A/N-So my sister kept saying I should write a Vampire Academy FanFiction. So, eventually I complied. This is the result-

I don't know if I will continue it, and if I do when I will continue it. I kind of have no life as it is, -shrugs-, so I may not have the time.

However most likely slowly, I hope to continue this. :) Because it has got me interested! Probably more so than any of you will be interested. Ahahaa.

So, for now, the story is un-named, because I don't know what to call it. Please, no suggestions though! I want to come up with a name on my own. Soon enough, though, it will have a name. And it will be fricken' awesome!

Chapter 1- Witmoore

"It won't hurt," he soothed on my first time, "Just a little ting and you'll be in a heavenly bliss." I wasn't convinced. Not at all. Plus, he didn't care. Why should he? He just wants me to accept, but even if I didn't he'd do it anyway.

But I'd let him, I wanted him to... in the end. As scared as I was, I'd let him.

Okay, sue me, I'm a blood whore. But it's not like I had any choice in the matter. I knew what it meant and I knew it was socially unacceptable. But that was outside. Inside these walls, everyone was bitten and everyone loved it. Nobody had a choice, but nobody cared either. Blood was blood, and everyone wanted to give it to their Strigoi. Even if they didn't, they couldn't argue about it, or they'd be dead that day.

There were humans and Dhampir's alike is this community, few unfortunate Moroi too. The Moroi never lasted long though. Strigoi ran the place, but they weren't nice. Humans and Dhampir's were 'possessions'. Despite the large number of Strigoi, and even more possessions, they all somehow knew who belonged to whom.

I'm a Dhampir, and I've lived here practically my entire life. That's the way it was for most of us. There were few brought here by a Strigoi, and that's how we learnt about what it was like outside. How we learnt things we would otherwise be oblivious to, such as guardians and the fact we are all 'blood whores'.

The first time I heard that term, I was fifteen. I had yet to be bitten yet, and I couldn't wait for my next birthday.

She came in dragged by Rigar, a Strigoi I had known since I was young. He wasn't nice, but he certainly wasn't the worst. By far. I had the worst.

She had ginger-brown hair, long and wavy, which would have hurt all the more. It's why I had learnt to keep my hair short. She was thrashing about, kicking and screaming, cursing constantly.

I could tell she was a guardian. Her killer attitude was definitely a strong indicator, backed up by the sense of Dhampir on her. But I also saw those marks on her neck. I couldn't remember what they were called, but I recalled Jacquie, a Moroi, explaining to me and my friends about them once when I was ten, before she was starved.

The guardian, she was scared. I knew the indicators, even in people who had learnt to hide it. Rigar left her alone with us for a while; doing something of sorts before he'd come back to feed, kill, or turn her.

The room, it was schooling. Well, schooling as far as it could be concerned where we were. I was in the room with many my age, some where my friends. There were some a couple of years younger, and lots older – already being fed from.

She scanned the room, standing fight-ready, waiting for someone to attack. No one did though. Some looked at her, calmly, considering they were waiting to see if she'd harm anyone. Others continued what they were doing, barely taking a second glance at the woman.

Eventually – after what I presumed was figuring that no one proved immediate threat – she let out a low, dark laugh. "This is crazy!" she exclaimed, "You're all blood whores," she pointed an excusing finger at the older groups in the room, and then waved a hand across the whole room, "or soon to be one."

Rigar returned, grabbed the woman by the nape of the neck, and left. I then turned to Florence and she told me what it meant. The next time I saw the guardian she was a Strigoi.

Florence was my best friend. Or, so I considered her so. She was four years older than me, also a Dhampir, and had once been outside. She too had been here since before she could remember, but one time, she got out.

She was seventeen at the time, and had already been chosen as one of four of Klide's 'meals'. She'd told me all about the highs, how it was better than anything and she couldn't wait for me to experience it.

I don't know how she got out, she wouldn't tell me. But somehow Klide was able to find her four months later and dragged her back. She told me all about the outside world, crying into my shoulder. From then on, she didn't long for the bites.

