I don't know why, but I always found Paris fascinating. He was so mysterious, and Darren never knew precisely who he was. And that is exactly why I decided to write a fanfic on him. I hope you guys enjoy it!

The elderly prince sat at his throne, his eyes fixated at the floor, a miserable expression on his face. He was contemplating the hardest decision he had made in his eight-hundred years of living – whether to live for just another day, or whether to pass on right now, guaranteeing him a spot in Paradise.

If only Anastasia was here, he thought glumly. His thought startled him. He hadn't thought of the youthful Anastasia in years. He could see her emotionless face in his mind as if he was looking at a blurry picture.

Suddenly, his mind was reeling. Choppy scenes of him kneeling on the ground, coated with snow, with her in his arms reeled through his brain.

Yet another question stirred – how had this all begun? A flashback flared around the prince, and momentarily, he wasn't in the Hall anymore. He was in the royal palace, dozing off peacefully in his cot.

Strangely, Paris remembered his childhood clearly. In his human form, he was a weak, shy toddler, not to mention the young prince of the Kingdom of Switzerland. Whenever he stumbled through the street on his chubby legs, women would coo and compliment his appearance. Even though he was only about a year and a half, he understood what the women were saying, as he was unusually bright for his age. The Queen had been fond of Paris and dressed him up in exquisite gowns, showing him off to practically everyone, as if he was a designer puppy. Paris hated the attention, but as he respected his mother, he would abstain from throwing a tantrum.

One night, at the dinner table, the Queen and the King were discussing complaints filed by the people of the kingdom. They had written in about some kind of "creature of the night" barging into their households and drinking them dry. For the first time ever, he had seen distress on his father's usually untroubled face. For a few nights, Paris was haunted by the fear that the "nightwalkers" would barge into his room and kill him. He told his mother about his fears, and she quickly convinced him they were irrational. After all, they were royalty, with guards surrounding every corner of the castle.

Calmer now, Paris drifted to sleep. He thought of how safe he was compared to someone else. The monsters can't eat me. I'm a Prince, they can't eat me!

His optimistic thoughts didn't stop a vampire couple from creeping into the castle, avoiding all of the guards.

"Why did we have to hunt down royalty?" the male vampire complained gruffly. "There are thousands of regular humans in the village, whose homes are not surrounded by guards!"

The mischievous grin on the females face silenced him. "I want a challenge, Frank."

He huffed something crossly and examined the windows in the castle.

"There are six floors," he observed. "Pick a number."

Without hesitating, she blurted, "Four."

"Then I guess that's exactly where we're going." He climbed up the wall with ease, his partner trailing close behind.

"Unlock the latch silently, then grab the victim and go," she commanded. Nodding obediently, he unlatched the window and jumped into the room. Alarmed, the toddler in the room shot up and began wailing. The male stood there, perplexed, while the female tucked him under her arm and pressed a firm hand over the boy's mouth.

"Run!" she hissed. They heard footsteps of the guards on the stairs, but before the guards could set foot in the room, they were long gone.

They flitted to a dark street corner, seemingly deserted, and decided to rest there. Finally, she plopped their victim on the ground and got a proper look at him.

Frank's upper lip curled into a displeased snarl. "This is it? We risk our lives just to get adrenaline, and all we get is a bloody kid?" The female, who went by the name of Marion, shrugged as she felt a pang of disappointment in her chest.

"He'll do for tonight," she sighed, scanning the frightened child. He was trembling in terror, the poor boy.

"I told you we should have gone to the village," Frank scoffed. "Oh well. I need to drink. Let's finish him already."

Paris looked up at the woman, his stare pleading. He knew exactly what was happening, and he knew he wouldn't like it one bit. He wanted to enjoy life to the fullest, find friends, go to school… but all those things were hard to do when you were dead.

Marion caught his eyes. The intensity of emotion his glare had made her feel nauseous. She was a savage killer… and yet this damned baby made her feel so innocent.

"On the count of three," Frank announced, raising a sharp nail into the air. Paris winced at the sight – his fate had been determined, no way of altering it. Shutting his eyes closed tightly, he waited for everything to be over with. "Three… two…"

What happened next was a miracle, something that only Desmond Tiny could have done. A certain maternal instinct, and instinct that Marion never knew she had, lashed out, and she found herself clutching her partner's arm, trying to stop him desperately.

"What are you doing? Let go of my arm! Let go!" Frank yelled in outrage, trying to tear himself free. No such luck.

"He's too young to die!" she cried. The black-haired man with the forceful facial features turned back at her, shell shocked.

"We've killed sickly elders, handicaps, pregnant women, and numerous children," he scorned. "And why is this one so special?" He let out a powerful laugh. "Because he's royalty?" Her throat was clawed and her mouth as dry as a desert.

"He's too young to die," she repeated, weaker this time.

"So what do we do with him now?" he jeered. "Put him back in the castle and pretend nothing ever happened? Oooh, here's a better idea," he added sarcastically, "let's blood him!"

She knew that it was meant to be a joke, but something about the idea sounded appealing. As her eyes lit up, his laugh faltered as the realization of what he had just proposed to her dawned over him.

"I was joking!" he protested. "He's too young to be a vampire! He'll never survive, he'll never hunt… he'll die either way!"

Dropping to her knees, she begged, "Please, Frank, dear. I'll take care of him and teach him to hunt. I'll show him the ways of the vampires. I'll teach him how to drink blood and how to hide from the sun. Please. Just let me blood him."

"Let YOU blood him? Why would I let a woman do the blooding?" he spat. He crossed his arms stubbornly and looked down at her eyes. Normally dull and lifeless, they were glistening as bright as the sun at the moment. Sighing, he gave in reluctantly.

"But I need to do it do it." She nodded in response. Grasping the boy's wrist, he slit open his fingertips, causing blood to gush out. The child yelped in agony, hot tears falling down his face.

"Are you ready, little boy?" he inquired, cutting open his own fingertips. Paris was too petrified to speak or move. Frank, laughing darkly, brought down his hand until their fingertips made contact. Paris tried to squirm, but it was no use. The vampires were much stronger than he was. They could snap his neck and end his life in a second.

After thirty seconds of the traumatic torture, the vampire pulled away his fingers steadily and gave the boy a second glance.

"Aye, boy," he chortled. "You're now a vampire."

Paris didn't know what the foreign word meant. It rung in his ears continuously, until he decided he didn't like the word. He didn't like it at all. It sounded sinister and vile.

He screamed and screamed until he couldn't endure it any longer.

Next thing he knew, he was being swept off his feet and charging full speed in the direction of the dense forests. The dense forest which he, in his human form, did not dare set foot in….

So… did you guys like it? Please tell me by reviewing. Constructive criticism is welcome! Until next time.