Loreen

     The Moreau Island looked somber, a dark beach as grey as the sky and dozens of the same plain blue tents. The roving wind blew a beautiful tune as I walked across the arched wooden bridge with a handful of armed men escorting me. A movement underneath the water's surface caught my eye and when I looked down from the bridge I saw an alligator swimming about, at least four feet in length. The branches of the trees bent to the north as they were hauled along by the hooting wind. The guards showed me the way across the courtyard of the castle, plain gravel with wooden benches at the sides, and we reached a flight of stone steps leading to an arched wooden door.

Our footsteps clanked through the hallways. The ceilings reached high and had many chandeliers dangling, along with curling lines in the stone. While the guards led me along I wondered about the Queen I was about to meet. Even though I knew nothing about her, I'd already painted her picture in my head. I imagined a slender woman in her early thirties, maybe mid-twenties, with golden hair wearing a flowing green dress. The door creaked open. The armed men stepped in front of me, blocking my view, and announced my arrival. Then, they finally stepped aside and I could finally see the Queen, and compare her to the image in my head.

Oh, how wrong that picture was.

On a tall throne made of gold and padded with red velvet sat a little girl with soft round cheeks and big, watchful brown eyes. Her reddish brown hair was braided around her head, and on top lay a golden crown embedded with more rubies. Draped over her shoulders and over her green dress was a black cape stitched with silver thread and absolute precision. It was a cute girl in appearance, delightful to look at, but the way she had her chin lowered and watched me approach with a deep frown was not cute. Queen Neviana reminded me of a toxic snake quietly stalking her prey. On the table beneath her, stretching straight down with its end pointed towards me, sat her council consisting of six; among them Eileen Dovraven on her immediate right. Eileen didn't look the way I remembered her, where she used to be all elegance and orderly now her hair stood messy, her face looked pale and dull, and her eyes stood drowsy. I stood still at the end of the table and made a small bow towards the little Queen.

Neviana raised her chin and observed me from head to toe. "Sit."

"Thank you." I shoved the chair on the table and found myself sitting across from her. "Queen Neviana, it's an honor to meet you."

"Is it, Loreen?" Neviana took a deep breath through her nose, looking like I was exhausting her. "Is it really an honor? Or are you just saying that because you're no longer welcome at the place where your true honor lies?" This made me swallow, which Neviana noticed and my fear made her smile. "Loreen, I'm aware of the history of my bloodline. I know very well that no witch on Earth is genuinely honored to meet a member of the exiled Moreau family." For a moment she stared at me in silence with a frown, making me feel like she was dismembering my soul. "We are those black sheep where none of the white sheep talk about until the wolves hit them and then they suddenly need a place to hide. Hiding, that is what you are here for, is it not?"

I nodded. "Lily Porth told me..."

"I don't care what Lily Porth told you." Neviana locked eyes with Eileen. "And I don't care that Eileen has vowed for you." She turned back at me and threw me a brief smile. "I don't trust you Loreen, and that's a good thing because what kind of ruler would I be if I just blindly trusted every witch wandering through my doors?"

I smiled and gave her a nod. "Not a very good one."

"Indeed."

"So..." I raised my hands and eyebrows. "Tell me, Queen, how can I earn your trust?"

Neviana drummed her fingers on the table and gazed into my eyes. This little witch reminded me so much of Farren that I wanted to rip off her throat. "I'm sending you around the world with one task; gather me an army. Convince the witches to join our side. Depending on your effort I will judge afterwards how trustworthy you are." Her head disappeared underneath the table, and from next to her rolled out a black suitcase which she pushed with her hands, and then her feet. "Your suitcase is already packed. Money, documents, tickets, clothes, whatever you need is in there." She nudged her chin towards it. "Go on, make sure you don't miss your flight."

Without saying a word I reached down to the suitcase and rolled it along with me as I made my way out. No, this girl did definitely not resemble the picture I had painted in my head. But, perhaps that was a good thing, because for the battle about to come we were in need of a callous and cunning ruler instead of one who was driven by morals and kindness, seeing as no one ever won a war with cuddles.

The first bloodline on the list was the Fay clan.

LOCATION: BOSNIA, SARAJEVO

After a long flight with a crying baby behind me and an old sleeping man drooling on my shoulder I landed at nightfall. In the taxi I pretended to be asleep as to avoid conversation with the bearded driver, I just didn't have the energy. It'd been a while since I'd had some blood and I was hungry. The hotel they had booked for me was a clean one located on a near distance from the center. There was a single window in the far corner of the room, showing millions of little lights.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. She was a skinny woman somewhere in her twenties. Beneath her brown trench coat stuck out thin legs with bruised knees. Her blonde hair draped in greasy wisps over her shoulders and her lips were painted bright red. A heavy layer of black eye shadow sparkled on her eyelids. I opened the door some further and gestured for her to come inside.