She had to pretend to though, I made her promise to. I didn't want her to leave me. I needed her. She had to be there to remind me what the outside world was like. I had to know. Eventually, I would get out. With Florence, we would get out together. She was a Dhampir too. We would get out and find the Academy she told me about. She never got to go there, but someone told her about the place.

It was exactly what we needed.

"Marie, I'm hungry," Witmoore announced to the schooling room. I sighed, but didn't protest. I was weak; he had fed from me yesterday. I couldn't say no though. Witmoore was by far the worst Strigoi I had ever met, other than Qarleen. I'd only ever seen her once, but I could only pray for the poor souls that she had.

He led me back to his room, and we began the ritual. I grabbed juice, placed it on the bedside table, and sat, arms-crossed, against the headboard. "Please, Marie, don't be so snappy."

"Sorry, I'm just feeling quite weak. You drank from me yesterday..." I whispered.

"Oh, Marie," he purred in his French accent, "I do just want a little. I'm not too hungry, quite full actually. I fed only an hour ago, you see. I just want a treat, okay?" Witmoore always appeared nice, spoke as if he was a friendly salesclerk. But he wasn't really. I could understand what he was really saying. "Oh, shut it, you piece of trash. Give me your neck, and stop complaining."

I nodded, and held my shoulder length hair away from my neck. He crawled onto the bed and grabbed a fistful of my hair, shoving my hand away. I reminded myself to cut my hair again.

He forced me down onto to the bed so I was lying on my side. He didn't pause to pierce my skin with his teeth. I winced, instinctively pushing him away as the pain enveloped my body. He didn't pay attention to it though, for three reasons. One, he was far too gone with the taste of my blood flooding his senses. Two, he was far too strong, he probably barely felt it. And three, he knew I was moments away from giving into the bite.

Of course, he was right. A moment later, I succumbed to the thrill. The endorphins from his saliva coursed through my veins, and I became inevitably high from his bite. I would think back to these moments, and I hated them. I felt weak and useless. Like I couldn't fight the bite. I felt the same as Florence, as I wanted the outside more than anything. I didn't want to be coped up here dealing with this every day.

Outside... how I longed for it. Longed to be rid of these walls around me and the Strigoi biting my neck. I wanted to be free. Beyond these walls, it was green... not grey and lifeless. Sometimes when I sat outside, lying on the dirt and looking up at the sky, I would see a bird. It would flap its wings, land on the tip of the high fence surrounding me, and it would chirp. A loud and musical sound to my ears.

Once, just once, a little brown bird came down to the ground. His little head jerked from side to side, until he laid his eyes on me. I held out my hand, just longing for him to come closer. But instead, he flapped his wings and was off. Animals, of course, don't seem to like Dhampir's.

I barely felt the teeth slide out of my skin, I was too far gone. "Thank you, Marie," I faintly recalled Witmoore saying, voice thick with his French accent. It sounded far in the distance, as well as footsteps and the slam of the door. I feel into unconsciousness soon after. Forgetting all about the juice on the nightstand.

I felt beyond weak when Witmoore woke me the next day. "Marie, you need to go to school. Up," he demanded.

I could barely move, my head pounded and I felt nauseous.

"Marie!"

"Shuuush, please, Papa. I'm so very tired."

He turned his 'sweet' façade back on. "Marie, Marie. Please, my dear," he whispered, lying down and stroking my hair, "I must use the room to feed. If you don't leave, where will I go?" Or, what I really heard was, "You get your big ass out of my bed, or I'll have to personally drag you out by the feet."

I attempted to stand, but my legs wouldn't allow it. "Oh, I'm so weak," I cried from the ground, "Oh, please, let me sleep."

He pulled me up forcefully by the arm and slapped me across the face, making my head pound harder. I rubbed my cheek as he continued to hold me up, "I do so much for you," he spat, "and what do I get in return? This," then he actually spat. Drops ran down my forehead.

"Ungrateful child," he screamed, after throwing me out the door. I saw Georgia, one of Witmoore's humans, be summoned inside.

I whipped the saliva from my head before attempting to stand again. But my legs wouldn't even let me kneel; my arms wouldn't even drag me. I was stuck. There was nothing I could do, so I rested my head on the inside of my elbow and was quickly drawn into sleep once more.

