Frantic and spoiled, I crushed the bones of the innocent between my fingers. I hugged their skeletons between my knees until they splintered like pieces of broken wood. Knocking them down like bowling pins was so much fun it made me sick. Bloody showers, red rain splattered across my face making me look like a clown in the circus. My circus was filled with screams of pain and pleasure, and what an entertaining festival it was.
Crush, crush, splat, splat. Scream, scream, cry, cry. You're all pathetic. Don't you know how thirsty I am? You're just food, just tools. A child, big blue eyes gaping up at me. I don't feel sorry for you, little one. This is inevitable, if not you then someone else. Wisps of blonde stuck to his forehead as I clung to him like a leech. He fit perfectly into my arms, so warm and miniscule. I wanted to carry him around with me for a while like a doll. Isn't that what little girls are supposed to have? Dollies to play with?
I brought the toy with me, slung over my shoulder. He smelled like strawberries and candy. The limp white skin draped over his tiny bones, devoid of color or blood. He was getting colder with every additional body I added to the pile in the center of the village. I can't keep you forever, I suppose. How fun it would be to smash him up into bits before placing him atop the bodies of his fellow residents.
My favorite music had died out, for everyone was dead now. The shrieks and cries had left a ringing in my ears, making the silence seem louder. I was full, now, and nearly overstuffed. Unabsorbed blood sloshed in my stomach, causing me to be slightly nauseated. But soon came the feeling that I hated more than any other feeling I had experienced in this new life. Regret. I shook my head, staring down at the lifeless child in my arms.
"I do not feel sorry for you, little one," I whispered. That was a blatant lie. I did not want to look at the pile of bodies I'd created, nor did I want to sit on my imaginary throne upon them. I held my doll to my chest once more, turning away from my victims and kneeling to the ground. I savored the feeling of something so delicate near me. Perhaps it was simply the feeling of anything at all against me, something that wasn't struggling to get away.
"Look at this beautiful mess! Did you do this all by yourself?" an exuberant voice marveled. I lifted my head, allowing my nose to fill with the citrusy scent of the stranger. It stung my nose slightly, for it was much stronger than the odor of a human. Regardless, it was not unpleasant.
I was startled mostly, rising and turning abruptly toward the newcomer. He was a marvelous sight, standing like a victor upon my pile of bodies. This surely was no mortal; he was much too godlike and smelled too unfamiliar. It was sunset; orange and fiery, but that was not what created the brilliant ruby sheen of his lengthy hair or the radiance of his pale skin. It did, however, reflect a blinding gleam from his red-rimmed spectacles. A toothy grin adorned his handsome face, revealing rows of pointed fangs.
I was unsure of how to respond to this peculiar man, who could have been mistaken for a woman had he not been dressed in men's trousers and a burgundy satin vest. I merely stared up at him, awaiting some sort of introduction until I could formulate the proper reply to his arguably rhetorical question. However, after a few seconds, I simply nodded. I was quite unused to communicating with others, let alone being acknowledged. The man shrugged lightly, still grinning widely.
"You must be new at this, hm?" He gestured with a lean limb to the massacre at his feet. His voice was almost whiny, though it seemed it was not purposefully so.
"I am," I said softly. It was the first time I had spoken aloud in quite some time, perhaps since my reincarnation, months before. He raised his thin crimson brows and made a tsk noise with his tongue.
"Well it's quite obvious! You've got blood all over your face and dress." He held a long, gloved finger to his chin. "Though it does look awfully lovely, you know red is my favorite color, and with that pale white skin of yours it is simply beautiful!" He didn't seem to take a breath between his words, chatting excitedly to my bewildered self.
"I was not concerned with my appearance. No one sees me who does not die soon after," I responded a bit vacantly. The ginger haired man rested his hand on his hip, drawing my eyes to the long sickle resting in its sheath. My eyes widened in return, then darted back to his pleasant face.
"Well, clearly not. You're carrying around that dead child like a ragdoll," he muttered, folding his arms across his chest, emerald eyes settling on my upper body. I blinked, looking down at the drooping child in my arms. Quickly, I released him and watched his body hit the ground with a tiny thud. My eyes darted back to the stranger, testing his reaction.
"It was an accessory," I stated coolly, mirroring his pose. He raised a brow, leaping up into the air and landing with a gust of air a mere couple of feet in front of me.
"You clearly have a reasonable bit of power." He examined his perfectly manicured nails as he spoke. "You might consider letting yours truly show you the ropes and perhaps we could eliminate the little problem you've created here, hm?"
I hadn't an idea what he was talking about. Perhaps these were his hunting grounds, though I could hear a pulse inside of him. He was not human, either, for as well as his peculiar scent, I could not seem to tap into his wavelength and receive any premonitions.