"Pay up front," she said as she faced me.

There was a heavy accent, and I hadn't expect it any different. She took the stack of bills I handed her and counted them thoroughly, then zipped her red purse open and placed the money inside the purse which she then laid on the dark wooden desk shoved upon the wall. Her eyes looked deep into mine as she untied the belt of her coat, then she looked down at her own naked body as the coat dropped on the floor. I turned around and walked up to the bed. She crawled beside me and stared, waiting for me to tell her what to do. When I said nothing, she hunched closer and placed her lips on mine, and as our tongues touched I released the poison from my fangs. Her body collapsed on the bed. I drank from her neck, her shoulders, her upper arms, and thighs. Those were my favorite body parts to drink from.

The next night, I stood on a hill looking down on countless ragged tents and caravans in bright colors scattered around a sand field. The Fay bloodline was a powerful one despite not being of the Original Seven, and each of their witches had the gift of the sight. Clouds of dust flew up as I stumbled down the hill. Curious young women wearing colorful long skirts with bare bellies and belts with clinging coins observed me carefully, backing away with a frown when I walked by. Their tanned faces were smudged with dirt. The men, too, had faces covered in filth along with tousled hair that stood upright, some carried it in a ponytail.

When I noticed that they had quietly surrounded me, I stood still and glanced around. "I have come here to see Lasho," I said in the Old Language. "Tell him I am Loreen of the Fortier bloodline and I seek his audience."

"You're no witch," a young man said, sitting on a barrel. As he watched me, he took a bite of a carrot. He was short of stature and built slender like a little girl, the sides of his face and chin were covered in a beard that held the same color as the carrot in his hand. For some reason he reminded me of a leprechaun.

"Not anymore," I said as I took a step towards him. "But I was born a witch. I am one of the Seven."

Taking another bite of the carrot, he observed me with a frown. He swallowed the chunk away and shrugged. "You look like them, the white hair and black eyes, so I believe you." He hopped off the barrel. "Wait here."

I watched him disappear in a yellow tent. A long time passed before that tent opened again. I squinted my eyes. In the dark, I couldn't see beyond shadows. There was a handful of them coming my way. As they neared, I was able to see their flesh and eyes. Lasho led the way, he was as skinny as the leprechaun guy but much taller. The pants he wore reminded me of a burlap sack, brown and loose. Above that, he wore nothing. Just a bulging bare belly and skinny arms and shoulders. I stepped forward to greet him and stretched out my hand. Then I froze. One of those following him had blue hair. A light cast over Farren's face as she approached me. Half her face was cracked with deep, pink scars, patched together like a deformed quilt. She held tight onto a stick as she sauntered along, a black one with a silver snake's head on top. On her left leg, from the knee down, was no longer flesh but shiny steel, its shape resembled a real leg except at the ankles where it connected to the flesh-colored, plastic foot through a ball. Next to her stood Torill, her bushy dark eyebrows stood hostile and her long, red hair gusted in the wind. I was relieved to see that Cyril was not among them, but the young man standing next to Torill looked eerily a lot like him.

When Farren stopped in front of me, my hand was still frozen midair. My mouth fell open as I looked her over from head to toe. It was me who did this to her and I couldn't wrap my head around it. How did we come to this? Just last year we were close friends, spending nearly every day together, and now we killed one another's family, and tried to kill each other.

Lasho let out a squeaky laugh. "My, I am very popular today."

It was the Old Language we used, the one language all the witches spoke. I turned to face him and lowered my hand. "I am here in the name of Queen Neviana Moreau."

"I see." Lasho turned half around, and as he stood between Farren and I on both his sides, he took a deep breath. "Hm. Tell me, why would I pick your side?" Then he frowned and faced Farren. "Or yours?"

"Because our cause is just, all we want is peace and justice," I said as I looked Farren in the eyes. "Farren is a power-hungry, vindictive little bitch who you cannot trust. She slaughtered her own leaders who never wronged her in any way. She slaughtered my aunt and uncle. She..."

"You killed my brother," Farren cut me off. "Not only an innocent, but also a father of two. How dare you speak of justice?"

"Mine was an act of revenge, which is justified. Yours was just cruel and pointless."

Farren smiled, twisting her lips to her good cheek. "They were tyrants. Your aunt and uncle were disgusting people, should've killed them a long time ago."

Baring my teeth, I showed my fangs and hunched forward. Lasho spread his arm and held me back. "No," he said. "This is not Chrim. As long as you are guests in my territory, you will behave." He dropped his hand and glanced at each of us. "I know you are barbarians, but here in my home you will act civilized." He rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Now, let's all go inside and I will let you both make your case, and we shall see which one of you will convince me."