Love of Nightfall
by rokusasu74
Rated T for violence, language, and fluffly-luff-ness. Recommended for ages 14+

Note: This fanfic is written in first person from the point of view of Akyra, the heroine of our story. Also, this fanfic has references to the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series, KH, or anything relating to either of them...no matter how badly I wish I do...but, I do own Akyra!

I stared at the white wall directly ahead of me--unblinking, emotionless, silent. There was no movement in the room around me, no pin to drop and break the unending silence, and even as the world outside my window continued to thrive and function and exist, my world had ceased to. It had stopped spinning completely.

My name is Akyra. Welcome to my life.

You've probably heard once or twice that whole "life is like a roller coaster--it has its ups and downs" saying. My life is more like a roller coaster ­car that was headed down a drop at fifty plus miles per hour, then the track fell out in front of it, and the car that is my life has been plummeting for some time now. Not to mention there's no sign of repair for the complete, whole roller coaster that was once my life.

You see, I'm a vampire. That's right, damned eternally and everything. And you wonder why I spend every day of my life in this room, doing nothing.

As I let this thought flutter sarcastically through my mind for the millionth time in as many days, I made the effort to get up off of my bed and trudge into the hallway, on the second floor of my small house. I padded as quietly as I could down the stairs and towards the kitchen, trying to be sneaky about it. I'm not allowed downstairs. But I was hungry. Amazingly, I made it all the way there and managed to grab a few snacks from the fridge. Pretty confident that no one was home, I continued over to the living room and sat down on the big, soft couch, letting my body sink comfortably into the cushions as I munched away at the handful of cookies.

Eating cookies, for a vampire, is like eating dirt. They, like all "human food" have no taste whatsoever, and it feels like I'm choking on sandpaper every time I swallow. But there was no way in the world that I'd ever get the chance to do what it is vampires do, which, as you know, is to drink blood. Not that I want to. I've had a nasty craving for the past eight years of my fifteen-year-old life, and at first it was everything I could do not to jump at the nearest person and rip them to shreds. Which is why my parents took to confining me to my room, with the door securely locked; it was the only way of safety they had. Soon enough, I got past any bloodlust there was within me. I could completely control all cravings that I faced, and had taken to eating human food just for the heck of it. To make myself feel more real, or something.

Lifting up the remote, I flicked on the TV to catch a few minutes of my favorite show, which was also the only one that I had ever seen. It was some cliched comedy that has more reruns than new episodes, but it didn't matter to me in the least. I never laughed at it--there wasn't much I'd laugh at these days, if anything. But TV fascinated me; it was like another world inside my tiny, empty one. Most people say that about books. But I hate books, and people too, for that matter. Just like people hate me, like my parents hate me.

I heard the sound of the door opening over the artificial laugh track from the comedy on the TV. Quickly turning it off, I made a mad dash for the stairs, stuffing the cookies in my mouth and swallowing as I did. Speak of the devil, I thought, bitterly snickering in my mind, and the devil will appear.

"Akyra?" a voice shouted out. It wasn't the shout of someone who was merely wondering where I was; it was the shout of someone that knew where I was and was ready to yell at me for it. In a desperate scramble for freedom, I managed to trip on one of the steps, and tumbled back down to the bottom, landing at my mother's feet.

There was silence. I looked up at her with a blank expression, barely even cringing as she glared down at me with such hatred that I wondered why she hadn't kicked me yet (vulnerable as I was), sitting on the floor mere inches from her high-heeled shoes.

"Akyra," she muttered, her detesting tone ripping holes through me, "get upstairs right now."

I didn't respond. And here the silent arguement began.

"Now," my mother repeated, stepping away from me. I couldn't tell if it was in fear or if she had actually considered kicking me and was giving herself more space to wind up. More power to her, either way. But I remained stoic, barely even breathing as I remained in place on the polished wooden floor. She sighed deeply, leaving only for a moment to place a few bags on the kitchen counter before she returned.

This time, with my father.