When I woke, I was still weak. I lifted my head to find myself lying down, still on the cold hard floor outside Witmoore's room.

Then, all of a sudden, I could stand. My feet no longer gave way, and all my pain subsided. I heard no noise from inside the room... in fact, I heard no noise anywhere. Except for a loud metallic grind from behind me.

I turned slowly, and there was a large fan-like object drawing near me. It took up the whole room, ceiling to floor, wall to wall. It ate everything up, tearing things into shreds behind it.

Of course, logically, I began to run. I tore through the building, yelling at everyone to get out. But no one was around.

Everyone must have left, already aware of the monstrous fan. Why did they leave me, though? I began to cry. Why didn't Florence come to get me? I was glad – she probably had gotten out and was safe. That's what I would have preferred her to do. But, she still left me. All alone, by myself, to be torn to shreds.

Then it came to me. No one was here! There were no Strigoi to keep me from running out the front door. I could leave! I would see the outside world! The tears halted, and I ran faster, begging my legs to carry me further and further and out of this hell-hole.

Finally, I was out. I kept running though, just to get further away from house. The dust flew from beneath my bare feet, covering my surroundings in a cloud of mist.

Then it all disappeared. My surroundings dissolved from the outside, outside of the plain brick walls, and I was back inside. Right back in front of Witmoore's room.

"No!" I screamed, before I decided to run again. I turned to face the direction, when a man appeared before me.

"Rosemarie Hathaway?" he questioned.

I choked, no; I had to get out of here. There was still no one around; this stupid Moroi wasn't going to stop me. But I couldn't move, my feet were glued to the floor.

"Rosemarie Hathaway?" he repeated.

"Let me go!" I cried, "I have to get out, don't you understand?"

He took a few steps towards me, "Of course I do. But you have to listen to me so we can get you out, okay?"

"What do you mean? You are preventing me from leaving! Let me go!"

"Rosemarie, please, we may not have much time. Listen to me," he said, coming right up and gripping my shoulders. "Listen to me, tell me – where are you?"

"You make no sense! You're here too! Let me go!"

"I don't have time to explain, just tell me," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. I stared back into those emerald green eyes, melting beneath them. I knew about compulsion, and I knew it didn't really work on Dhampir's, we are immune. But I wasn't under compulsion; I was simply calmed by his... concern? "Where are you?"

"Outside Witmoore's room." I replied, pointing at the bedroom door behind me.

"No, no. Where are you? What... oh, I don't know..." he put his hands on his temple, "what... Oh, well, start with," he flailed his hand in front of me, "what state are you in?"

"State?" I questioned. I didn't know... "I know we are in America... I think..."

"Great, that's just great. How are we suppose to find you if you don't even know where you are yourself?"

"Who are 'we'? Who wants to find me?"

He shook his head. "I'll explain some other time. You need to lead me out of here. Come on, lead me out. I need to see if I notice where you are, okay?"

I didn't understand, "You're here too... You managed to find your way here, you have to know where you, we, are... right?"

"I don't have time to explain! Just lead me out of this..." he looked around, deciding what word he should put on the building, "...house. I need to figure out where you are!"

I reluctantly complied, still confused about what the strange Moroi was going on about. We reached the front yard, and he looked at the building. It was stories high, plain grey cement for walls, both inside and out, roof and floor. The lifeless place I'd been brought up in.

"This isn't familiar... Come on Rosemarie, show me around," he requested, beckoning me further from the house.

We didn't get far though. The distance started to fade, and there was nowhere else to walk.

He turned to me, shock planted on his face, "Don't you know what it looks like out here? You're not showing me..."

"What do you mean? I've never left the house," I replied, nonchalantly. It was no big deal, right? No one but the Strigoi ever left. That's how it was. My dream to live outside was a fantasy, something beyond what I should wish for. But no... his face was still shocked, apologetic even.

"I'm so sorry..."

"What for?"

"We should have got you out earlier... we should have known. I mean, your mother... she didn't know. We didn't know she was bringing you to us... but we should have figured it out earlier..."

"Who's we? What are you talking about?"

