This story… should have been edited/rewritten ages ago. Really. I honestly can't even bear to look at it; it is seriously hurting my eyes. No really, I feel tempted to blind myself after having read this, and as such, I found myself unable to continue this before rewiting it and fixing some of the stuff that has made me cringe inwardly.

Honestly... why are people still reading this… crap?

Oh well…

First of all, the basic concept of this isn't bad; it never was. The execution however... well, let's just say that I have developed as both a reader and as a writer, and that time has allowed me to distance myself from this so that I could see the picture it painted more clearly. It would suffice to say that I cringed, and my first impulse would have been to delete the thing altogether. However, thankfully, it was saved from such a fate by the thing which is called potential - I saw something worth looking into, and I did, and I expanded upon it, putting newly attained skills and knowledge to work.

As such, hello and welcome to the rewrite of Pureblood. This is the (hopefully) improved version of the story (Considering the fact that I just pried this from the borderline-perfectionist but still very much capable hands of my Inner Editor, I do hope there is still a story left to it…)

Anyhow, fear not; although my Inner Editor did her utmost to erase as much of the intended pairing as she could, it should still be there.

Also, the story as a whole has improved by miles in my opinion, and I sincerely hope that you, my dear readers, will be of a similar opinion or at least come to adapt a similar opinion of it in mean time. Then again, I won't be forcing anyone to go on reading, even though I believe you might be missing out on something awesome if you don't.

Enjoy!

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Prologue

The Nightwalker

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Dawn was approaching, but night still lingered in the dark corners of the city. Mist rose from the waters, blending with the smoke coming from the high chimneys of countless industries and the steamboats which had assembled by the docks. It was a common scenery – a dreary one, but oh so common – and it was one of London, the great seaport to the rest of the Empire – to the rest of the world – launching ships in almost every direction to the colonies it had far off. It was the capital, and it should by all means have shone as a brilliant crown jewel to reflect its standing in the world. However, as clear silver-grey eyes observed, it was a crowded and dirty place to live in for anyone who had come there holding false illusions of its grandeur.

The owner of those eyes was by no means impressed by what he saw, but then again, he had not really expected much either. As a matter of fact, he was far too delighted at having arrived in one piece to care much for the view; travelling by sea was by no means his cup of tea, but in order to get away from mainland Europe, he had been willing to do anything.

London.

He had read about it in the books he had been surrounded by almost all his life, smothered with in the absence of the freedom he had now forcefully attained; he had run away and he had every intention of never going back.

London.

It was rapidly becoming the global capital of not only trading and finance, but also politics, and as for now it was still unrivalled.

London.

For being such a rich city – rich not only in a financial sense but also in a historical one – it was surely rich in poverty as well, hoarding millions in the slums which were both overcrowded and unsanitary, while a selected few – the rich – led their lives in an exaggerated kind of splendour, wasting resources which would have been fully capable of both feeding and clothing a countless number of orphans who either roamed the dark back alleys or cowered in corners of orphanages and workhouses which were in just as bad a condition as the slums, if not worse.

He sighed, pulling his dark coat closer to himself as he walked through those very back alleys, still a bit dizzy from the sea voyage. Spending time on water normally made him quite ill, and as such he normally stayed clear of ships as much as possible, but this time around he had found it an absolute necessity to temporarily overcome his aversion of water to make his escape.

Even with the taste of salty sea air intermingling with the industrial fumes and other less pleasant smells of the city, freedom still tasted good on his tongue, and had he had the energy to do so, he would no doubt have entertained the few passer-bys of the night with a rather improvised victory dance at the seeming completion of the scheme he had been devising in secret for years and had only hastily put into action when an opportunity had presented itself. He was free and he felt it, savouring the taste of it, completely sure of the fact that he would never be able to go back into confinement after tasting something so marvellous.

His stomach growled, for the umpteenth time that day, and he paused. He looked up towards the cloudy sky, trying to determine how many hours he still had at his disposal before it was once again time to find a decent hiding place to spend the day.

He had made it to London.

Now he only needed to decide on where to go next. He could not stay around for long and he knew that, very much aware of the fact that pursuers would be arriving in the city within the next couple of days. Knowing that, he had no other choice but to either stay where he was and get captured and sent back, or move forward and stay on the move for as long as his legs would carry him, and being a Walker, his answer had already been decided upon a long time ago.

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