A small twinge of fear echoed somewhere inside me, but I ignored it, as I usually did. Though my father was more forceful when it came to dealing with my defiance, I never showed emotion towards either of them. It would give them the upper hand, and I couldn't afford to lose my small amount of authority.

"Listen to me, and listen carefully," he said suddenly, so loudly that I couldn't help but jump in surprise. "Go upstairs, or we'll start locking the door again."

This, sadly, was a deal I had reason to consider. Until recently, by bedroom door had been almost always locked from the outside, keeping me within its secure walls. My parents had eventually realized, over the years, that I had no intention of coming near them. Sharing the same feeling of distance, they took to leaving the door unlocked. Despite this, they were still against allowing me downstairs, even if they weren't home. Most likely, they had convinced people they had no daughter, and wanted no evidence of me visible to those outside our family (if you can call it that).

Mulling the proposition over in my head, I failed to notice my father move suddenly as I was trying to decide whether fighting to stay downstairs was worth being completely confined again. My lack of attention didn't come without punishment; I instantly was snapped back into reality as a hand swung at me, slapping me hard across the face and roughly knocking me into the railing of the stairs. I turned back to the two of them, standing a few feet away now, glaring as menacingly as I could. It worked; they continued stepping back.

"Fine then," I mumbled, watching them scramble back a few more inches in their surprise as I spoke. "I'll go upstairs. No problem."

"No problem..." I heard my mother whisper as I daintly made my way up the steps, paying no attention to the bleeding scratch mark on the side of my face. "Doesn't she realize she is the problem?"

The sad thing was, I'd known that my entire life. They just didn't know I did.

My full name is Akyra Hikari. My first name is Japanese for "bright, clear, or ideal," and my last name is Japanese for "light". Put it all together, and I guess you get some phrase about a bright, perfect light, or something like that. Which, as you've probably assumed, is exactly what I am not.

I was born sometime in November--I can't remember when, exactly--fifteen years ago. As far as I know, I was my parents' first and only child, and they gave me my name for the sole reason that they thought I was perfect, right from the beginning. As all parents do, of course. They love their children. It was no different for me; I remember nothing but happiness in my days as a small child. I had friends, went to preschool and kindergarten, and all that childhood stuff. And then, right when I turned seven, everything changed drastically. My life started spiraling from good to bad, then bad to worse, and finally, it hit rock bottom (I'm still stuck down there as we speak).

It was all because of my stupid family. It was all their fault. If I had been in some other family, I would have lived a normal life. I would have continued going to school, made more friends, experienced new and exciting places and things...maybe, if I was fifteen in a different family, I might have a boyfriend right now. Sad thing is, I'm not in a different family, and I haven't seen anyone other than my parents in the past eight years.

Right. As I was saying, the whole reason my life was ruined was because I was born into the Hikari family in the first place. You see, our family (my dad's side) has a curse set upon it--one more than a thousand years old, and one that hadn't affected a single person on my father's half of the family in all the thousand years it's existed. It had been dismissed from their minds and completely ignored for years and years, until it decided to crash land on my generation of the family. And lucky me, being the only child of that generation (my parents are both only children, thus I have no cousins), I got the full-force of whatever damned curse decided to unleash itself upon me. At the age of seven, I was transformed into a vampire.

The story of the curse itself is a simple one. Long ago, the Hikari family had a rival family--the Kuroyue family (that means black moon). Both families were very small, but only one child lived among them. The head of the Kuroyue family had one son, a boy of seven. The twist on all of this is that the boy's father was very insistent on the existence of black magic, and was just as talkative about it. Several of the Hikari family members were upset and offended by his satanic claims, and, obviously, a riot broke out between the two families. The Kuroyue boy was accidentally killed in the brawl, and when the Hikaris proceeded to lose the fight, his father took the chance to avenge his son right then and there. He supposedly claimed that for as long as the Hikari family existed, one child from a random generation would, upon reaching the age of seven, be cursed as a creature of eternal night, being forced to suffer through death while still existing. The curse lay dormant for hundreds of years before reaching me, and then I became a vampire.

