

Her age was not her only advantage. At each new crowning, there is a fight to the death. A gift to the last ruler, who was tired from living and keeping order. It was a show of the next heir's strength and worthiness.

While Serafina had been too young, she had heard the rumors of what occurred. That the woman had used telekinesis to rip apart the previous Emperor by all of his limbs.

She had felt the older woman's strength herself. If the woman wanted her dead, she would have been. Which meant Octavia kept her alive just to torture her. Like a cat holding the edge of a rat's tail, flicking it with its paw. She was being let go, just to be chased again.

The witch nodded, her expression grave. "Give me your palm child."

Serafina did so without restraint. The witch held onto her with a loose grip, not wishing to intimidate the vampire. Her fingers tickled as they ran across Serafina's open hand, trailing the longest line carving her flesh. Nabra sucked in a deep breath through her nose, letting the wind of it deep out slowly. Closing her eyes, she began to hum a swinging minor scale.

When she opened her eyes again, all signs of mischief were gone. She placed Serafina's hand on the table and sat back in her vine-ridden chair. She looked between both beings before her, knowing they would earn more than they came to seek.

"There is a tale, older than you or I. Of a single powerful soul that straddles the line between the heavens and the underworld. They are destined to kill one of eight and unite the bloodlines. In the burgeoning times of peril, they will bring both destruction and order."

The Witch sent her a pointed glare. She did not even want to look at Cian's reaction.

A prophecy?

Serafina held back her laugh. "Does this soul happen to have a large chest, wide hips, and favor red wine? If so, then this soul sounds exactly like me."

Life was not a novel, no matter how much her life seemed to resemble a Roman poem. The news would have reached every corner of the country by now, of the fugitive young vampire and her familiar. If the witch hated the Empress as much as she claimed, she would have an incentive to peer into Serafina's life and craft a story where the vampire was a hero.

Or a sacrifice for them.

A nouveau vampire whose life was already on the line. She had nothing left to lose. Who better than to play the hero without much of a loss to anyone else?

"Mock me all you like, Serafina Edvige Rosalia Lucifero." The vampire choked when the witch called her out by her entire name, not neglecting her chosen patron saint, "It will not change the path of the stars. With or without my help, fate will drag you with it. Kicking and screaming, or with your chin held high." The witch's words set her on a window's ledge. Her chest heaved at the realization that once again, the only way down was to fall. "Still don't believe me? I will tell you the full tale."

She was pushed, with nothing to hold onto. The ground refused to meet her.

"I change my mind. I want to leave. Keep your knowledge and secrets from the stars to yourself." Serafina stood up too quickly, her vision dotted in black. She swayed at the table's end, holding on faintly.

Cian held out his arm behind her, fretting as she wobbled.

"I cannot spare you," Nabra answered sullenly, her pupils alternating from a milky white to black. Whatever she was seeing, it was clear in their depths.

"You can, and you will." The familiar snarled at her, filling the room with a cold heat. He waited for  Serafina's word as he started to lift out of his seat as well.

Eyes rolling back into her head, the Golden Witch did not retaliate. Her palms held fast to her spell table, her mouth gaping open. The veins along her smooth brown neck pulsed, a long moan leaving her mouth.

Serafina tried to pull away from the table, but her hands remained petrified to the wood. Cian was trying to get to her, but he was bound tightly to his chair.

"Hold on Serafina." He called over the witch's unearthly groans.

Nabra's jaw clicked together, her head snapping straight forward. Her eyes were eggshells, white and without their amber irises. Her warm voice is now a rasping tempest, "One who evades death's kiss will rise as his child. A cannibal to those with blood more ripe than thy will summon, claim, and release a cursed heart. When the night begins to bleed into the day, they are to start anew with their flame. Reigning both above and below."

"This version is just as cryptic?" Serafina scoffed, almost ripping her arms out of her socket in an attempt to rid herself of the story.

To listen would be to surrender. And surrender would mean admitting that her very soul beckoned to the call of the myth. Her hair stood on end, a faint trickle of ice at the base of her spine traveled to her arms.

