Disclaimer: You know what usually belongs here I don't own anything that sounds familiar to you. That includes situations.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: I don't know, will this be a one-shot deal, or longer? We'll see….

I slammed my fists against the metal slab that seemed to close in on my face. I was getting more and more claustrophobic by the second. I felt the movement of the box I was in. I screamed for those idiotic mortals to release me. Then came that smell. That oh-so-familiar smell of decay and death that is usually found in a cemetery. I could already hear the sounds of shovels prying up the earth from an old grave. The host that had me in their company still had quite a distance to go yet, though. I had not yet ceased my struggles to push the walls of my iron prison away from me, and I was truly growing weary of this idiocy.

"Is it deep enough yet?" asked a gruff, human voice. How I wanted to kick him so hard he started crying like a baby. My specialty in fighting is humiliating the opponent.

A high female voice replied. "Yeah, it's ready," she said, "You got the girl, right? The one who did it?"

"Yeah, yeah," the first replied, "the one who killed your brother. Red hair, green eyes, white skin…good lookin'."

"Freak!" I shouted in spite of myself, "You son of a bitch, now let me out!" I scratched at the iron lid of the casket. I was shredding it little by little as I felt the coffin being lowered to the ground. Then past the ground. I think I screamed then and pounded hard on the coffin lid. The shredded metal was sticking out in parts and it cut my hands.

A few laughs found their way through the air before I smelled the earth around me. Scoops of dirt fell on the casket with a thunderous effect in my ears. I kept shouting for help and soon my cries were muted. I could not hear the mortals above me. I could, however, hear the sounds of the bugs and worms and rodents that infested the cemetery property. Everything was pitch black and, were I not a vampire, I would have thought that my eyes were closed. I could barely see the small amount of nighttime light that seeped through the loose dirt above me and entered in the cracks of my new prison. It was not nearly enough to see by.

I was frantic. My shouts dimmed to whimpers that seemed distant to my own ears. I knew that I was crying and that, could I see them, the tears would be blood. I would soon need to feed. That was the least of my problems.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I knew that night was passing above me. The day would soon be and I would sleep. I feared that. Those mortals could come back at any time during the day and release me into the sun, where I would definitely burn to a crisp. They could plan my death while I lay in the isolation of my coffin. I knew that that was what they were doing. My thoughts raced with the possibilities of my own demise. Then all of my thoughts went to other matters. Everything seemed to stop when my mind rested on him.

My maker, my father, and above all, the one I loved. The bastard sold me out! Alas, I still loved him more than anything else. All I saw in the darkness was his face. His dark violet eyes and his golden-brown hair. I reached out as if I could touch the smooth surface of his face, but I felt the lid of my doom above me. I wanted him to save me, though I knew better than to rely on his help. I loved him, but he did not love me in return. The only reason he made me was for him to look at. Literally all he ever did during sessions where we sat around the castle was stare at me as if my "siblings" were not there. Everyone happened to notice this before me, though, of course.

I kept thinking of his face, the way his bangs fell lightly across his pale forehead, and in my thoughts I hadn't noticed when I had fallen asleep. That is, until I awoke the next night.

The light that had just barely been visible as a wisp of smoke was now gone because the dirt and earth above my prison had sunk in with it's own pressure. I was in a panic when I woke, not remembering where I was or what had happened. It all flooded back to me with the smell of the graveyard. I had dreamt of something—which is quite unusual for me—but I had to struggle to remember it.

I felt a tight pain in my veins. I hadn't fed in two nights. It was soft at first, then I think three hours passed—I can't be sure of time in that place. It became searing, burning my entire body. I screamed in pain as the pulse sent out by my own heart sent an explosion of pain out of my chest. It felt like I hadn't fed in years. Not that I knew what that felt like…it was the sensation.

I suffered like this for a half-hour. My very own heart destroying me from the inside out. My eyes were unable to produce tears, for the blood to make them could not be spared. My head throbbed from this and I soon found that there was nothing but the pain in my mind. This pain that would kill any mortal. It would not kill me, though. I would survive like this for centuries, the pain never dulling, never numbing, and always growing worse. I did not hear the sounds of labor above me. I did not feel the pressure on the lid change. I was oblivious to all of my surroundings. That is until I felt the movement of my compact prison.

I was being pulled up. I felt a strange exhilaration that seemed to take the pain away for a split second. When it came back it was worse than ever. I thrashed and screamed and clawed at myself as if it would take the pain. I remembered that the mortals might be the one lifting me and I was still. The pain had not gone; it was there, gnawing at my insides. The movement suddenly stopped as if the casket were dropped on the ground. The smell of earth did not surround me, though, so I was relieved in a way. I was still moaning in pain. It shouldn't hurt this much. I'd felt hunger before, and it didn't hurt this much. They must've done something to that boy I killed. He was probably bait.

