Viscous splatters of vermeil daubed the bare alabaster of the wall as if they were smears of crimson paint blotched against the snowy pale of a blank canvas, or the rich garnet hue of spilt wine besmirching the pearly lace of an anglaise tablecloth. But she was a precocious child—always had been—and beyond the doe-eyed façade of innocence and the ignorant guise she so easily fooled everyone with, she knew the sticky blots of red were neither of those things. The glutinous substance trickled down the wall in treacly dribbles of liquid, and the astringent miasma of fresh, metallic blood hung heavily in the air; its sickly scent permeated her senses in such an unpleasant way that caused bile to her throat as it settled within and droplets of salty tears to sting at the corners of her eyes when their aching lids fluttered shut. She desperately wished that when they opened once more, she would realise it had all been a horrific dream, and feverishly chanted her it like a frenzied mantra inside her head.
'You're dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming...' She frantically recited it again and again until it became a muddled blur of distorted syllables and hazy sounds. It was unbearable for her to endure the nauseating reality that the father she cherished and adored lay unbreathing before her, sprawled lifelessly across the ground just like one of her rag dolls left carelessly discarded on the floor. In merely a day, her life of happiness and joy had slowly dwindled and withered away into nothingness, as if the fate that sat ahead of her were heartlessly mocking her: cruelly dangling her last remnants of hope above her and pitilessly snickering as was left stumbling to catch it, then forcing her to watch as it mercilessly shredded it to pieces. Fate had a sadistic sense of humor that made her sick to her stomach, and she hated, hated, hated it.
• PROLOGUE •
PERSPECTIVE: Third Person
"No, this isn't it.." she quietly stated, her gentle voice trailing off as she shut the decayed cover of the antiquated novel, sliding the stiff book back to where it had formerly sat on the shelf. Furrowing her brows in concentration, Momoka exhaled an exhausted sigh and began scouring the towering bookshelf, set on finding the book her grandfather had mentioned to her. He'd briefly brought it up for a minute or two in conversation before hastily abandoning the subject, assuming by the monotone expression that painted her features she wasn't really interested in the historic novel. But in actuality, she'd submerged herself so wholly in profound contemplation on the topic, the girl had completely neglected to display any signs of attentiveness to her senior and looked to be totally ignoring the male. Yearning to get her hands on a copy, she'd excused herself and abruptly hurried off into the quaint study to probe their bookshelves for the work, still combing their library of texts for it several hours later.
Her hand skimmed over the myriad of aged, deteriorated spines resting on the bookshelf, sundry bygone novels and crumbled, olden tomes surveyed by her observant gaze. Momoka allowed her eyes of soft mauve to glaze over the array of worn, decrepit leather hardbacks before espying the publication she had been searching for; her fingers hesitantly hovered over the gleaming skin for a second, as if it were a thing too fragile and precious to touch, before sliding a slender digit down the smooth, glimmering material. Afraid that she'd possibly tear its delicate texture, she gently grasped it with her hand, and picked it up. She lightly blew at the cover and a thin layer of dust flew into the air, and she took a quick glance at the front cover, the leather shining with a silken sheen. The coppery hide had considerably softened as the years passed and the characters of its title were printed in a thick, golden typeset engraved into the material. 'The Mysteries of Vampire Society', the aureate letters read, with a small, almost overlooked 'Volume IV' etched next to it; the book's vague name roused her curiosity, and her enquiring nature caused her to feel compelled with intrigue to devour the text and the enigmas within. The words faintly glinted, caught in the dimmed shine of the elegant lamp placed atop the desk on the opposite wall of the musty, cluttered study. She cautiously flipped open the cover, and another plume of hazy dust arose from the porcelain pages - however, this time it was dense and heavy, and a loud cough escaped her lungs when she unintentionally inhaled it. Ebony ink illustrated the creamy white paper's surface in a diminutive print that Momoka had to thinly squint her eyes at to clearly comprehend, and portraits of the long deceased were occasionally dotted amongst the oceans of sable type. A chilling shiver quivered her body as she perused its contents, flicking over page after page, and she found herself engrossed in the numerous riddles that had taunted the inquiring minds of many nocturnals alike.
