Okay, people im not going to ask for reviews, you don't have to comment on whether or not you like it. i won't go into a total melt down if you don't and keep the next chapter hostage. I write because I like it, not for reviews, but all i ask is that if you see a grammatical error (especially those cursed commas!!) or you think that I could've worded something better, or you have an idea, don't hesistate to tell me. I'm really trying to make my writing better, and those things help. not the "omg amazing update please." Or the "Do humanity a favor and kill yourself and never write again." Sorry, but I like life. anyway enjoy, and keep a sharp eye out for errors. Red Pens Ready, Set, Go!
Disclaimer: I own nothing bla bla bla Stephenie Meyer bla bla bla damn my mind for nothing more witty bla bla bla and so forth bla bla bla
All my life, I remember being mocked by painfully beautiful people. It's never easy to be reminded that you are less than perfect by others. It may sound like some overdramatic complaint made by a young girl, but actually is a very true account that is experienced by the entire human race. I lived in the age where humans were no longer the dominant race, well I guess we never were, but now it was truly known to us. This was no longer the age of humans, far from it actually. This was the age of vampires.
No one remembers the time when vampires were a secret, except the vampires of course. It was a long time ago, and that's all we can tell you. We couldn't tell you how long ago it was, for they have done away with time; it's irrelevant to them now, since they have an unlimited amount. Time was just one of the many things done away with, along with literature, art, communication devices that wasn't directly directed to your liege, free speech, expression of self, curfews were now assigned, and many more restrictions and codes passed to keep the human race in line. Not that it was a big deal even if we did organize a group to stand against them. A handful could obliterate us in seconds; it was just something to keep us disciplined and well mannered.
Well, no one remembers exactly when vampires took over, but we all know who did. It was something we were educated in frequently, History of Vampires and Their Accomplishments and Achievements. It all started by one of 'them', by the name of Seamus, who had grown tired of his nonexistent life, and emerged into the public eye. If his flawless features and angelic face hadn't won the humans, then his hypnotic voice would have; he had the entire world in his trance from his music.
Normally, an elite group of elder vampires that usually regulated vampire activity would have stopped him, but then started to like the idea of utter power. Once he had the Volturi's approval, all the vampires came forward to showcase their beauty and talent. Since that time, we have served as their food supply, slaves, and puppets for their enjoyment and pleasure.
They have always liked to remind us that we are less than them. They are the gods and we the lowly mortals that serve, shadows and ghosts of what they were, of what we could be. I have learned to hate them. The power that their beauty and abilities had over me, the way I would stare at them in a daze, and turn into mush whenever they would turn to look at me for a brief moment and then dismiss me like dirt on their shoes.
Some have resisted, but all attempts have been fruitless, and have all disappeared in the end and never heard of again. So everyone, including myself, has learned that it is best to go along with their demands and hope that one will show favor upon you and turn you.
I have been lucky enough, or so I've been told, that one has shown some favor on me and I have high chances of being turned into one of them. I know I should be glad, at least grateful, to have such luck, but I can find none. I can't see the joy in being turned into something I have hated for so long. I've been "adopted" by a famous vampire, even by vampire standards. He is a literary genius and a world known artists who's pieces hangs with the greats. He is an unusual creature, remaining in seclusion for a good part of his existence, and known for his unpredictable and aggressive behavior and his solemn moods, at least that was what I knew of him before I had met him.
I don't know why he has chosen me, but I do remember the day I met him. I was at the museum studying the works of art there, and some that were his. I was one of the only humans because it looked down upon for a human to try and grasp any form of the arts, we only abused it. Our minds are too young and feeble to develop any type of understanding, and it wasn't like we had the talent for it. But I had braved their icy glares for I had a passion for the arts, and pass the threshold to appreciate the small treasures kept there.
Inspired by all that surrounded me, all the beauty and ideas hanging on the walls, I pulled out my journal and scribbled all of my feelings and thoughts on paper. I tried to remain inconspicuous in the corner, hiding my writing to the best of my ability. If appreciating the arts is looked down upon, you can only imagine what trying to create your own was depicted as. My words and notebook had been ridiculed many times by my friends and family. They tell me how idiotic it is to waste my time writing, when it could never compare to the vampires. But the small passion, that flame that burned for the written word would not be smothered by neither myself or others. It was the one escape I had from this hell, and I wouldn't give it up. Besides, many others have faced more difficult obstacles than myself. Socrates, Aristotle, John Locke, Anne Frank, they all did what they had to do, and worked for their writings no matter who stood in their way. I couldn't let their sneers stop me.
A sweet smell beyond description filled my senses, and I knew that scent all too well. I tried to put my journal away, but found it was already out of my hands and in those of the beautiful stranger next to me.
He had pitched black hair that contrasted to alabaster skin that was a characteristic of his kind. His perfect features and statuesque body could have easily hidden him among the chiseled masterpieces here. His red rimmed eyes looked up from the pages and I felt my heart beat quicken and the heat start to rise into my face; I had to calm myself or end up as his afternoon snack. We were taught to try and control our blood pumping, so as not to invoke their thirst. He smiled at me, and their goes my last bit of control, and natural brain functions. I kept trying to remind myself to breathe, and slowly back out of the room. He closed my journal and handed it back to me already finished with the entire book in seconds. I stuffed it in my shoulder bag, fumbling with the straps and snaps.
