Who was I anyway? Was I still Eyevoree Lydia Miyor, or did she die too? Could I still be me and not be me at all?
Or was I a monster? A monster who craved the death of the innocent and the blood that runs through their veins. I wanted to scream. I hated being someone else. Someone I didn’t know. An ugly beast.
I looked out from my roost at our land. It was a vast open kingdom, but with walls on every side. How could I call this home and not prison? I couldn’t claim it as home even if it did seem like one. I only woke up here. I don’t remember how I got here anyway. The only thing I remember is being carried away and then feeling like I was falling. I couldn’t feel land nor air. Nothing. I knew I was alive, or at least that my mind could think, but I couldn’t feel my hands, my legs, my lungs breathing air. I couldn’t see. I only saw blackness.
But then my body ached like it never had before. The ache began to sharpen, and though all five of my senses were shot, I could feel pain. Only pain. It felt like I was ripping open from the inside out and like millions of bugs were crawling under my skin. I screamed but nothing surfaced. I tried to move my arms to claw at my and stop the horrible torture of my body, but I was paralyzed. I could feel nothing. My agony lasted for so long I could have been in that hell for a year. Then I opened my eyes and was in what I now claim as my room.
I now sat on my roof with my eyes closed as the memory washed over me.
After waking up in my room, I lay there, just blinking. Had it all been a dream? What a horrible nightmare. I felt my face, my body, and nothing had any apparent change.
Blinking up at the ceiling, it was immediately clear that this was not my home. I jolted up from where I lay, taking in my strange surroundings. I was in a bedroom, but I had never been there before. It looked unremarkable. A typical room with a bed, dresser, closet. I took a moment to scan my body for any sign of injury or answers. I looked at my hands and arms. My skin was lighter… luminous. I spotted a mirror across the room and drifted to it in a daze.
Collecting the details I saw in the mirror, I knew I didn’t recognize this stranger standing in front of me. The eyes were wrong, violet and not natural. The lips too full and perfect. I slowly moved to touch the mirror, and the woman moved with me. Her delicate curves, cut from glorious white marble, copied my every movement, doing as I did. I pinched myself hard to shatter this illusion and cried out as my flesh protested.
An icy chill ran through me as I saw her mouth open. Long, threatening fangs hung down and gleamed in a row of pearly white teeth. They were only a quarter of an inch longer than regular canine teeth, but they were pointed so dramatically that they were ghoulish. I lifted my lip to reach up to my mouth and hissed as I pressed my finger into the fang and felt the sting of flesh being punctured. I stared at my finger with frightened eyes as I watched the blood pool. It was black.
This can’t be happening, I thought to myself. Looking around, I tried to find any familiarity in the room I woke up in. I had never been here and had no idea where I was, gleaning very little from my frantic glances around these four walls. I went to the window to see something, anything that could indicate where I could be, or even the time of day. I shifted the curtains and hissed, stumbling back several steps. The light was so bright that I couldn’t bear to even look out the window. I fumbled blindly with the curtains and straightened them to cover as much light as I could. After rubbing my eyes and blinking out the burned splotches dancing in my vision, I went to the door and cracked it open. I could hear no one, but my hearing was also… different. Everything seemed too loud, too deep. It was as if I was cupping my ears, but more. The sound of my feet reverberated off the walls and came back to my ears with a clarity I had never had before.
After deciding there was no immediate threat, I tentatively wandered out of the room and smelled something intoxicating. It wrapped around me, gripping me at the waist and dragging me down a tall staircase. While my eyes darted back and forth for any sign of my captors, I had little say in the force that pulled me toward it. It tugged me down into a massive kitchen and the scent led me to a fridge. I stopped in front of it, confused. When I opened it, it was filled with jars full of red liquid. Blood. Nausea and something primal welled up inside of me.
Slamming the refrigerator door shut, I turned around and leaned against it. I grabbed my head while my terror whirled. Glancing in front of me, I noticed a table in the center of the room piled with papers. I walked over and saw that they all had my name on them. I grabbed the stack and flipped through it. Everything was a legal document: deed to a house, car registration, storage units. On and on it went, documenting my possessions I had never seen before, nor had the money to afford. I flipped the car registration over and gasped. I was the proud owner of a red 2015 458 Ferrari Spider. My dream car, and an expensive one, at that. I stared blankly at the paper and my hands began to shake violently.
A small envelope I hadn’t noticed suddenly caught my attention. My name was delicately written on the front. I set down the registration and reached for the envelope. Flipping it over, I saw it was sealed with wax. I opened it with trembling fingers and, in perfect handwriting, all it said was:
Please forgive me.