As she turned the wafer-thin parchment, wary of its incredibly old age and the possibility of ripping it, she noticed a tattered scrap of paper tucked inbetween the two pages. On a closer look, it appeared to be an excerpt torn from a newspaper, and her eyes widened when she saw the date it had been marked with. "February 23rd, 13074..?" the girl uneasily repeated, with a hint of inquisitiveness lacing her tone. It was evident the novel was decades old, if not a century or two, yet the ragged extract was marked as authored barely eight years ago: it was plain as day somebody'd secreted the shred inside the book, perhaps with hopes to obscure it from another, or perchance, it had been concealed inside for safekeeping? Yet it was merely a few small, trifling paragraphs printed on a extremely mangled bit of paper, so why on earth would it be anything too significant? Her interest getting the best of her, Momoka curiously scanned over the article's dainty text. It appeared to be authored by a nosy little journalist for some prying tabloid that was awfully intrusive in the personal lives of the vampire celebrities and elite, regarding the supposedly sudden disappearance of a pureblood from society. Immediately it flashed through the teenage female's mind that delving too deeply into the private worlds of purebloods was blatantly asking for trouble, recalling her mother's wise words on the matter, but it was surely difficult for her to deny the fact that the news item hadn't piqued her interest.
Inquiring, she decided to read a bit more into the article, though it seemed to certainly be lacking in information that was of any use whatsoever and more focused on what brand of shampoo the vampire used to condition their "luscious, brilliantly glimmering mane" - howbeit shallow, gossipy nonsense such as that did appear to be more alike to what was to be expected of an exceedingly scandalous paper similar to the one this excerpt must've originated from. The morsels of knowledge that were of somewhat use to her were meagre and sparse, but at least they told her the minimum of what she needed to know. Sakuragi Kojiro, his name had been: apparently he was the head of the prestigious Sakuragi clan, although she couldn't remember ever hearing his name in the media or society, nor ever seeing the man. She assumed that must've been because of her mother's strange insistence to keep her in the shadows of society, her mother quietly uttering something about it being a safety precaution and quickly brushing off the topic whenever Momoka questioned her. The brunette girl could barely fathom her mother's abnormal behaviour and chary bearing whenever the subject came into a conversation, let alone her reluctance for her daughter to do anything—whether it be attending luxurious soirées or purchasing a hydrangea in a gardening shop—under the public's watchful eye. She was only a Level C vampire and nothing more, existing merely as a powerless halfbreed the product of her vampire mother and mortal father's love: so why on earth her mother went to such unnecessarily extensive efforts to protect her? It was a little too much to be to be simply swept under the rug as a maternal instinct.
Still, her musings couldn't seem to bid farewell to the uncanny sentiment of familiarity that swelled within her whenever his name rolled from the tip of her tongue, or the bizarre feeling she couldn't quite find the words to explain, gradually seeping into her emotions when she assayed to imagine him. She absent-mindedly twirled a silken lock of her waist-length hazel tresses around her finger until it formed a subtle ringlet, thoughts entangled in her fruitless attempts to successfully point her finger upon the peculiar sensation. Momoka thought it ever so odd how it felt like all the answers to her infinite stream of questions already lay secreted somewhere within her mind, as if there happened to be a missing key she required to unlock the knowledge she so dreadfully wanted, and further, to uncover the perplexing emotions bewildering her conciousness. Heedful of the many rips and tears, she carefully folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her floral sundress so she'd be able to mention it with her mother later, before pushing the old, dilapidated volume back onto the shelf in its rightful position. She'd take the time to properly absorb herself in the enigmatic delights of the novel another day, for her concerns were still occupied with the indescribable feeling she'd felt before; it had seemed almost.. remorseful, as though a forgotten regret she'd forgotten about had resurfaced, and immersed her once more with sorrow for a thing she was sure had never happened.
Momoka quickly shook her head, trying to free herself of the minor conundrum that haunted her, and her hand drifted upwards to grasp the twinkling pendant draped upon her collarbones. It was comprised of a polished gemstone charm hanging on a slender silver necklace and the female remembered it being gifted to her far beyond the earliest memories she could recollect: she wasn't fully aware of what kind the precious jewel was, the gem hued a vivid, brilliant cerise contrasting vibrantly against its shimmering greyish-white chain, and the girl swore that she sometimes in the corner of her eye, she noticed the glittering crystal subtly radiating a rosy glow. Her mother's stern words echoed harshly in her ears, clear as the day her adolescent self had heard them.
"You must never, ever, remove your necklace.. Do you understand me, Momoka?" firmly half-questioned and half-stated her parent, her unexpectedly strict tone burning like acid into the child's hearing. Hearing the entirety of her given name boom from her mother's mouth in place of the usual sugary, affectionate 'Momo-hime' she was lovingly nicknamed had undoubtedly frightened the little girl, as it was a serious title seldom used beside formal occasions. All she found herself able to do was slowly nod, timidly twiddling one of the plaits braided in her lustrous curls.
