She walked through the cobblestone streets, her line of sight restricted to the ground directly before her. She dared not let her pace slack, but instead could not help but allow it to hasten as she moved further through the labyrinth of streets. As she forced her legs to move one after the other, she watched the cobblestones meander by her in smooth, relentless movement.
The rain had circumstantially ceased late into the night, and the streets were damp and slick with the weather's residue. Now, she was in a rush to complete her voyage from the diner to her academy. As she worked her way around each corner and over each mistake in the streets' carpentry, she saw in her mind the architecturally gothic, stone edifice she recognized as her home. She had to arrive home for the night; she had to be there at that very moment.
It did not help that the headmaster, her dearly erratic, adoptive father, was waiting. He was home in the dry confines of his proudly grand property, sitting in his apron by the round dinner table. His undeniably exotic concoction of a dinner was now devoid of all heat, and he did not bother to warm it in hopes to satisfy her upon her impending return. Without a doubt, he sat with anguish and knitted fingers before the window that overlooked Cross Academy's front gate. The dark landscape of the property was lit only by a discouragingly faint couple of streetlights, but his eyes were undoubtedly fixed upon the narrow spot of land their light allowed him to see. At no point in time did his daughter step through their small pool of white light.
She had made the journey to the town's diner earlier in the day, enjoying its products after a day alone traveling between the small shops of the town. She'd busied herself with spending her money on what she decided she needed and gotten impishly excited over the smallest of pursuits. However, she needed not remind herself that this day was taken for her mental health. She remembered her endeavor's reasons whenever she did not forcibly preoccupy her mind with other things, but she dispelled these thoughts to the back of her mind by aiming her focus at the nearest material goods. She would smile and keep walking through the shop, keeping her mind's straying focus confined strictly to more pleasant things.
Later in the day, upon hearing the sound of thunder, she decided it would not be wise to part from the shelter of the diner at that particular moment in time. She sat with an untouched dish of melted ice cream and listened to the thunder's rage. Soon, the windows became spotted and blurry with precipitation. She watched lightning blaze, distorted through the erratically spaced droplets of rain. Pedestrians meandering through the streets dwindled in number until the area in front of the shop was uninhabited.
Except for the owner of the diner, the small shop's employees all left for home before the storm became threatening. It soon raged increasingly furiously, spanning across hours of time in an unprecedented marathon of crashes and spouts of light.
After it had grown dark, the owner of the diner invited the worried girl to remain inside until she found it necessary to go home. She said to leave a note when she decided it was safe to leave and that she needed not pay for her untouched pool of melted, green ice cream. A thin, woolen blanket was draped over her shoulders before the stout, pleasantly chubby old woman headed up the stairs to her home above the diner for the night.
"You may wish to wait a while," she'd called in a soft, maternal sort of tone from the top of the stairwell, "This storm is a ruffian."
The fifteen-year-old girl gave no reply, but nodded. She remained otherwise still, seated before the shop's large glass window and watching rain dive down from the jet-black sky and assault the cobblestone ground below.
Unquestionably, she knew she could not leave. Rancid, violent thunderstorms were unheard of in early March, but it appeared weather was in the mood to contradict itself. Early on in the month of March, with the atmosphere at forty degrees Fahrenheit, the sky decided to pelt water at the ground, express its discontent with exceedingly audible crashes, and light the sky through the grey tones of the clouds. Hour after hour on end, the storm raged on. It lasted longer and later into the night than any storm she could have conjured up from her memory. In fact, she doubted she'd experienced such a storm even before the day amnesia took her memories away from her.
Leaving now would harm her indefinitely, she was positively sure. She had no umbrella, the academy was a few miles away, and forty-degree rains would not do justice to her frail, slight frame. The weather could potentially do her in.
Now, as she remained idly and still, she thought of her father. He was probably more worried than she was anxious, with his only daughter missing and possessing no method of contacting her. She could see him pacing in her mind, his light brown ponytail flipping through the air whenever he turned.
In older days, she would have been eating now with her adoring father and adoptive 'brother'. Or, rather, she and her best friend would be seated before plates of interesting, perhaps undesirably unique food and making faces at their dishes. They would listen to her father chatter about supercilious and random topics of one-sided conversation, meanwhile silently communicating about methods of escape from the dinner table. This could not possibly occur ever again, nor was it the image of a perfectly functional family, but this did not prevent a hint of a smile from spreading across her pale face.