"I am not sure of what you mean. Are these your grounds?" I inquired, though still I doubted that was the case. The words slipped off of my tongue fairly easily after a bit of practice. It was then that he drew his scythe and held it out at me, inches from my face. The setting sun bent a line of white shimmer across the silver blade. I narrowed my eyes.
"You're making my job rather difficult with all of these unscheduled deaths you're causing, little one," he complained. I raised a brow, curious. He swiped the blade through the air with a sharp swish.
"My name is Reaper Grell Sutcliff. I am to collect the souls of those on the to die list, and you, child, have created quite the disturbance here. What am I to do with all of these pitiful souls, I'm only one woman, now!" He raised a brow, lifting his head so that he was looking down on me. I had no desire to apologize to the bizarre man, though it did seem the proper thing to do. I bowed my head slightly, keeping my gaze on his bright yellow-green eyes.
"A reaper?" I asked quietly. I racked my brain for what that might be, but all I could come up with was a dark cloaked figure, looming through a graveyard. He appeared to be neither dark nor ominous, but he was possibly dangerously flamboyant.
"Yes, a grim reaper. Do not be alarmed by my stunning beauty, it is a gift that few of my kind have bestowed upon them. I am one of the lucky ones, I suppose, though it is a burden much of the time. Many gorgeous men seem to be intimidated by it, making my eternal pursuit as a single woman that much more dreadful." He held the back of a hand to his forehead dramatically. I hadn't a clue what he was talking about. When silence filled the air, he relocated his hand to his side and gazed at me expectantly.
"And what is your name, raven Lolita?" Grell probed, his high voice echoing in my head. I was becoming slightly irritated. What did that even mean? I glanced down at my torn knee-high dress and bare feet, my matted black hair hanging down around my face.
"Lamia." It was the name I'd given myself after awakening in my haze of amnesia. I was a demon, after all, or so it seemed. Why else would I have such an insatiable bloodlust? Grell's face spread into a wide grin. He slid his scythe into its case on his belt and took a step forward, tilting his head.
"Why that doesn't suit you at all. No, you're much too graceful and feline for such a name. Although, the Latin designation is 'vampire,' the Greek myth describes an evil spirit who abducts and devours children. In Arabic it is 'fiend,' I do believe."
"That is why I chose it, then," I countered. It was odd, if what he said was true, that I had picked that name of all of the names I must've subconsciously known. But memory loss was a frightful thing, and I could never know precisely why I'd done something.
"Chose it, hm? So it isn't your birth name, then. Are you lost, Mia?" he asked, readjusting his crimson gloves. Now that I thought of it, I did feel utterly lost. But to seek the help of this stranger, even more so, reaper, seemed a bit rash. I kept my eyes locked on the auburn-stained ground.
"I suppose I have a case of amnesia," I confided.
"Ah, that's the case, is it, vampire girl?" He stepped right up to me, his fragrant hair brushing against the thin fabric of my sleeves. I shuddered at the closeness, taking an immediate step back. I nodded slowly, cautious of any more forced intimacy. He grinned.
"Well, then why don't you come along with me and I'll help you out so long as you try to keep your slaughters at bay. At least when I'm on duty, yes?" The reaper nodded at me, turning his lithe body toward the mound of corpses behind him. Extracting his scythe from his belt, he raised it and slammed it into the chest of one of the humans. A little geyser of blood shot into the air as he watched with interest some unseen attraction.
"These people have had rather dull lives from the looks of their reels," he noted casually.
"What does that mean?" I asked shyly, curiosity rising.
"Each person has a cinematic record. It's basically just a recount of their lifetime from their perspective. It can be very interesting when harvesting from people with more eventful lives than these folk. You can't see it, can you?" His emerald eyes flashed up from his work to look at me. I shook my head, seeing nothing but the carcass with a sickle in her chest.
Grell let me observe him doing his work, gathering the souls of the cadavers. He described their lifetimes to me while examining their reels, each mundanely similar to the last. The same life repeated itself over and over: they grew up in the village, became merchants or specialized in a leaden profession, contributed marginally to the community, then died a rather violent death at my hand. Grell appeared to become more infatuated with the horror I struck in their hearts with each soul he collected.
"I must bring you with me, you're absolutely ruthless!" He clamped his hands together as he finished, beaming at me. I shrugged timidly, unsure of where exactly he wanted to bring me with him to. Still, it appeared that this man was fairly friendly and had a rising appreciation for me. Contemplating and weighing my options, the red-haired beauty extended a hand to me, peering at me over his spectacles.
"Well? We'll go to the library and find out just where you came from, you little psychopath," he howled.
I have nothing to lose, do I? I considered. I glanced behind myself at the last sliver of the sun disappearing upon the horizon of the distant mountains. It was true; there was nothing that kept me here. I had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, except for a possible clue as to who I was. I slipped my cold hand into his, the heat radiating through his gloves. He let out a tiny squeal, dragging me down the pathway toward the forest and into the young night.