I remember it clearly, as if it were yesterday. The transformation was slow, but noticable. I became almost impossibly pale, and my long blonde hair turned to a dull brown. My shimmering blue eyes dulled to a milky gray; my teeth became strangely pointed. And there was that ever-existent feeling of being so cold it was almost unbearable.

Instantly, my parents shifted to denial. To them, I was obviously just very sick; the family curse couldn't have possibly begun its course. As much as they tried to deny it, they couldn't. Thus, their anxiety and disappointment turned to hatred, and that hatred was exacted on me.

The first time I ever attacked them was really when it began. Before that, they tolerated me, at least. But that one time, when I could control myself no longer and went after them, all love they had for me was instantaneously lost. I was thrown into my room and locked in, and from then on I was never allowed downstairs--or out of my room--ever again. Their logic was that first of all, I obviously didn't need to be fed, and second, I had a bathroom connected to my bedroom, and in their perspective that was all I'd ever need. I needed more than that, but I was the only one who realized it. I was so lost and alone at that point that a little company would have done a lot of good, and I might be a different Akyra than the Akyra I am today. But what's past is past, and who I've become is who I am, and there's nothing that could ever change that.

I stood silently in front of my bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection emotionlessly. The mark on my face where my father had hit me was already gone--it had healed almost instantly, like every other injury I had ever sustained had. I even broke my arm, once, only to notice that it was as good as new mere minutes after the accident.

Picking up a hairbrush off of the counter, I lazily pulled it through my tangled hair, straigtening it to its full shoulder-length. I noticed as it spiked naturally at the ends, how my bangs seperated on their own into jagged ridges. The hairbrush went back on the counter as I grabbed my toothbrush and slathered some bubble-gum toothpaste onto the bristles, scrubbing my sharp, glistening teeth without even noticing that the bubble-gum flavor was completely non-existent. I did happen to notice that all my toothpaste was gone, and I sighed heavily as I stepped back into my room and made my way over to the closet. Usually, I don't bother making a big deal out of getting dressed. I don't go anywhere during the day, so what does it matter? But today was one of those days; I was out of something I continued to pretend I needed, so I was going to have to sneak out to get more.

Digging through some awkwardly piled stacks of clothes, I pulled out a pair of black cargo pants and a dark pink sweatshirt with black cuffs and trim, pulling them on before plopping onto my bed and tying up my black high-top sneakers. I'd bought them all myself, with my parents' money of course. They can be so unobservant.

My window was locked just as securely as my door, complete with a magnet attached to the window frame that prevented me from opening it even if I could undo the outside lock. If the two magnets became seperated, an alarm went off. But this little setup had been easily taken care of. Years ago, I had destroyed the outside lock with a blowtorch I found in my basement (stupid father, leaving tools like that lying around), and had snuck a magnet identical to the others off of the fridge, preventing the alarm from sounding.

Thus, after I had gotten dressed, put on my shoes, and grabbed some money out of my dresser, I casually opened the window and stepped out onto the fire escape, climbing down two ladders before hopping onto the ground and starting down the sidewalk. As always, no one had noticed me leave.

A cool breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees, and on a hot day like today, most people would feel refreshed by it. But the temperature was uncomfortable to my eternally frigid skin; I pulled my hands into my sweatshirt sleeves and hunched my shoulders to keep the outside where it belonged--out. A couple kids, maybe eight years old, stared at me as I shuffled by the city park, wondering why I was wearing a sweatshirt and long pants in the middle of August. I ignored them like I ignore the rest of the world, and continued another block or two before reaching the supermarket and going inside.

I knew exactly where the toothpaste was; it was the third aisle over from the bakery. I always went in the side entrance closest to the bakery and got my toothpaste before filing into the nearest checkout line and paying with exact change--two dollars and fifty-six cents, including tax. The longest it ever took me to accomplish this was about ten minutes, mostly because the girl working the register that day ran out of single dollars and couldn't make change for the other customers.