"I have no power."

It was feigned, fragile. Taken from men by their lustful distraction. Fleeting and intangible.

She did not deny her part. How the story matched some of her life circumstances and threatened to answer questions she could not herself. It could be a coincidence, a string of words that any person could fit into.

Either way, she needed to avenge her father. A long-awaited soul, or just another lost one.

"Not yet. Power comes with blood, and you are young. A pacifist of sorts. Still, with each ancient
claim you grow stronger. In time, you will have all the essence you need. But you don't want to wait, do you?"

"No."

That could take decades. Centuries. She would be hunted and maimed before then.

One glance towards Cian, and her decision was final.

"Ah-" The Golden Witch was not phased, "There is a way to accelerate what has already been initiated."

"How?" Cian inquired before she could.

"To do so, it would require a well of energy collected by the Harvest moon. All one needs is the blood of a witch. A spirit. A lycan. A Vampire." Her amber eyes flickered between them like a flame, "And a god-"

"That's all?" Serafina interrupted.

Collecting the blood of four different creatures by the full moon before the autumn equinox? That was three months from now. Serafina might not be able to beat the strongest of the vampires, but the other beings would not be as devastating of a task.

"-Willingly." The witch then bit her tongue.

Oh.

"Fuck." Cian grumbled lowly, encompassing every one of her thoughts.

"A God?" She asked, trying to lighten the mood. "To think I was questioning my faith."

Nabra shook her head, curls cascading over her collarbones. "Not Him. There is more than one. Your mother knew that."

The mention of her mother sobered her. She had been a human, one too breakable and kind for this life. Despite a handful of superstitions and charms, her mother had been a fervent believer in the Catholic faith.

Or was she?

Serafina was not given any time to ponder before Nabra spoke again. "There is something else child. The one you will raise will be your ruination. The final sin threaded to your soul. A binding that is forbidden—"

"Enough!" Cian exclaimed, stupefying his old friend. He tended to use other methods of intimidation before raising his voice. The man rose to his full height, his gaze locked on the witch, "You're scaring her. Telling her all of this and expecting her to handle it after watching her father die is beyond reproach. Let us rest, and we can speak more before we leave on the morrow."

The woman's mouth opened and then pressed into a tight line. She clearly had more to say, but heeded Cian's warning.

Serafina felt eternally grateful, her body starting to collapse on itself as she stood up from leaning on the witch's spell table. Her throat felt tight and achy, a terrible juxtaposition to the floating feeling in her mind.

This is only the beginning.

And I am already falling apart.

"I have one suite with a single bed and a smaller room with two beds." The witch offered, not unkindly. Her countenance simmered into a pleasantness as she stood up from her charmed seat.

"Whichever you can spare—" Serafina started neutrally. Attempting to mend some of the tense accusations they threw at the witch. As much as they were not ready for the truth, it was what she provided wholeheartedly.

Cian ignored her suggestion, "We'll take the room with two beds, thank you."

The Witch formed a key out of thin air, handing it to Cian's already outstretched hand. He paced away from the women, pausing on Serafina, before running his hand through his hair and heading out of the room. His distant footsteps could be heard as he somehow found the upper staircase.

Silence ensued, a mix of longing and confusion.

"There are things you will only see for the first time, and then never again." The witch stepped closer to Serafina, breaking the silence. Her arms crossed her chest, her palm open and filled with an adjacent key. "One thing I can tell for sure is that man is wound up tightly because of you."

It appears the Golden Witch cannot see everything.

Serafina smiled to hide her discomfort, "Yeah, I bother the living hell out of him. Not in the way you see it. He doesn't—"She couldn't finish without choking on emotion.

"Sleep well, child. Just remember to look and not listen." Nabra gently touched her shoulder. In another life, it felt like they might have been friends. "He wants to save you as much as you want to protect him."

Serafina thanked the witch once more before taking the key. She walked down the hallway by herself, the distance much shorter than before. The stairs were a small feat after a long day, and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed, even if she only closed her eyes and cried.

