Daughter of the Night

Before I begin my story, you should know;

I never asked for this. I never wanted to live this life, confined to the black recesses of the darkness where only the creatures of the night stalk their prey. I should know. I am one.

By all rights I should have died maybe sixty years ago alongside my friends and my siblings. Of course by that time my siblings thought I had cut all ties and my friends wouldn't have known who I was, but that's beside the point. I was there at the funerals, mourning silently. My traitorous eyes wouldn't form the tears. That was the moment I realized that, among other things, I had been robbed of my ability to express emotion.

Now, after all these years, I've come to terms with who I am. I've accepted the monster inhabiting my instincts and my body. I've adjusted to living at night, to not sleeping, to not having a pulse, to drinking human blood.

I am a vampire. I look the part, too; blood-red lips, vermillion irises, waist-length black hair, pale complexion. Oh, and I can't forget my fangs. Back when I was human, I had black hair, but besides that I looked totally different. My lips were a soft pink, my eyes a gentle brown, my skin a toned shade of honey. I had been human, and I had been happy.

Now I'm a daughter of the night. How that occurred? A wound I have been nursing for as long as I've borne this appearance, I assure you. But I'm not about to write down something I've managed not to think about for over a decade.

But now, I am hungry. Or I suppose a more appropriate term would be thirsty. At any rate, I thirst for blood. My throat tightens, my sense of smell gratifies me with the exact location of every human within a half-mile radius. My body drops naturally into the hunched stance of a panther stalking its prey.

I can feel the last rays of the sun subside from the sky; the night has arisen. I have awoken.

It is time to hunt.