"You're a writer." He simply stated. I nodded my head like an idiot and turned on my heel to try and rush out of there. Unfortunately, I had backed myself into a wall subconsciously, when I thought I was backing out toward the door. My head went right into the wall, and the sound echoed across the hall. I stood back dazed for a moment before trying to recover and make my way dizzily out of there. I could only hear their thoughts 'look at the drunk walking zig zags to the door.' I could feel glares being burned into my back by the others there that hated the clumsiness of humans. I redirected to the doorway, but noticed that he was leaning against the door frame blocking my escape.
I felt my heart beat in my chest, and combined with my head already spinning I had to concentrate to try and think.
Oh God, he was going to eat me. Had the time come already?
I looked into his red rimmed eyes. So, soon?
A coy smile spread across his face, highlighting his features, and making him into the angel of death. I guess death is better than living here in this world overran by demons.
I closed my eyes and braced myself to enter the world unknown. I sent my last pleas and apologies to my maker. Please, let him be quick.
I sat anxiously waiting for what seemed like eternity, and then I heard a deep, husky chuckle. I peeked out from under my eyelashes to see him looking at me like I was child that didn't quite understand a simple problem. His smiled became bigger, and I hated how even in the face of death, their looks could still have affects on me.
"You have no need to fear me," he said in a sweet, soothing voice that felt like cool, refreshing water trickling over my parched body. I still stood tense, not quite trusting him, he hadn't gained my trusts, neither had his kind.
"What's your name?" He asked circling me now like a lion stalking his prey, sizing me up to see the fruits he would soon be enjoying.
My name? What did it matter now? Can't he just kill the pesky human? Did he really have to be acquainted with me, before he killed me? Maybe he just had a sick sense of humor?
"Joni Fawla," I barely whispered avoiding eye contact.
"No, not that one. Your real name. The one you sign your journal with."
I had been hoping he might miss that, but their all too observant eyes missed nothing. I blushed, knowing the real reason behind my using the pen name. I'd rather he feed off me and get it over with.
I shrugged my shoulders, trying to avoid the question. I didn't want to tell him that I felt like when I was writing that I wasn't Joni anymore, I was someone else. I made the mistake of looking into his eyes that now smoldered at me, and I felt my resolve fall away, and my train of thought had gone missing.
"You were saying?" He prompted.
"Charla A. Poynter." I said without my consent. I could feel my alias, the mask I hid behind fall away, leaving me revealed for all the world to see.
"Hmm...interesting. May I ask the logic behind it?" I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic, but I went on anyway. If my alter ego was going to suffer, then I would suffer with it.
"I chose A. Poynter because I feel I have a point to prove, something I want to show everyone. And anything that points to something is a pointer. I'm A. Poynter." I pushed out in one big breath. He nodded his head, and then looked at me shaking in mirth. I balled up my fist feeling the years of oppression and ridicule building up. I didn't care that I didn't stand any chance. I would go down fighting, and I wouldn't allow him to sit here and make fun of me and my writings.
He laughed more when he saw my small fists, and I prepared myself to pounce on him, when he held up his hands.
"Peace. I didn't mean to offend you. If anything, I respect your fight and your unique and interesting thoughts. You don't see a lot of the talent you have anymore, especially in humans, not that vampires are much better."
I felt my mouth drop. I was taken back that a vampire was actually putting down his own race, and praising my work, the work of a human. He went on to explain himself when he saw my puzzled look.
"Yes, I agree with a lot of your writing. Vampires are arrogant and the years of them being on this earth has made them even more so, and for them to go on and on about their supremacy, they can hardly produce a thought provoking work of art, except that of Demetrius and a few others, if I may be so bold as to quote you." He asked me like a real gentleman. I was dumfounded and at a lost for words.
He moved closer to me, studying my face, as I stood there subconsciously feeling his eyes roam my expressions.
"You are quite unusual, Charla. There aren't many like you." He finally said, his eyes burning into mine. I felt my breathing hitch, and I tried to control it, he had used my pen name, no one else did that.
"Do you have a liege, yet?"
I shook my head; I was too young to pledge myself to a vampire in hopes that they would turn me. He smiled, seeming pleased.
"My name is Demetrius, and if you don't mind, I would like to get to know you better." I felt my mouth drop and my eyes go huge. Demetrius. The literary and art genius that I would love to study, when I could sneak some of his works. This couldn't be happening; this was a joke.
I looked over to one of his paintings and at the small panel underneath that had information about the picture and artist. Sure enough, there was his picture staring back at me knowingly that I had doubted him. I looked back at the real thing and saw that same knowing look.
"Tell your guardians that you will stay with me, and I will be your liege now. I will pick you up in the morning." And then he turned and walked out. I just stood there trying to soak in what had just happened.
That was the beginning of a new life for me. I went back to the home that cared for teenagers that were about to embark on trying to gain favors. In that time period, children didn't live with parents at a certain age, and were sent off to something like a bordering school that taught you how to be a good servant. You did get to see your parents sometimes, but they were mainly too busy working or something.
I had packed my things, said my goodbyes, and a shiny automobile came around to take me to my new home, and that was the end of that. I was never close to anyone there, usually in my small corner writing.
I was so nervous coming to his home. It was a big gothic, stone building that looked to big for one to own, but then again vampires had lavish taste and had enough money to satisfy it. The instant I walked through the door, I felt overwhelm by the high ceilings and expensive things that flooded the room, pushing down on me. But seeing my distress and trying to make me feel at home, Demetrius steered me to his personal library that I immediately took to. I had never seen such a collection, and all of it could be to my use. He had also gotten me my own room and writing corner. He has always tried to accommodate me.