My head was swimming. I was already in ownership of a car, a property, and a new life; and all of this was apparently my new "home". I slid down to the cold tile and pulled my legs to my chest, holding them tightly, trying to remember what happened, but I could come up with nothing.
That’s where I started. And that is where I start my "life story." I had nothing else. Memories from my past life, my human life, were all a blur. Faces disintegrated when I tried to picture them, and though I knew who I attempted to see—all of the people in my life who made it worth living—my foggy brain resisted all efforts to draw up the memories.
Anger brought me back to reality and I slammed my fist down hard on the roof and came up with a handful of paneling. Who cares? I didn’t buy it.
My little fits of anger and shame turned into abuse toward my possessions. I broke a lot of things. I got in a lot of fights with walls, and to my surprise, I always came out on top. Recently I had done some interior remodeling when my tantrum demolition forced me to finish off what was left of a crumbling wall that I had brutalized over the course of a couple of weeks. Sooner or later I expected the house to come crashing down on top of me. I hoped it did.
I looked around toward the ground of the courtyard beneath me and saw nothing interesting. The same thing I saw every day. Just different faces, though some were becoming familiar.
My house overlooked a pool vicinity. There were two large pools, each two or three times the standard size of a pool, and an enormous jacuzzi in between them; it held some twenty people at this minute. It was stunningly beautiful. Due to the expertise of some people that liked decorating our drab home, it actually looked well put together. In reality, it was only meant to mask the simple fact that we lived in confinement. Everyone sat around and chattered like old hens. I watched them laugh and play, disgusted that they could find any happiness.
And of course, everyone with their drinks. I zeroed in on a glass in some woman’s hand and I flexed my fingers anxiously.
I avoided blood more than I should. We tended to get pretty unpleasant when we were thirsty, dying notwithstanding. The sight of the blood made my entire mouth fill with saliva. I frowned at the involuntary reaction and silently cursed myself while I tested the dryness of my mouth to determine just how thirsty I was at the moment.
In our world, blood is the key aspect to survival. Actually, it was the only aspect. We were incredibly durable and could live without much, but not blood. Food was pleasant and tasted just as good to us as it did to anyone. Better. However, it was the equivalent of eating dessert for three square meals a day; it would sustain you for a while, but eventually you would become severely malnourished. Though I’m pretty sure a human on a dessert diet wouldn’t eventually rip someone’s throat out.
On the "bright" side, we only drank the blood of animals. Creatures treated like blood bags, not living things. Of course, it was better and safer than taking a risk that the myths were true, but mostly we just didn’t want to attract unwanted attention or cause death to people who didn’t deserve it. We used to be human, too. And we remember fear.
I hated blood, but we needed it. Almost everyone I saw always had a drink. Our wonderful blood drinks. Nobody liked to be thirsty. Not for blood. It hurt too much; and eventually, it would kill us.
Symptoms could vary from person to person, but there were telltale signs that were universal. At first, you’d simply become fatigued. After a few days, you’d be unforgivably irritable. You’d get combative mostly, and you’d tend to get a burst of strength and adrenaline before losing it all. A lot of fights broke out this way in our world, but it didn’t last long. Too many people to intervene. In terms of your body, your skin would pale even more so and take on a milky, see-through state. It would almost… thin. Like rice paper. Your eyes would sink in and the bags under your eyes would darken. It was easy to tell by appearance alone that someone was lacking blood and becoming ill. Without immediate treatment—so, some blood—your strength would begin to evaporate from your body. After that initial burst of energy, you’d start to go into a rapid decline. Headaches accompanied by fits of rage that your starving body had no energy for would worsen until you eventually lashed out at something that you killed or that killed you. In your last moments, you’d lie in brilliant ecstasy of colorful hallucinations and muscle spasms until your cursed heart released your damned soul. You’d die a slow and unimaginably painful death. How did I know all of this? I learned the hard way that you couldn’t escape blood. I’d been at least halfway there, maybe more.
One day, I had woken up from a blackout to a pounding behind my eyes that brought me to my senses. I was strapped down to my bed with ropes and cords, and surrounded by unfamiliar faces displaying an array of emotions, all ranging from concern to irritation. In an instant, everything came flooding back to me. I had been in the streets below and nearing a frenzy that needed community intervention. The memory was like a strike of lightning as I recalled where I had been that day and what had brought me to this point.