He shook his head, and he started to fade. "What-"

"No, no! Rosemarie! No!" I started to float away as he continued to dissolve. "Rosemarie! You need to tell me, is Vasilisa Dragomir with you? Rosemarie!"

"Lissa?"

"Lissa! Yes, Lissa Dragomir!"

I nodded my head slightly, before I was pulled back into reality.

I didn't realise it was a dream until I was brought back. I should have probably picked up on the fact that things dissolved before my eyes, and that I was suddenly in one place and then the next... But I never really dreamed. Or didn't remember them anyway. This dream, it was so vivid. But I didn't know whether to believe it or not.

"Rosemarie? Rosemarie, are you okay?" The blonde girl shook me. It was Lissa, the girl that the Moroi in my dream asked me about. Vasilisa Dragomir...

I didn't really like Lissa. It's not that I hated her, but there were a few things that I didn't particularly like.

The first and foremost, she did something to me... She was dragged here by Qarleen, by far the nastiest Strigoi I had met here, about two months ago. The first time we met, well... it wasn't under the best of circumstances. It was similar to the one I was in that moment. Witmoore had drunk from me to the point I couldn't stand, but I was in a lot worst a state.

He had dumped me in the kitchen, ordering some of the other's there to get some food in me. I couldn't control any of my limbs, and slumped out of the chair Witmoore had placed me in. Lissa was there.

She was all worried for me. Could tell I was on the brink of death. Eventually, I think I did die... She did something to me though. She had dragged me from the kitchen into the big dining room that we never touched. Normally there were Strigoi in there, feeding or arguing, sometimes fighting. But there was no one there that day.

I don't remember what happened. Like I said – I think I died, so I wasn't conscious to remember. When I came to, Lissa was standing over me, white light eliminating from her fingers. Air forced its way into my lungs, and I could feel life again.

Something was formed between us that day. Suddenly, Witmoore found my blood irresistible. Drank from me all the more, even though he had another one or two new meals. On the other end, nobody would drink Lissa's blood. Something was wrong with it. Qarleen was aggravated. One point I heard her scream into another Strigoi's face, something about 'a special one' but her being 'useless'.

They knew something was with Lissa though. They wouldn't let her starve, but they wouldn't feed from her either. Normally Moroi were kept for a couple of days; Strigoi feeding from them and not letting them feed, until they died. But Lissa had special privileges. They wanted to keep her around, she was 'valuable'. There was an agreement – some not entirely happy, but it was Qarleen's request so it was passed – and she was allowed to feed from any human or Dhampir who it wouldn't kill in the process.

Lissa didn't like it, but she claimed she had to keep strong. For whatever reason that was.

Not only was our blood changed, but there was some bond formed between us. I never told her about it though. But I could hear her thoughts all the time, trying hard to block them out. Other times, I was pulled into her body. I was able to see out of her eyes, feel what she felt. It often happened when she was scared or angry... any powerful emotion.

"Rosemarie, are you okay?" she asked again, after a few moments of my silence.

"No," I said, after a non-humorous chuckle, "but I'll be fine."

"Let me help you up," she insisted, grabbing me by the elbow.

"I can't stand," I told her, but not trying to evoke emotion from her. It was a fact. "I'll be fine soon. You can leave."

"Please, Rosemarie, let me help you."

I knew what she meant. She wanted to work that voo-doo. Heal me again. "No," I told her sternly, "leave me be."

I could feel she was genuinely concerned, wanted to help me. "You're not in good shape. I can really help you."

I had to give in. Feeling what she felt made it impossible to say no. I sighed in aggravation, "Fine."

She turned me around so I was lying on my back. She seemed to observe me for a moment, before she hovered her hands over my abdomen. A small glow of that white light swirled around her hands. Quickly I felt the pain ease. Lissa pulled back, panting.

"Thanks..." I said uncertainly.

She smiled, "No problem."

"Seems like a problem." Honestly, she looked like she'd just run a marathon.

"I'm okay. I just need to catch my breath. As long as it worked – you better?"

I sat up and stretched my legs. "Definitely."

"Good," she smiled again, inhaling deep.

I suddenly felt bad. She did seem exhausted. I figured I should do something, "Let me walk you back to your room. It's on my way, after all."