It did not surprise her that Cian leaned against the door she was meant to enter. Room 15. Right next to his own.

"Would you like to talk?" He asked, looking uncomfortable.

What for? It's not like she would burst out sobbing. Not while he was standing there.

"Not really."

She made a move to open her door, and the man remained in his spot. He looked down, and she could feel the heat emanating from his broad chest.

"I—" Cian started, before stopping. He bit on his full bottom lip, the skin swollen. An anxious routine.

"What?"

The man sighed, letting his chin dip to his chest. His eyes met her own with a burst of color that never failed to steal her peace of mind, "I did not mean to offend you."

"You didn't." Serafina breezed over the issue. "Anything else you would like to speak about before I lay down?"

The man nodded, though none of the strain fell from his well-muscled body. "Right." He answered disjointedly. It was quiet again for a few moments as he decided what to say, and what to never speak aloud, "Where would you like to go from here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Serafina swallowed stiffly before washing a wave of numbness through her mind. "I need the blood of a ghost. And who better to ask than my mother."

+

"My dear Serafina, my angel, you are just insatiable."

His condescending denial is so common, that I feel nothing but a flicker of annoyance. My rage comes from my ever-growing hunger, unquenched by my supposed lover.

I hate him.

He lays on the bed, wiping around the edges of his mouth. He is not starving himself, he just had an old man that ran a store on the corner. He smears that man's thoughts, hopes, and dreams onto the back of his knuckles with a shit-eating grin.

I hate his hair, the air of arrogance stuck on his upper lip in a horrible mustache. I hate how much older he acts, and how much he loves my young age. I am tired of pretending I want him more than something to feast off him.
He is not hungry. He is not injured. He just enjoys telling me no, now that he believes he has my heart within his grip.

If only he knew I wanted his blood, and his blood only. If I cannot have that, what is his purpose? His kisses make me sick, and his touch oozes vile intention. I know he only wants me for the nativity he believes me to possess, and his interest in me lessens with time and wisdom.

"But how is it fair that you get to eat while I am left to starve?" She pouted, making sure to stick out her backside as she crawled to him on the bed.

Carlo had taught me everything I needed to know about seduction. What made the average man 'tick'? I used him to practice every caress, and any subtle movement that could haunt a man's dreams for nights to come.

He grabbed me by the chin, and not gently. If I were human, the touch might bruise.

"I was human five hundred years ago. And yet I cannot remember any of them worthy of saving." His lazy joy fell to a sneer, "I will let you feed from me if you bring one of them back here, and drink from them. I would like to watch."

For eight months we had been sleeping together. Long enough to see a change in seasons. To dine and to learn about the city and its past. To speak of my transition, and how I came to be.

I hate him.

And still, it hurt to watch him turn on me.

Love was never between us, though we pretended to fill our nights with its labor. Sometimes the word would flutter between freshly scrubbed sheets and downy pillows.

He looked at me, smiling at the joke he did not believe me to know I was the center of. He thought I loved his prowess, his wealth, his pure bloodline so dearly that I would march out into the streets and drag a human back to his apartment for his pleasure.

Was I good at acting careless and dim-witted? I had practiced spending the weekends with my grandparents, who saw any sign of an opinion as an omen against my marriage. All I had to do was bat my lashes and pout and vampire males would fall to their knees. They judged Nouveaux as vampiric enough to fuck, but human enough to take advantage of. They were the pathetic, weak ones. Too conceited to realize that my feelings were as deep as their veins.

My gaze locked on Carlo, who looked triumphant.

I placed my hands on his thighs, running up and down the covered flesh. The man lifted to his elbows in anticipation.

"Anything for you my love." I pressed a kiss to his loose buckle. "But first, I would like to have you first."

He let his head fall back in merriment, "I knew you would see the light, little angel." The name curled in my stomach, too similar to what my father called me. Vile bastard. "Once human blood graces your tongue, your addiction will start. It is even more fulfilling when they bed for your life."

My hands paused their ascent up his legs, and I was careful not to pierce his skin. I looked up seductively, "And how does it make you feel."