Again, she focused on the rain. It washed away thoughts of her 'family', the small gathering of people she'd come to know better than the back of her small hand. She was again plagued with worry of how and when she would arrive home. Glancing briefly around her, she was unnerved by the sight of the empty shop. Only the faint wash of light from a nearby streetlight dimly illuminated its eggshell white, stucco walls. She closed her eyes and turned again to face the window, opening them when she was once again turned to gaze with empty eyes at the rain and uninhabited street.
She continued to wait, leaning against the windowsill and drawing the woolen blanket more tightly around her. It was a bulwark against nothing but the cold, though she liked to pretend it helped her elude the subjects of the worry that kept her spine perfectly linear and tensed. In her vivid yet supportive imagination, it was a shield from that which looked to cause harm.
It is quite a coincidental concept, the way that we never immediately realize we are being watched on the occasion that it actually matters.
Far later into the dark night, at about half past ten, the storm came to an abrupt closure; the clouds headed off in another direction, the moon lit the Earth as opposed to lightning, and the thunder no longer hollered deafeningly at whatever had a pair of ears.
The girl waited for a few moments before standing from her spot in a booth, straightening stiff legs. Shrugging out of the blanket, she felt her shield and its warmth fall away from her. Her shoulders were exposed to the cold air through the thin, black fabric of her shirt, and the warm wool fell in a puddle surrounding her bare feet. She allowed herself a few seconds of shivering before reaching down to the booth's bench and lifting her black trench coat into the air, finding the holes for her arms and sliding into its lukewarm fabric. As if in a trance, she continued to stare out the window as she padded around in stocking-clad feet. She paid one more glance to the weather outside the diner to assure the storm was entirely gone and then suppressed a yawn as she zipped herself into her suede boots.
From the counter with the cash register, she pulled a post-it and a pen. In scrawling handwriting, she wrote a brief 'Thank you, Madam Shopkeeper' and left it without signing it. She could only barely see with the moon's light bathing the streets and reflecting into the shop.
She gazed for a mere second at the top of the stairwell, as if bidding thank you and farewell to the kind lady who owned the diner. Cautiously and so as to avoid running her eyes over the eerie image of the blank, empty room, she cast her gaze to the floor before turning around. She took slow, steady steps to the door, listening to the click of her heels against the wood flooring for a distraction. She knew not why she was feeling so apprehensive, but paid no regard to her intuition.
With a few more steps, she stood before the shop's door. Moonlight came over the pale skin of her face and highlighted the chocolate brown strands of her hair. "I'm going home now." She whispered to herself.
Indeed, she was now on her way home.
The door let out a slight creak and the chime of a bell as she slowly inched it open, announcing her presence to the still world outside. She took a breath and bowed her head before starting on the first mile of her trip home. With that, she set out into the aphotic night.
She walked through the cobblestone streets, her line of sight restricted to the ground directly before her. At first, she maintained a larghissimo tempo of walking. She made an unconscious decision to remain composed, an unconscious realization that she was rolling closer and closer to a mental ledge. The girl silently told herself to remain calm. There was nothing to worry about; nothing was going to harm her.
With nowhere to turn her mind, she looked up to the higher stories of the buildings that rose up on each side of her and formed a canyon, a valley between plastered walls. The windows were all securely closed, latched behind darkly colored, wooden shutters. The houses' inhabitants could not see out, and all others were incapable of seeing in.
Gears began to turn inside her head. The people of the town were certainly not all sleeping, surely. She had not been in town this late at night, and certainly not alone, so she had not ever before seen window after window hidden behind closed shutters. Soon, there came the realization of why this idea of closing all shutters seemed valuable came to her.
She assumed the townspeople were not educated upon the subject of vampires. Not even all of the people at Cross Academy knew of their existence; this was why she and her best friend had needed to control the school's students and protect the secret of the Night Class. The fifteen-year-old girl did, however, know that there was a common fear of vampires among these people. It could have started out as an inkling of comprehension or fear that sparked fright in a few of the people, perhaps initiated by knowledge of a real attack involving the town's vampires. This fearfulness was most likely spread communally, and so it became a reality to those of the town. It may not have seemed a requisite of life to take cover from mythical beings, but superstitious inhibitions led the town to be cautious of the potential wrath of these often-unseen creatures of the night.
She knew these people were uneducated about vampires. They merely closed their shutters, believing that it would keep them safe. In reality, that would not save them.