The latch on the lid of the coffin broke and moonlight soon hit my face. I jumped up to a sitting position and, before I knew it, I was standing. I was still in great pain. You cannot imagine what it felt like for you are most likely mortal. A vampire feels things double what a mortal feels. I clutched my stomach and almost fell down again. My hand moved to my heart as I tried to take a step forward to steady myself. I slipped, fell, and my face hit the ground. Ah, but it was the ground and not my metal cell.

I stiffened when I felt some one's hand on my shoulder. It smelled like Him, my father, my Isaiah. He leaned over me from behind and sunk his teeth into my neck. It was painful, relaxing, and serene all at the same time, to have him drink from me. The pain subsided to a bearable minimum and he offered his wrist before he pulled away himself. I took it and ripped the flesh and drank. There was that glorious nectar that I hadn't tasted since the day I was changed. I felt his heart beat with mine. That heart I had so longed for, in perfect time with my own. I treasured these passing moments as they each slowly died away. With each moment's death, though, the pain died away. After a few beats of his heart, his pulse fluctuated. I pulled away reluctantly and turned around awkwardly to face him. He looked pained for a second, and then he straightened up and towered over me.

"Ayah," he addressed me, his voice cold but his eyes still held a twinge of fear that I guessed was for safety, "What did I ask of you last night? I told you to stay clear of that boy that you wanted so much, did I not?"

I kept myself from getting lost in his eyes. He was so powerful that he could handle the same poison that was in my blood and caused me so much pain with but a second to control it. "Yes, my master," I said, "you did. I was a fool not to take your words to heart. I'll not make such a deadly mistake again." I lowered my gaze to the ground humbly.

I heard the movement of my "siblings" around us. I knew that I found no embarrassment in this situation. We all found the pain and danger of each other the top priority. We were all we had, and we wanted to keep it that way. I knew them all by name, even the newest ones, who were younger than me. James, Mathew, Isabel, Jonathan, Ryan, Jacob, Nicholas, Jesus, and little Daniel—who had been changed at the age of ten, though he had been a vampire longer than any of my other siblings. As you can see, Isaiah did not favor changing women.

He offered his hand to help me up. "No, I know you will not," he said, "Now come, you must find a meal that will satisfy you more than the small portion of my blood did."

If only he knew how much satisfaction I received just from having him near me, to have him fear for me. I said nothing as I took his hand and allowed him to pull me to my feet. I looked around at my siblings. They all had a look of relief on their faces. Even Daniel, who could very well be colder than Isaiah if he had wanted to. We moved out of the graveyard in a large, floating company of people in black. We could've been mistaken as mourners. The only things we mourned, though, were our damned existence, and the death of the five mortals that had been caught with grave soil on their shovels. I was avenged within a day. That was the tightness of this Family.

I was left alone for that night, after I had fed and the streets were deemed safe enough for my solitude—Isaiah had taken care of both matters, himself. I got to thinking, if we could care so much about each other, then could we really be damned? If I could feel loved, was I really spawn of the devil's touch? Could Isaiah feel love? Could he ever love me? Does he see me as a daughter, a servant, or a toy? He expects me to see him as a master and a father. I do, but there is something more to it than that. Leave it to me to make things more complicated.

When I returned to our home, early in the morning, just before the sun was cued to rise, everyone was already locked up in their coffins in their separate rooms. I listened to the sound of my feet scuffing the stone floor, though I had to force my shoes to make that noise. When I reached my room I knew Isaiah was inside before I opened the door. He was sitting on my plain, wooden coffin.

"Please don't stay out so long," he said quietly, "At least for a week or so, have an earlier curfew. I won't be able to help but worry about you for a while after this night." He stood and headed towards me, reaching for the door, that I was still holding open.

I stopped him before he could go out. "Master," I said formally, but what I was about to admit was quite informal and embarrassing, "I'm afraid to lock myself in a coffin tonight. I fear that I'll smell that dreadful decaying earth around me and wake up in that hole again."

I guess he saw how I looked at my coffin with fear. I'm not sure, but he seemed to understand that I had a problem to face. "I did tell you to always come to me with your problems," he muttered to himself, "Come." He gently held my arm in his like in the pictures I had seen of two people in fancy clothes. The woman always wore white and the man wore a black formal outfit.

I was confused at first, wondering where he was leading me. I think I might have gasped quietly when I realized he was taking me to his room. If I had, he ignored it. He held the door open. "I wonder if your fear would diminish, should you wake with some one familiar," he said.

I found myself quite serene as I lay on him, with my head on his chest. The dark didn't disturb me, because I had the reassuring beat of his heart to tell me that I was safe with him. He kissed the top of my head as we lay there—together. I smiled and got up enough boldness to force myself up and kiss his sweet lips. I found that he was not surprised, and so I let it linger before my eyes closed and I fell limp on top of him. My mind was wandering to different thoughts. One of which was:

I wonder why his coffin is so big…