His hands find their way to my breasts, and I let them rest there. He lifts his torso, bringing his sullied lips to my ear. "Like a fucking god."

With his manhood erect under me and his neck open to me for the taking, why should I not feel the same?

It was men who elevated women. It was them who worshipped us, and venerated our bodies into sainthood and statues. Why were they the gods when they bowed at our feet, just to get a taste?

"I look forward to the begging," I whispered silkily, setting my legs around his own. Pinning his hands beside his head.

Carlo pressed a wet kiss to her mouth, "You are of my making. My vision. My muse."

I am quick to trail my mouth from his chest to his neck. I find his largest artery while gripping his wrists tighter and tighter.

I rejoice when I hear his moans of pleasure turn to discomfort.

"Angel, you are a little rough tonight."

I do not repent.

Instead, I snap his wrists so I never hear that name from him again.

"You fucking bitch!"

Much better.

"Tell me what happens if I bleed you dry." I lick across the shell of his ear, "Then I might consider letting you live."

"Try whatever you like, Noveau, you are nothing compared to me." He bares his teeth, "I will rip your body to shreds and you won't even know what happened."

I lift my shoulders and snap his wrists again. A cry of pain leaves his lips. "On a good day. But the human I told you to drink was drugged with belladonna. You are all mine."

His eyes dim, "Drinking all of me will supply you with enough essence to last a year at most."

"At most? I must test this theory at once." I do not let go of his as I promised.

This ancient was proud, even in the end.

"You will never be one of us."

And I am glad for it.

I rip into his neck, and I feel the usual rush. The second wave of power only kicks in as the man begins to struggle against me. His pride turned into soft pleas. My eyes roll onto my head at the intense pleasure of his dark blood without end, my body is lost in its rejuvenation.

When I am finished, his is gone.

I feel the strength that rivals the earth. I feel my senses sharpen and hone. I do not feel a hint of the dryness that comes with thirst creeping into my throat. And I am anew with promise. With an alternative to killing those who do not deserve it.

"Cian."

I call him as soon as I come home to our shared apartment.

His form is sprawling by the window, but he quickly walks into shadow. Forming back into a man at the tone of my voice. Our new routine, was as he would make sure I got home safe after visiting Carlo.

He sees the blood immediately, "What did he do to make you kill him?"

"He called me angel one too many times, and not in the way I like."

Cian smirked instead of looking horrified. It is the only thing that keeps me in a romance with sanity. "I am surprised it didn't happen sooner. Only one can suffer so many conversations about Venetian upholstery without wanting to murder someone."

I let out a bubbling laugh, catching my stomach with my hand. Wondering why I did not feel remorse, not in the slightest.

"When those who refuse to truly see you happen across your face and your name, they think of seraphim. It is their fatal mistake that they do not see that you are not the angel, but the heavenly fire in which razes the earth."

My heart ceases to beat. When it starts again, it is only for the man before me who I hadn't truly known until that moment.

I am the Angel of Death. I am Death's disciple. I do his bidding; not of my own volition.

I repeat the words in my head until I believe them to rectify what I have done.

They may take from me.

In the end, I will always take more.

<><><><><><>
(A/N: So this is my formal introduction to whoever is assigned to read this for the contest! (If it even gets chosen, I am not sure how this works really)

Hello, I have been writing on Wattpad as an author for a while now. I wrote my first ever long novel "Silk Sheets" in 2017, which now has over 6 million reads. My second most popular book is Solace, which received 230k reads within a year. I would like to be published one day, but currently, I am in graduate school and I work, while consistently posting to wattpad once or more than once a week.

I am an avid reader, and it fuels my obsession with writing something I would be interested in reading! I know what the people want lol, since I am the "people". My favorite genre is dark fantasy/romance. I would say my writing style focuses on character development/symbolism/and dramatic imagery. I like to make readers taste/see/hear/feel as they are enjoying my work.

Thank you so much for checking out Damned! The idea came to me when I started thinking about how excited I was for Autumn to come, even in early August.