She, herself knew of the kind vampires: Hanabusa, Akatsuki, Kaname, and the others in the Night Class at the academy. They may not have been the kind of beings to display excessive sentimentality, but they were humane. They were not at all human, but they were humane.
On the other hand, she knew of the other vampires. They were the ones who lurked around in the dark of the town's streets, the ones who did not have feelings. These, the Level E, vampires, were in no way human. Not in their personalities, not in their looks. They were all once humans, people with lives, feelings, and perhaps friends and family. As their new selves, however, they had no feelings, no thoughts and no friends. They were for themselves, were about themselves, and vied for no one but themselves. They were nothing more than animals, creatures with an inhuman bloodlust. Even the once-human structure of their bodies turned hunched and animalistic, eyes donned hues of bloody red, fangs protruded far beyond the gums, and facial expressions formed constantly Mephistophelean appearances. In actuality, the intellectual edge of these Mephistophelean expressions was replaced with prominent traces of sheer animalistic intentions.
Closing the shutters could save no one, she revealed to herself. Vampires could smell better than the best of all hunting dogs, and the Level E vampires that roamed and scavenged the streets knew no right from wrong. That sense of compassion was long gone for every one of them. Instead, it was replaced with a burning lust for blood and perhaps even vengeance. A Level E vampire could break through any of these windows and take a life if blood was desired.
Her drowsy mind snapped to attention. She had never been in town at night alone. There had always been someone stronger there with her, like Kaname or her best friend. Now, by an unforeseen series of events, she was unprotected and venturing through the territory of Level E vampires. It was a question of whether she would run into one.
It may have been her mind playing tricks on her, or perhaps just her vivid imagination, but now, she couldn't help but feel as if she was being watched.
Alone. Alone in the dark with the most animalistic, reckless vampires within the vicinity of the academy.
The most dangerous part of darkness is not knowing what is there and can see you.
She dared not let her pace slack, but instead could not help but allow it to hasten as she moved further through the labyrinth of streets. As she forced her legs to move one after the other, she watched the cobblestones meander by her in smooth, relentless movement. At first, she looked to the ground to divert her attention to new thoughts, but soon, she could look up. She dared not lift her gaze to catch sight of the air above her.
Her legs pumped back and forth with accumulating speed. She forced thoughts of other things to play themselves in her mind.
We're done with dinner Zero has already helped me with my homework. I don't mean to fall behind, but I just do. It's all because of the time taken out of my day because of my duties watching the school at night, but when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter that much to me. Zero's there to help me.
We're patrolling the school's grounds and looking out for its many residents, making sure the human population is sleeping and the ones who feast on blood don't spread their numbers through puncturing unsuspecting others' necks. Faint light drifts to the Earth from the moon and filters through the canopy of trees above our heads. I can't see much, as usual, other than specks of pale light on the ground and the top of Zero's head. Nevertheless, I pursue one of my favorite activities: I do my best to get him to smile. It doesn't happen often, but there's a reason that explains why he doesn't. He's been through a lot. Even more than I've suffered through,, with what I remember from after I lost my memory. He deserves to smile more, but he doesn't seem to see a reason why he should. Yori says he doesn't smile at all, but I've seen it. He should be happy more often, because the universe owes it to him. That's why I try to make him smile.
We're still walking and it's still dark, but as we move along, out of my peripheral vision, I can see shining lavender eyes and the slightest of smiles on a pale visage. It's ever so slight, but it's there. It's what I look for, and it's what makes me feel I've accomplished something. A smile.
She sensed movement above and before her, and her mind's mirage dissipated. Yet, the legs did not stop moving. Her breath hitched, but her heels clicked and echoed again and again in the eerily empty streets of the town.
It was then that she thought she saw glowing red orbs in the almond shape of eyes.
The echoing beat of heels on cobblestone came more frequently until her once-purposeful stride transformed into a panicked run. Breaths ran together until she was standing before the ledge that would launch her into hyperventilation.
The shadows of the town seemed to move, curling into detailed, spidery shapes and preparing to spring upon her at their leisure. They followed her through the streets, staying with her through the turns and minor slopes of the town's paved terrain.
The clicking of her heels grew tremendously and exponentially, clattering sharply through the air and ringing back into her ears. Her heart was louder than her heels, pounding harder and faster from apprehension than her exercise. It sang out that it contained blood, blood protected only by a flimsy pouch of skin. Like water at the bottom of a waterfall, it thundered in her ears. It announced her presence.
