Rue de Charlemagne, Paris, 1699

The only living soul who dared to wander the cobble-stoned path at this ungodly hour was a cat. Black as night with two sparkling gems where its eyes should have been, it slinked in the darkness, unafraid and unaffected by my presence. Boldly, it strode forward and rubbed the length of its body against my leg. It was a remarkably beautiful animal, whose unabashed confidence struck me as rare even among felines.

But I was so hungry.

It didn't even make a noise when I cracked its neck open. When I had had my fill, I wiped my hands and my face on the hem of my lace dress, chose a direction, and began to walk with a sense of aimlessness. The full moon flooded the streets with an eerie glow and an electric feel that was undoubtedly supernatural. But I wasn't afraid. A solemn realization struck me: I would never be afraid again.

If you had met me three weeks ago, you wouldn't have recognized me. I myself could never have imagined that this would be the path my life would take.

I was Diane Clemence Aurore de Valois, daughter of the nobleman Jacques-Alexandre de Valois. I was descended from dukes and had dined with royalty. But here I was wandering barefoot through the darkest, dirtiest streets of Paris, amidst the squalor that lurked beneath the city, in nothing but a slip. I had lost everything I had cared about. The only life I had ever known was ripped from me leaving behind a gaping wound that promised to never heal.

It all began at my engagement party. I remember the evening quite vividly. My father had sent for a dress made of a soft, buttery plum-colored velvet for the occasion. My fiancé Jean-Pierre and I had danced the night away, sufficiently plied with champagne and wine. Everyone was in good spirits. My father and my mother sat at the head of the table. I even noticed him give her a cheeky kiss when they thought no one was watching.

I was glad to be marrying Jean-Pierre. Our marriage had been arranged even before our births, but I had a deep, genuine love and respect for him. We had grown up together and I was glad I was marrying someone I knew. I had heard horror stories from my closest amie Anne-Marie, who had married a man thirty years older than her and who insisted on treating her like a common harlot even though she was from the prestigious De Lyonne family. Quickly, she had gone from a blushing, youthful beauty to an ashen, submissive shadow of herself.

Anne-Marie could not attend, but she had sent her wedding presents: a horse named Pyrois for Jean-Pierre who was an avid rider and a thick amethyst-encrusted collar for me, which I had worn for the party.

However, the best part of the whole night had been when my Jean-Pierre had dragged me away to the rose garden outside. In a passionate, hushed tone, he told me of his love and affection for me. I had been so caught up in the excitement and intimacy of the moment that when he kissed my lips gently, I didn't pull away like a proper lady should. Instead, I threw myself into him and took control of his mouth in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

But everything changed when he arrived in a flash of black like a creature of the night. Jean-Pierre was ripped out of my arms and tossed to the ground. With one mighty step, the creature crushed his skull into a pulpy red mess.

"Bonjour mademoiselle," the man said in an indifferent tone. "Je m'appelle Villeforte." Before I could scream, his gloved palm clamped around my mouth and he flung me over his shoulder. Without a backward glance, he ran. He ran faster than any human I had ever seen. Everything was a blur of anger and confusion. My lungs ached from the suppressed scream and I dug my nails into his arms, but he seemed unaffected. What was this monstrous creature?

As I protested, he began to weary. With a quick blow to my head, he knocked me out. The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a muttered, "putain..."

I woke up in a dimly-lit room in a creaky, old bed completely naked. I didn't how long I had been out. Suddenly, the horrors I had seen flooded my senses and I started to scream, remembering Jean-Pierre's head just as it exploded.

I tried to stand up but I was firmly chained to the bed. Across the room, sitting in a high-backed leather armchair, was the same man who had attacked my lover and me. He was a young, handsome man. He was dressed in the height of noble fashion, but I could tell that he wasn't a nobleman. The way he sat and the way his head was cocked were clear giveaways of the peasant class.

I didn't even know if he was human. He shouldn't have existed; he was unnatural and ungodly.

"Who are you?" I spat angrily. "Where am I?" I tried to twist away from the chains binding me, but they simply cut deep into my skin, drawing blood. His eyes sparkled at the red rivers flowing down my wrists.

"You're safe...for now..." he murmured slowly. His eyes roamed my body wildly, but his mouth was set in a grim line. I felt so dirty and ashamed. My father would be horrified to know where I was. They would have found Jean-Pierre's body and would now be on a wild search across France for me.

"You will never get away with this." I hissed. The man appeared at my side in a flash. With a quivering hand, he stroked my cheek with all the tenderness and affection you saved for a private moment with your lover. But behind that tender face I could see something terrible. I felt nauseated.

Then he took of his coat.

The harsh memory flooded back like molten silver being poured into my skull. Through gritted teeth, I willed the horrific thoughts away and continued my march across Paris. My appetite was sated. Now I was in need of proper clothes and information. I needed to know what had happened to me. What was I?

As I walked aimlessly, I found myself in a red light district. There were three men loitering outside a brothel. They reeked of spirits and unwashed sweat. They laughed like ravenous hyenas. But I wasn't afraid; I now had the strength of twenty men.

I walked on as if I hadn't noticed them and their general dirtiness. Then one of them whistled.

"Well hello there 'demoiselle, won't you come here and give us a little kiss?" he jeered. His companions diverted their attention from the street signs to me.

"Go fuck yourself." I snapped and started to walk faster. The man glared and started to follow me. "Come on pretty lady, we don't bite much." I was so nauseated by their scent that I felt like ripping their heads off for the sole reason of being dirty. But then again, they probably had wives and children waiting for them at home.

As I started to walk away, one of them reached out and grabbed me by the waist. Shocked and confused, I felt myself go limp. He pushed me against the damp, grimy street and ripped my dress clean off. Spurred on by the comments of his companions, the man started to undo his belt buckle.

All the while, I lay there frozen in fear. For some reason, my strength sapped and my new-found abilities simply disappeared. Helpless tears rolled down my face as the man pulled his trousers off and grinned at me.

Suddenly, the man flew off my body and smashed into a brick wall. His body crumpled into a lifeless heap. Before his drunken companions could react, their heads were blown clean off their bodies leaving behind stumps spurting blood. I couldn't help myself. I lunged forward and drank until I was glowing with their warmth.

"Bonsoir mademoiselle," a voice called out.

I spun around, jaws dripping with blood.

"How can I be of assistance?"