Okay so I decided to make this story because a friend of mine is writing her own where one of the characters that comes into play later on in the plot is my actual character. She is awesome because she is sooo...kick ass! But I wanted to write a story about my vampire because there was a lot of things she went through before being the stubborn, sarcastic and tough chick she is today. I wanted to write from Lottie's PoV, her background and all the tough decisions she had to go through. So this is the first chapter. All the characters are mine, the plot an all the situations are mine and my odd imagination. Everything you read comes from my own little place.
"Welcome to my mind's most distant room!" I say...now on with the story.
In order to know what is going on in my head, why I've decided to act like such a bitch, you need to understand my past. You need to look into what I have gone through in the past 331 years. You need to live it for yourself and decide how to judge me. Otherwise, I'm just that punk-ass beyach that sit's there in there in Nicky's Bar drinking my cares away with bloodymarys.
For centuries vampires and werewolves have walked upon the earth, unbeknownst to anyone. To the humans this never existed, to them werewolves were mystical creatures and vampires...well...we were nightmares. That was how I came to think of myself through the decades that I had live. A nightmare. God knows I have done enough in my life to warrant that title. I have killed, I have tasted human blood, I have watch slaughtering after slaughtering of innocents. I have lived more lives then any one thing should, I have seen more then my fair share of destruction, sometimes, it was by me.
My father was a tradesmen for the Maiden Rose, a large ship that he co-owned with our neighbor Mr. McCormick, back in our old home in Boston. He would constantly go to England, trading, always bringing back surprises for mother and I. One day his ship went out to sea and never returned. Mother was heartbroken, never leaving the house and making sure I was within her sight at all times. I, on the other hand, was too young to understand what was happening. All I knew was my father wouldn't come home to tell me stories of his travels, there would be no more treasures for my dowry chest, there would be no more haughty laughs ringing through the rooms of our tiny home. We waited two years. Two long years that felt as though they were lifetimes. We heard nothing of the ship, nor of the brave men that were aboard. We moved away from the waters of Boston to the fields and hills of Salem, a town roughly 80 miles away. Mother became the town's medicine woman and midwife. I was training to be her apprentice
It was in the spring of 1692 when they came to our home. It was a small, clean thing. There was only my mother and myself. My mother never took up another husband so I had no brothers or sisters. The house was usually filled to the brim with different herbs, flowers drying, different smells of balms slowly solidifying. It used to make my head spin taking in all the different scents that mixed in the air along with the rose water my mother would have sitting over in the corner waiting for someone in need of its healing properties or strong cup of chamomile tea. I was sitting in the den area near the fire, reading my mother's journal on flowers and their healing properties when there was a sudden knock on the door. Before I even go to it, it had opened, men, about 6 of them, rushed into our home, knocking me to our floor. They called out for my mother, Bridgette, to come into sight. She did, as calmly as a Indian hunting for deer in the forest. They charged her with witchcraft and took her away to await trial. They waited 4 months until nearing the end of July they charged her as guilty, that was without a fair trial. I didn't know what all she was accuse of, she had told neighbors to keep me away, told them she didn't want me there seeing what she had to go through and still having the possibility of Witch Hunters accusing me as well. So I stayed away, until the date of her execution. July 29th, 1692, a date I will never forget, a date that would be etched into my mind for all eternity. I watched as Bridgette Ann Winters, healer, midwife, my mother, was burned until dead at the stake.
I guess you are wondering when I was turned. After my mother's death, or murder, as I always thought of it, I went to live with my Great-Aunt and Uncle back in Boston. They were distant family members. I had never knew about them until they came looking for me in Salem. They were too prim and proper for my liking. I was put out into society and was offered glances from other men, men that would surely become suitors. That was something I was not looking forward to, marriage. Such a lovely word, yet so taxing. I didn't want to be married, nor did I want to be in high society. All I wanted was for things to go back to the way they used to be, when things were much simpler and things were a bit more brighter. My last night as a human was December 23rd, 1692. My great-aunt had gone out of her way to obtain an invitation to the largest, most elegant Christmas ball in town. It was to be a night of festivity, celebrating and glad tidings. All of it I wished to be far from. All I want was to become a healer like my mother, live alone and live my life the way I thought was best, not the way others wanted. I was tried of being put on public display, like a slice of meat at the market, for all to see and whisper about. I knew I must have been becoming a burden to have in the house for my great-aunt forced me to dance with every suitor. Then, they announced to the whole hall, I was to be married, without my prior knowledge, to a man almost twice my senior. I was devastated, angry and nearly in tears when I ran from the ballroom. I left that night, heading for the dirty streets wearing only the silk dress I had been forced into and a light shawl. My coat and muffler were still in a coatroom off the entrance of the ballroom.
I remember the streets being deserted, it was, after all, nearing Christmas, and the moon only being half full, it was dark. I walked down to the pier where all the ships were docked, the entire time feeling as though I was being followed. After a while I turned back to see a man hiding in the shadows of a small building and I began to run as fast as my feet could carry me. But I wasn't fast enough to escape him. Parts of my last few moments as human are still to this day a blur. I have read countless psychology books that have all said that humans tend to block traumatic memories, which I have come to the conclusion are true. All I remember was seeing a face, a beautiful and dangerous face with the most terrifying red eyes I had ever seen. Then a pain on my body between my right shoulder and neck, a burning sensation began to sweep through my body and I remember falling to the ground. For what seemed an eternity of fire, I began feeling normal, not human but the pain was ebbing away. For once in my life I was peace. Peace with everything around, feeling connected to everything. I could feel the earth beneath my back, the bitter wind quickly caressing my face, the water at the pier lapping against the soggy boards of the ships that rested there. I thought I was dead, how could something be so peaceful? What I didn't know was that my peaceful happiness would be short lived.
Okay so there was the first chapter. Hope it was to your liking...if not than...oh well! That sucks because I am gonna continue writing. Wanna keep reading? Go ahead! Wanna review and give me comments? Hey that's good too! Wanna tell me how shitty it was? I'll take that too because then at least I know you took the time to actually read it!
I'll try and get the next chapters up soon. I have them done but I want to reread them to make sure there are no grammar mistakes!
Cheers!