"Sure," she said, smiling again. While I wrapped her arm around my shoulders I heard her thinking through the bond. She believed this was my way of being nice – not straight out. I was scarred, of course. I wasn't truly capable of obvious kindness. I mentally rolled my eyes. Whatever.

We walked back to the rooms. They were all downstairs, in the basement. I found it a bit difficult to help Lissa down the stairs, but we managed.

The space wasn't very big down here. There were many rooms scattered around the sides, generally with around ten beds jammed into one. There were two bathrooms, with separate rooms for toilets beside each. The rest of the floor consisted of one big room. A kitchen, tables and chairs, and a 'living area' – if it could be called that – surrounded the open area.

I lead Lissa to her room and helped her lay down. She almost fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. So, I was nice – considering it was to her – and took of her shoes and socks before tucking her under the covers.

"Thank you," she murmured, already half unconscious.

"Sure. Go to sleep," I ordered.

I headed to my room, but I wasn't tired at all. I saw Florence – who shared the same room along with six other people who I either didn't know or didn't like – already tucked into bed reading a book.

I went and sat on the edge of her bed, "What-cha reading?"

She held up a finger, ordering me to wait a moment. A second later she closed the book in between a finger and looked up at me, smiling. "Molly Moon."

"What?" I laughed, looking at the blue silvery cover she held between her hands. It had an odd dog on it and looks like a children's book.

She soon confirmed my suspicions, "It's a book I loved as a kid. I found it among some of my Mum's old boxes. I had to read it again."

My smile turned sad. Florence's mum, Abigail, had died when Florence was ten. Florence was born here, Abigail having her not long after a Strigoi brought her, pregnant, into the house.

Abigail had been like a mother to me too, in the few years I knew her. I was only six when she passed, but she always treated me similarly to how she treated Florence. Of course, I knew the difference though – Florence was her child. Not that I cared. She was so kind to me, and I never got to thank her for being the wonderful person she was.

She was killed by Qarleen suddenly one day, who 'simply' took too much blood.

"Sorry," Florence broke me from my trance, "I didn't mean to-"

"No, don't be silly," I said, sadness however evident in my voice, "If anything it should be me saying sorry."

Florence rolled her eyes. Of course, she wasn't really 'over it' – if those words could be deemed appropriate. But she had recovered from the worst of it all, and now her way of coping was to put it behind her. She mentioned her mother in the calmest of ways, half pretending she was still alive but on a holiday or something.

I didn't like it, but if it was her way of dealing, I was more than happy to let her.

I put the conversation behind me, "So, got any magnificent books for me?"

"Of course!" she chimed. She reached under her bed for her large purple-gold box she kept, mostly, her books, among other precious treasures. "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," she announced.

I laughed, "Seriously?"

"Yes seriously! It's one of my favourites, as a kid and now. Get your nose into it and leave me to my Moon," she requested.

I chuckled, "Fine," and snatched the book from her. Settling into my bed I began the novel, immediately grateful at every word I read. It took me away from this awful place. I was somewhere better, nicer, more enchanting.

A place where my troubles were anything but real.

I hadn't even felt myself put the book down, and I was once again pulled into a dream with that odd Moroi man.

A/N- So I've created my own little twist. :) Some stuff, such as the change in both Rose's and Lissa's blood is something that just fit into the story. :)

Now, I know, I know - Rose is fairly OOC. But it's just the stuff she's been through her whole life. She is a different person. Soon enough though, she will change into the Rose we all know and love.

Oh, another thing to note, this is a DIMITRI and Rose story. He has just yet to come in, and Adrian's (yes, he is Rose's mysterious Moroi man) dreams work perfectly with the lead-up to this happening. :D

So, I already know what's going to happen in the next few chapters (if they happen, and I hope they do!). But I would love to know what you think is going to happen! Although, I don't know if anyone can guess. ;D

Oh, but most importantly, do you like the story anyway? I do! ^_^ I actually think I might put JGMOR and Night (which is practically already on one) in hiatus. As much as some will hate - don't kill me guys!

So, if you've read it, then review it! It makes me so darn happy. :D