She turned corner after corner. The eyes were always there, watching her with unwavering consistency. They were everywhere.
She was defenseless; she did not have the Bloody Rose to protect her.
She ran faster. Her legs were growing numb from the cold and searing from their tremendous effort, and they as well as her lungs cried out in desperation for relief. No matter how hard she pushed them, no matter how much she willed them to force themselves faster, she could not shake the eyes. She could not fly away, lose her scent, or become invisible. She could not escape them.
Right, left, right, left, right, left….
Miles gone, miles to go.
The shadows swirled faster around her, whispering silent yet threatening words in her ears. The thudding of her heart grew to be a screeching, deafening roar to her eardrums. Hearing the clack of her heels, she was able to count distorted amounts of time within her pounding head as if her feet were the pendulum of a clock. It was all apprehension and dread. It had grown into an obstacle, large, unbeatable, and formidable. It surrounded her so that she could not escape it, so that she became its prisoner.
Her legs trembled and gave in. They would no longer move, muscles and sinews having worked to the brink of their potential.
Yet, she did not fall to the damp ground.
An arm grasped her shoulder, coming from behind her and crossing her clavicles. It held her as stiff as a board, standing to her full height.
"Your heartbeat and blood were a red flag." There was a bit of a chuckle, the sort of laughter that signaled hysterics in its maker. The timbre of its voice was metallic and gravelly, both a whimper and a growl. "Run. I dare you."
She did not recognize the voice as one of familiarity, but she knew whose it was.
She whirled around and ripped herself from the firm grip. When she focused her eyes, she held them wide and still.
She did not know this creature, she told herself. On the inside, however, she couldn't help but woefully admit she did. It was her best friend, her brother.
The being before her was in no way a human. No, not human in personality nor appearance. It lurked around the streets at night. It had no friends or family, because it was only there for its own joy and preservation. In its bloody red eyes, it showed no human feelings; there was no lavender left in them.
Zero wasn't this creature, she told herself. Zero, though already a vampire, had not been an animal. Mussed and uncared for, silver hair was knotted and wild on its head. Its back was hunched as if it cared not at all about its appearance, its fangs extended to a length that even she found disturbing, and there was no trace of affection. Instead of the former presence of intelligent thoughts, all that showed were malignant intentions and desire for vengeance.
This was not her Zero. It was a Level E; it was an animal. It would take the life of another if so desired.
She would not speak to it. She did not mean to meet its scarlet eyes, but they pulled in her attention and held her in a trance. According to the smile on its face, it was contented with itself and its find. It had located the individual upon which it wanted to prey. This late at night, with no one and nothing to protect her, the opportunity was the epiphany of beauty.
The shadows had all collected, standing still to watch her dramatic, violent end.
She had once said that she was glad her blood seemed so tempting to vampires, just because it would help her protect Zero. But now, she knew it was too late for that. Perhaps it was better that she did not continue believing a lie, a lie that told her that her brother and best friend was still there to support her.
In painfully unmistakable reality, Zero had fallen to Level E. There was no solution for him, no protection in any form. Now, as she stood at the mercy of an untamed vampire, the needed of protection was entirely hers. She knew she would receive none.
She would never see Cross Academy, nor would she be in the company of Kaname or her dear father ever again.
Standing there and staring into its dismally eyes, she realized that diverting her attention from it would do her no service. It had fallen to Level E now, no matter how much she tried convincing herself it was something else, that it was somewhere else. No amount of distraction could take it away from its wild and ragged embodiment before her. Zero was there, and he was less a thought or a figment of her imagination than she was an uncompassionate person. He was real, and he was there.
However, at the present time, he was only there in body; the soul in him, the part with thoughts and feelings, was long since dead to the world.
He was smiling. It did not reflect from his soul, the part of him that had something to smile about. It was a smirk, fueled by the thought of bloody, gory conquest and the feeling of fresh blood running through his mouth, but it was nevertheless a smile. She had never thought that one of the smiles she had originally strived to draw from him would be so terrifying to see, so cruel, harsh, and shallow.
It let out another tinny laugh, long, high, loud, and terrible. The one she once called her brother launched itself into a fit of hysterics and loss of control suited only to the most inhuman and animalistic of Level E Vampires.
"Goodbye, Zero." She bid farewell to the creature in a whisper, mourning the friend that was once inside it.
As blood was wrenched from her neck and ran across her skin, she wished she hadn't left the small diner on the other side of town.