Lillian Martha Jones-some time between December 20 and the second week of January, 2017/2018- location unknown.
It's dark
and I'm tired.
and scared. And I feel like I can't breathe even though I stopped breathing over fifty years ago.
I want my sire. Dark hair, small body, angry face. She's strong, so strong. I feel as though I'm about to fall. Wait! Is that her? There! Right there, her silhouette in the darkness! I reach out, a rattling sound accompanies my movement. What is it?
Where is the sound coming from?
I open my mouth.
I'm scared.
My throat hurts. It's raw in a way it hasn't felt since I was mortal.
I am lucid. If I was alive my heart would be racing a rabbit's running tempo, but instead it lies almost still in my chest. I do not know where I am but it is dark. The rattling sound I heard was chains on my wrist and chains near my neck. I am someone's prisoner. I don't know why though, I'm only the whip for the Torreadors and here my sires feel little need to mess with others affairs. I am only dangerous for knowing Katarinka, and for knowing what happened in Charlottesville. I'm thirsty though I feel the beast in my veins rearing its head. I worry more about the chains, is it hunters? Is that why I'm here, are they seeing how long I can last without blood? There is a clicking of heels down a corridor and a toffee colored woman comes into the room flicking the light switch, her hair a halo around her head, soft brown tendrils float. She's beautiful, the kind of woman I know other toreadors would want to paint in blood, she's holding a bag. What's in the bag? She smiles and there are fangs, there are no hunters here.
"Look at you- she croons walking forward a light accent coats the words, Spanish- beautiful, not so strong though are you? Weak little camarilla bitch." She pulls out a blood bag and I feel my fangs drop. I'm hungry and the beast looms closer still.
"The last batch's hallucinations were fun to watch, amuse me more will you" and she's tracing a finger down my jaw, a hand curling in my dense dark curly red hair and tugging. Hallucinations? Hallucinations? I glance at her, eyes wide and she tuts before opening my mouth and shoving the blood bag in slamming my mouth shut.
I'm hungry.
I feed.
It's dim.
There's a rattling sound around me and cold metal. I think the walls are moving in. Drifting closer and closer and closer. Closer. Closer still. Grey and cold.
I'm panting. Breath hard and fast in panic.
The walls are moving.