I walked in the usual way and turned right, walking casually through the bakery over to the aisle where the toothpaste was. My favorite kind--the only kind I'd buy--was sold out. Disappointed, I silently vowed to come back another day to get some. It wouldn't kill me to sneak into the other bathroom and steal some toothpaste from my parents until then. I left the store immediately and stood out on the sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air--the warmth toasting my icy throat--and staring at the clear, blue sky. It had been a while since I'd last seen the sky as it really was, instead of through a window where it was tinted and seemed artificial.

Just as I was beginning to feel relaxed, for once, I noticed a silver car drive past. It looked strangely familiar--the size, the color, the license plate--and after a moment of confusion, I had the terrifying notion that the car I had just seen was my parents' car. Had they left the house since I had? Did they notice the open window? Had they seen me here as they drove past?

Standing on sudden haste, I dashed forward, trying to get to the other side of the road so I could start back towards my house. Being inhuman, I have incredible endurance and speed--running for miles, no matter the conditions, is effortless for me. So crossing the street and sprinting home would barely be any trouble at all. I'd most likely get there before the car, or at least I hoped.

I was probably halfway to the other side of the road when I heard screeching brakes. I barely even slowed my pace, even as something slammed into my side so hard it felt like the world had come crashing down on top of me. I flew a few yards before slamming into the pavement, and then I lay still. Every single inch of my body felt like it had been smashed into pieces several times over. I heard noise around me, people yelling things, but couldn't bring myself to open my eyes.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I started at the voice, instantly regretting the movement as I groaned and flattened myself against the road again, unwilling to even breathe for fear of the pain.

"Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

"G-Go...away..." I managed to whisper, tilting my head in the general direction of where I thought the voice was coming from. I don't think whoever it was heard me, anyway.

"Can you open your eyes?"

"Maybe," I answered truthfully, not really sure either way. I tried to regroup myself, even though I felt extremely dazed and out of sorts. After a moment, I slowly lifted my eyelids and stared straight ahead of me. I saw people standing around me on all sides, staring down as if I was some alien life form that had never been seen before. The crowd was so thick, I could barely see the sky above me. It was like all access to the outside world had been blocked off, like I was in some dark room being watched by people who I didn't know nor cared to.

And up until now, I hadn't even noticed the boy sitting inches away from me, panting nervously.

I was acting just as nervous, obviously, because within seconds he stood up and started shooing the crowd away. "Get out of here, you're scaring the crap out of her! Back up, at least!" They obeyed, glaring at him warily. But the lack of the boy's precense made me even more insecure; I felt extremely exposed--and being a vampire and all, this was very unnerving. So many people, looking at me, noticing me...I shuddered violently and rolled onto my side, somehow accomplishing the task of sitting up.

"Don't push yourself, stay still. You don't want to aggrivate anything you might have broken. You could have a concussion," the boy instructed, apparently trying to sound reassuring. I wasn't comforted by anything he said, however, when I remembered why I had been running across the street in the first place.

"The car..." I said to myself, so quietly that I was sure the boy hadn't heard. I needed to get home, and fast, before something far worse than being hit by a car might happen. Without even thinking, I stood up and wobbled my way to the sidewalk. The majority of the people nearby gasped in utter shock; even the boy who had first come to my aid muttered "My god..." before dashing over to where I now stood. I stared at him as he stared at me, taking in his blue eyes, spiky brown hair, and ragged appearance. He looked about my age, but I didn't care. I needed to leave, and thus, I turned away from him as I took another few steps.

"How can you be walking away after just being hit by a freaking car?" he asked, grabbing my arm. I jerked it away and glared, startling him enough that he allowed me to continue down the street, towards my house, away from the astonished eyes that followed me as I walked away.

How. How was I leaving the scene of a hit-and-run, visibly unscathed? Wouldn't they like to know. It wasn't like I could tell them that I was a vampire, that every single bone I had broken had healed only moments after breaking, that every bruise had disappeared instantly, that my concussion had subsided before it had even set in. I couldn't tell anyone about my life, no matter how badly I wanted to.

No one could or would understand how I live, even though all I wanted was someone that did.