I had been on my roof when, without provocation, I had begun to yell at passersby about nothing in particular. I jumped down from the rooftop and started pushing a man I didn’t know and asking him why he was walking by my house. Paranoia had ripped through me and I questioned his motives. Thinking back on it, I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I sounded. It had immediately turned into a fight with me throwing disoriented punches and kicks. It didn’t take long before some of the guards came running from the wall and tackled me to the ground. It had surely only taken them moments to recognize the dark circles under my concave eyes and the sickly pallor to my skin.
The memory made me flush with anger. I felt like a lab rat under the scrutiny of the people around me waiting for some reaction. Upon seeing coherence in my eyes, they immediately removed the bonds that held me down. I shot up from my bed, humiliated and furious, and ushered the strangers out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door without a word. A day later, I received a call from a doctor in the city that told me everything I needed to know about what would happen to me if I didn’t start taking care of myself. He told me he’d be making house calls. I told him to go fuck himself.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
The presence of blood in the city came in many forms, but the main attractions were the appalling drinks offered at each corner of the city. Our blood came from animals, most from the wolves that lived in the surrounding forests. We could really drink any blood, but you can definitely get a lot more blood from a wolf than a squirrel. I’d occasionally hear gossip in the times where I was forced to seek out blood, and I would overhear people talking about various things. At one point I heard someone say that a lot of people in the city think that wolves tasted better than most of the animals in our woods. The fact that they could drink so freely was repulsive. Drinking experimentally was downright savage. I had to force the liquid to my lips just to drink. What made it worse was the fact that it actually tasted great. It certainly tasted like blood, there was no denying that, but it had a sweetness to it, and I presumed the physical attraction was purely instinctual… or maybe animalistic. It made me sick to death with myself.
I suppose you could consider us "vegetarians" in a morbid way. Compared to human legends, we seemed downright harmless. We had our own legends, too. It was said that, supposedly, if you drank the blood of a human you would become savage. Your eyes didn’t turn crimson like in the human stories, but rather, they would turn wholly black. Like a shark when they smelled blood in the water. The eye would become a void of midnight and violence. At this point, no one knew if it was true or just a myth, but no one wanted to take a chance. This was mostly why we hid deep in the depths of our own personal hell—well, that’s how I saw it anyway—to keep mistakes out of our reach and out of the Elders' hair.
Our city was heavily blanketed by vast trees in the thick forests of Maine. Even from the sky, you could only see the tangle of trees. It was impossible for humans to see through the glamor that protected our city. You had to already know what you were looking for. I was never sure if it was magic or mirage, but it supposedly kept us safe. Or was it keeping the humans safe?
No humans ventured too far into our forest from the outside anyway. If they did, it was simple, they were killed. Bloodlessly and humanely, if there were such a thing to compare with murder.
The guard was made up of some of the oldest of our kind that volunteered to help maintain our secrecy. A small force worked for the Elders and was tasked out at each gate and along the walls, but the majority were people that were happy to keep us safe. They didn’t carry guns or anything, but in my opinion, they should have. I thought humans were insane, even if I used to be one of them. They were paid and could actually take time off any time they wanted, so really it seemed like a hobby.
Since the guards were older, they could stand to be around humans better than the rest of us could. Whenever a human had to be killed, it was swift. The humans could not be eaten, so they were killed as quickly as the guard could manage, and burned. It was all a very easy process. However, that process was tormenting for those of us that were less accustomed to human contact.
First of all, the most horrible part was that they smelled so good. They would get close and it took most of what all of us had not to jump the walls to get to them. Maybe that’s why the walls were so high. Not to keep something out… but to keep the monsters in.
Second, if their smell wasn’t enough of a temptation while they were alive, it was at an excruciating peak while they burned. Fire could kill us—most mortal weapons could if you tried hard enough—so burning would stop anyone from being tempted to run in after them. At least we didn’t have to hear them screaming…
The city, our whole world, was guarded by volunteers, camouflaged by our painted walls, and protected by everyone who called themselves an ally to Anglaya. It was our duty if the situation arose. If someone got close enough to penetrate our secret, a guard took them out; a steady death here and there was enough to tell the humans to stay away. They were under the impression that "the forest was just too dangerous to be explored." Convinced, ignorantly, that there were beasts and animals too wild, deep within the woods and it was altogether safer to stay out. You had to travel so many miles through forest just to get to us that it could probably just be passed up as humans getting lost in the woods on hikes. That happened all the time, right? The humans simply and satisfyingly agreed that the animals of the woods would continue to prevent future ventures and didn’t want to risk any more lives. Living near small towns had these advantages; they didn’t get suspicious.
