A/N: Okay, this idea has been knocking around in my head for way too long, so I've finally decided to do something about it. This story is going to be very emotional and there will be a lot of dark themes, so you have been warned.

I'd really appreciate your reviews to tell me if you like it, if you don't, if you want me to carry this on. This will be one Hell of a bumpy ride, so hold on tight, here we go!

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who! I swear!

Under the Light of the Moon

Chapter 1

The Beginning of the End

Amelia Jessica Pond had waited twelve years for her imaginary friend to find her. She stayed up all night in her garden for a chance to see the stars with the mad man that crash landed into her shed. Every night, even after he never showed up, she had looked up into the stars and made a wish. Wished for her raggedy Doctor to return to her.

Twelve years, four psychiatrists and a Hell of a lot of biting later; her wish came true. Her mad man returned.

Never in those twelve years had she regretted meeting that man, and never in any of her adventures had she thought against what she was doing. She had felt no remorse.

Until now.

Amy stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Pasty skin with worn emerald eyes, her face framed with an array of ginger curls. To anyone else, the girl in the mirror was Amelia Pond, but to her, the figure in the mirror was a stranger.

The Doctor had constantly warned her of the dangers that came with riding in the TARDIS. The Doctor was like fire, he didn't mean it, but if you stood too close to him, you'd get burned. Amy smiled grimly at the analogy. He'd briefed both Amy and Rory of the dangers, he'd told them of the people he'd lost, sometimes they chose to leave and sometimes, very rarely, they'd die. That was when he stopped talking, like it was too painful to talk about. Amy had wanted to assure him that it was alright, that no matter what; she'd be there for him. But after that strained, awkward silence, she realised that that was a promise she wasn't able to make.

Tears leaked from Amy's eyes, sliding down her cheeks and meeting at her lips. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, her gaze never leaving that of the stranger in the mirror. Well, at least there was one good thing out of all of this. At least she now knew she'd still have a reflection.

Memories of the past day's events kept involuntarily flashing into her mind. They'd gone to London, 1899 to meet Bram Stoker, the author of Dracula. It had been a trip of pure fiction, to find the muse behind the legends. But when they met the man behind the words, they realised a dark secret behind his ideas. Bram Stoker had researched the mythological creatures in his literature before he'd written it down and as they sat with him, he shared with them things that they had never imagined.

Not real vampires of course! Not in the conventional sense anyway.

Amy winced as the Doctor's energetic words flooded back into her mind.

You'd call them vampires, but they're actually alien a species closely related to the Plasmavore; they can physically change the DNA of those that they feed on. The effects – of course – differ from species to species, but yes, it's very likely that these Plasmavores were the inspiration for Dracula itself!

He'd been so excited and truthfully, so had she. Rory hadn't been keen on the idea of finding a real-life vampire and in all honesty, they hadn't really been expecting to find a cult of Plasmavores hiding out in Victorian London. It had been just as much of a surprise to Amy herself when two hooded figures had grabbed her just as they were about to board the TARDIS.

Deranged. That's what the Doctor had called them. Trapped on Earth for so long, they didn't even know their own origins. They believed the legends their ancestors had left on Earth and formed a cultic ritual to turn Amy. They'd tied and gagged her to a chair, an array of symbols written in the dirt around her feet. She'd screamed for help, for Rory, for the Doctor. She'd been a child. She'd been too reliant on her imaginary friend. She just thought… she thought that with him around, nothing could hurt her. Not really.

More tears leaked from her eyes as she pulled her ginger locks back from around her neck. There, just above the jugular, was the raised red mark of a Plasmavore. All of their teeth had been as sharp as canines and had hurt more than anything she had ever felt. She'd screamed as the thing had bitten into her neck, but it hadn't stopped there.

Maybe if the Plasmavores had worked the same way as one of those alien fish from Venice, she may have had a chance, but instead, the leader of the hooded figures began to chant words she couldn't understand. She had struggled weakly in her binds as the figure revealed their wrist and sliced a silver blade across it. Amy's lips had instinctively slammed shut, but it wasn't enough. Somehow, the blood leaked through.

Amy let out a scream of anguish, hating the way she looked, hating the fact she couldn't recognise herself. Hating the Doctor for not being able to save her. She raised her fist and punched the mirror with all her strength. She watched the glass shatter around her fingers, she felt as the glass sliced into her palm. More tears collected by her lips and ran down to her chin as she stood there at the broken mirror, shuddering violently as she watched those large gashes on her palms close up faster than humanly possible. The lingering blood from the wound simply dripped into the sink. She closed her eyes and turned on the faucet. The water would wash away the blood. Like it never happened.

But it did happen.

The one time the Doctor had been too late and no one had left, no one disappeared, no one died. But to Amy, she was as good as dead. The Doctor didn't know what changes would go through her body as the blood of the Plasmavore mutated her DNA, but whatever happened, she wasn't the same. She knew because the Doctor was more careful around her, because Rory wouldn't look her in the eye. This wasn't life. Not any more.