It was just like before, with her mother's unreasonable antics that seemed to have no rational explanation: the teenager knew enough not to question her though. Releasing the femininely toned pendant from her grip, she casually strode through the labyrinthine depths of literature and lofty stacks of paper piled taller than herself towards the door, gripping the brass handle and strolling into the winding halls of her family's palatial mansion. An opulent treasure her grandfather had inherited many a twelvemonth ago, the decadent structure was a three-storey brick manor built upon a splendid estate spanning umpteen acres of surpassing beauty. The breathtaking countryside vista surrounding was embellished with clumps of verdant shrubbery and thickets of dense, unruly herbage, and the coarse fronds of leafy bracken littered the demesne's bushy periphery. Clusters of pastel petals blossomed on the lush verdure bestrewn across the garden, and leafy, verdant foliage sprouted up from the branches of colossal oaks. The expansive mansion was far more than enough to house her mother, elderly grandparents and herself, and an abundance of its facilities remained locked and inaccessible due to their stark lack of use; it would most certainly be lying to declare Momoka didn't sometimes feel rather lonely and isolated whilst she was within its unending flexuous stretches of hallways and silent, empty rooms. She ambled along the path of the serpentine hall, gazing at each door she passed with varying amounts of interest, some being ones she recognised plain as day and others she couldn't recall paying any attention to before. The dull sound of her bare feet slapping the ligneous floorboards hollowly reverberated through the almost uncomfortable silence, and her eyes flickered towards the door of her classroom. She'd never personally participated in the experience of attending school with others, her mother telling her that she had been taught in the comfort and safety of her own abode ever since her first day of learning. A part of her secretly had forever fancied the idea of trying the typical school life, though with her shy temperament and lack of experience at efficiently socializing with others it would be difficult to attempt.
Averting her eyes, she tucked a strand of her brunette locks behind her ear and continued to saunter through the corridor at a slow pace, the movement of her feet slowing to a halt when a hushed voice was heard in the distance. Momoka's curious inner character shone through and she noiselessly tiptoed towards the door to where the whisper-like words had come from, peeking through the eye-width gap between the slanted door and its frame. It appeared to be her grandfather's office - she roughly discerned his suit-clad figure discussing something or the other into the polished black telephone positioned between his hands: possibly business matters with one of his many partners—nothing that concerned her in the slightest and interested her even less—yet she couldn't help but feel as if that wasn't the case. Using her enhanced vampire hearing to her advantage, she endeavoured to fully make out her grandfather's conversation with the mysterious receiver on the other end.
"N..g..ht...c..a.., rig...h..?" Due to being a halfbreed, it took a while for her powers to begin fully working and the girl couldn't really understand anything the other end had stated, although the ending did sound somewhat like a question.
"Y...es, th..at's c..or..et. Sh...e's a va..p...ir..e a..d a..l.." her grandfather coolly and curtly replied, a tinge of annoyance coating his words. As her powers began to strengthen, it started to become much easier for the young vampire to understand their conversation.
"Ok..ay...! ..We'r...e al..l don...e n..ow...I c..an't wa..it to ..mee...t h..er!" 'Meet who, exactly?' Momoka questioned, curious to who the chipper male (or so she assumed from the voice) on the other end was referring to.
"Tha..nk yo...u for be..ing so accom...moda..ting for t..he tra...nsfer, Headm..aster Cross." Transfer? Headmaster? True, it could all well and good be a simple business exchange or something, but why on earth would her grandfather call a business associate 'headmaster' of all things?
"It's ok..ay, I just can't wait for her to become p..art of my Cros...s Academy!" the cheery man on the end of the cable sang. 'C..cr-ross Acad-demy..?' The snippets she'd understood of their conversation finally made sense, and like a bolt of thunder, it struck her what was happening: her dreams had finally become a reality, and she didn't exactly know whether she should be joyous or scared to death.
( AN: ) Finally, the first time I've posted on this site! ..Oh, it only took me about two years, totally not that much!
I'm really excited to write this, though I can't exactly guarantee that the updates will be daily or anything of the sort. I want to be able to give this story the best possible chapters I can and not rush anything in the storyline, so it might be every week or two: also because school's starting for me again rather soon and that'll dump a huge workload on me. But writing fan fiction is a commitment, and you've always got to finish what you've started!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the prologue.