Though, every once in a while, an unlucky hiker got too close. There would be a waiting period to see if he or she would notice anything about our town, heard noises from the bustle of the people, saw a rooftop peeking over the edges of the thick walls that just looked like more of the forest reaching on to the horizon. A quiet alarm would sound inside to indicate a human was near. It was quiet enough for the human to not be able to hear, but our ears could pick the sound. Everyone would cease all activity and stop talking, moving, even breathing. If the human didn’t notice and walked by, they were left alone, but if they did, it was already too late for them.
Though the faint smell of human would sometimes trickle through on a swift breeze, stinging my nostrils and setting my heart racing, I had only witnessed this once; but that was one time too many. My house was at the edge of the North wall. From its peak, it overlooked the vast expanse of trees and rivers that could capture so many horrific sights; I preferred to keep my back to it. All of us, even brand new to this life, could stand the tendrils of human scent curling through the air and invading our space. I wasn’t sure how close they had to be to start posing a serious threat to our will, but I didn’t want to find out.
Our great numbers could take out mostly anything. We were pretty sure of that, though we had yet to test our battle skills out with anything more than a few guards at a time. After so many deaths, the humans sent no more groups in, so there was no need for experiments. It was a lost cause for them. I constantly felt like we were fortunate that no one sent significant numbers or teams to figure out what the hell was wrong with this forest. I had to assume the government didn’t care about a podunk town on the outskirts of society. Maybe we were just lucky.
So we lived in silent tranquility and never any less. Too much harmony. I just wished something bad would happen, so I could get off my ass and off my roof. I really was like my own personal gargoyle.
It’s not like we were actually prisoners. We could go out of the city walls, but had to take extreme precautions. We had to never fly in busy areas, even at night. Everyone seemed to notice everything these days. Anyone seeing a humanoid creature flying overhead would probably end up being tossed in a pit with the crazies, but it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even though people would not believe someone who claimed to have seen us, the bolder story hunters would start to investigate and eventually come looking. It was our job to not provoke those who didn’t need to lose their life, and it only took one person to change the tide, one person who got too close and bled a little, enough for one guard to give in to temptation, one person to scramble past the walls.
We also weren’t allowed to compete in any human sports, for obvious reasons. No matter how much you tried to hold back, someone was bound to notice a competitor flying faster than a Ferrari down a race track, or able to lift a house over their head.
You had to keep a low profile and blend in with humans as best you could; moving around on a human schedule, acting like they did, dressing like they did. I think it went without saying that getting romantically involved with a human was completely and utterly out of the question.
There were so many outer city rules and risks that it wasn’t even worth going out when our city was as big as it is anyway, and breaking those rules would get you arrested. I wouldn’t have bothered at all, even if I wanted to. Setting aside my age, my eyes looked like something out of a horror film, and I would attract so much attention you’d think I was a UFO that crash landed on the White House. Plus, I was just too stubborn to find any fun in between sulking periods.
I had been daydreaming a lot today. I just need something different. I often wondered if I could find happiness if I just gave into my new life. I could learn more things about myself, explore new places, maybe even make a friend. Though it was hard to make friends when everyone either thought you were a freak or hit on you, or hit on you because they thought you were a freak. Any move I made, someone was giving me a dirty look or sex eyes, really no in between. It was like I was this extreme taboo. I’ve never wanted to blend in more in my life.
I evoked resentment and jealousy from the women. I could feel it radiate from them. And I could feel it in my mind, almost like they were sending the energy straight into my head and tried to burn me with it. Most of them were quite beautiful, and they had a gleaming array of shiny hair; and although they had average and normal colored eyes, they shone like bright lights. There was no reason for them to hate me; they were very stunning. They were only jealous of me because I was different, and, unfortunately, attracted their men.
None of the male specimens in Anglaya were appealing. Not one. Not to say that they weren’t all gorgeous; they were, with their cut, perfected bodies and their sharp features. They just lost their heads around me. Their heads would empty and their eyes would glaze over. I stunned them and made them stupid. If they weren’t terrified of me, they drooled over me. I suppose I was attractive, but a lot of people were. Occasionally they would walk by my house and stare at me with hopes that I wouldn’t notice.
I did notice. Every time.
So I dressed a little less than modest. So what? That’s what my house provided anyway. Whoever gave me my house matched my clothes exactly with how I used to dress. I thanked them for that. It was one of the only things that gave me any sense of normalcy.
My low-cut pants and cropped shirts that showed off my pale belly were frowned upon. Only by the older women, though. And only because their pathetic husbands preferred to look at me and not them. I could tell the younger women and girls closer to my age resented me, but they also were jealous because they didn’t look like me. I could feel that, too. I sometimes wished I were them, still beautiful but able to find some kind of happiness here. But alas, I was me, and I was a dirty harlot.
The men would try to woo me and I just watched them with unmoving eyes, waiting for them to get lost. One was passing now and smiling a charming, deadly smile. I stood up and twirled around and he smiled larger, probably shocked to get any reaction out of me at all considering everyones’ track records. He stopped and raised his hand to wave and I swung off the roof and into the open window of my bedroom, slamming it shut. I looked out just in time to see him scowl at the rejection and watched his ego bubble away as he shuffled, head hung low, back to the pool. I giggled a little and walked through my old-fashioned mansion.
The walls of my home were an odd, gray wood and had luxurious designs carved into them. The house had everything anyone could need, from a fully functional kitchen that I never cooked in, to a ballroom, in which I danced alone. I leisurely made my way downstairs, running my fingers across the walls and spiraling banister, and entered the smaller of the larger seating rooms. I crossed the open space to set myself in a rocking chair. This room was mostly empty, save for a huge bookshelf and some furniture. The bookshelf stood ten feet high and five wide, and was stuffed with dozens of my favorite books I hardly ever read. Sitting against the wall across from me was an enormous couch, able to fit ten people. Sometimes the extravagance of this house made me sick. I think it was some kind of cruel, sick joke to make me feel small and alone.
In the corner by the window was a stereo system and next to it, a cabinet with an outrageously large collection of music. I loved my music and played it often at only one volume: loud. No one ever protested, so I had to assume my walls were soundproof or no one cared. Either that or they knocked to tell me to keep it down and I simply could not hear them. I walked over to it and put on a mournful tune; a violin cried out, echoing the sadness inside my heart. I let out a heavy breath and looked around.
The door to one of my many walk-in closets stood open and I could see my clothes sticking out here and there waiting to be touched and worn. That was one thing I absolutely loved about my house; my endless supply of beautiful clothes. Clothes of all styles. At any hour of the day or night, I would play dress up with myself and sigh at my lack of friends to join me and laugh as we had sleepovers and talked about nonsense. I was unhappy and alone. I stopped trying to understand how the person who bound me here knew so much about me. It always set my hairs on end.
I went to the closet and ran my fingers on the soft fabric. Not all of the clothes were inappropriate. I had dress clothes of all kinds, dresses for fancy occasions, and even ball gowns. I was well equipped for any event, but didn’t see myself attending one in any near future.
I wandered back over to the rocking chair and collapsed into it with an exaggerated and dramatic huff. I closed my eyes and rocked back and forth, attempting to nap in lieu of anything fun to do. After about ten minutes, I scoffed and stood. I crossed back to the closet with my clothes and peered at myself in the mirror. I prodded at the dark circles under my eyes and noted the chalky color of my skin. There was no way I was going to be able to relax when I was this thirsty.
I turned to the kitchen, dreading the inevitable. Despite knowing that I needed blood and that it tasted perfectly appetizing, the act itself was always tedious and spiritually exhausting.
Dragging my feet into the next room, I turned to glare at the fridge. I tore it open and leered inside. To my dismay, only a few condiments, an empty pizza box, and some expired orange juice mocked me. Had I really let my blood and food supply run this scarce? With another shot of panic, I realized that I would have no choice but to venture into the market today. I shut the door of the fridge in disgust and stalked to the kitchen table. Throwing myself into a chair like a petulant child, I slammed my forehead to the table in a tantrum.
"Ow." I said, my voice muffled as I lay face down.
With another deep sigh, I grabbed my purse and went to the front door. I reached for the handle, but didn’t turn it. I stood there for some time before sighing again and beginning to open it.
A thought came over me then and I pushed the door back to position with a click. Crossing back to the closet, I yanked it open. I searched the endless line of hangers until finally settling on a modest blouse with the ruffled front. Poking around the shelves above, I found a pair of black slacks and went to pull off my clothes to change. If I was going to force myself to venture into the market today, surrounded by those creatures of evil, I was going to wear something nice and not draw attention to myself. I gave pause at the thought that I was technically one of those creatures of evil, but shrugged it off. Technicality.
After changing into my new outfit and straightening myself in the mirror, I felt good about my odds. If I looked nice and not like a night walker today, surely I could find some peace and not be glared at. It was much less that I cared about angry women and their men with wandering eyes, and more about the fact that I just really didn’t have the mental strength to punch anyone in the face today. I didn’t find myself with that particular strength any day, but that was neither here nor there.
Certain that I looked like an upstanding member of society, I donned my purse once more and managed a confident stride before turning back for the door. "Here goes nothing," I mumbled. I turned the handle and opened the door to the blazing sun.
