Now that I have seen Byzantium, I've come to a decision. This will be an AU-esque thing for the film, because 3/4 of it do not exist in this story. I will be using Clara and Eleanor's backstory, as well as the very beginning of the film and other elements, but the majority of the characters are not present.

Prologue

My name is Eleanor Webb. I live with my mother, Clara. She lives on human blood, and has done so for two centuries. So must I, for all eternity.

She has given me three things. One, she spared my life the day that I was born. Two, she paid for my upkeep on her knees and on her back. Three, she gave me a story, the story of my life.

My story can never be told. I write it down, over and over, and then I throw the pages to the wind. It is a secret that I must keep.

But I wish to lie no longer.

She knew immediately that something was wrong. She'd had that sinking feeling, the one she always had, in the back of her mind all day. She'd been hoping that maybe it was nothing, that this time they could stay for longer than a couple of months. But coming up the stairs, Clara was covered in blood, sitting in the hallway, and Eleanor could only guess what her mother had done.

"Who was he?" she asked, catching a glimpse of a man's detached head.

"No one."

"Who was he?"

"He was a monster, I did what was necessary -"

"Why did you kill him?!"

"Pack your things, we have to leave."

"What?"

"We're moving, Eleanor -"

"I like it here!"

"We're moving. There's nothing for us here, we have to go -"

"Why? Why are we always leaving -"

"Just pack!"

She brushed past Clara, throwing two bags on her bed and stuffing them with the few shirts and jeans that she had. The packing didn't take long because neither of them had many personal possessions. It was why they were packing that irked her.

She understood why they had to drift. They were immortal, and if they stayed in a place too long someone was bound to notice that they didn't age. But they'd never been anywhere long enough for that to happen. Clara would always speak vaguely of men, mere shadows to Eleanor. But they were dangerous, they wanted something from them. They couldn't stick around to know exactly what that was.

The man in the living room had a distinctive smell. She wondered why Clara hadn't chosen to feed on him. Her mother said nothing of it, taking a can of gasoline and dousing the body. She lit a match, leading Eleanor down the stairs and away from their burning apartment.

Several people on the street began to shout, running toward where the fire raged, the flames reaching out of the open window. Clara didn't turn around once, hustling Eleanor along the damp pavement. Eleanor glanced back, wondering if - when - someone would find the old man, figure out what had happened to him…

"Where are we going?" Eleanor asked minutes - or was it hours? - later.

"Nipped his wallet, got some money from the club." Clara was counting several hundred-pound notes. "We're going somewhere new." She sneezed. "I'm sick of this weather."

"But where are we going?"

"We'll figure that out when we get there."

They'd hitched a ride on a semi, Clara singing her to sleep. They walked a few more miles along the highway, arriving at an airport.

"Clara, why…"

"Hush, now." She was counting the notes again. "Keep an eye out for flights that we can afford."

"But how much -"

"I said hush, Eleanor."

This was different from what they usually did. They'd sneak out during the night, sleep on the ground, wander the countryside until they stumbled on a town. Clara would easily find work, get them a small apartment, and they'd live off of Clara's money until something came up. They'd never gone this far before, never thought of distancing themselves like this.

"When did tickets become so bloody expensive?" Clara muttered, scanning the marquis. "Dammit. There has to be something we can take."

"Why are we taking an airplane?"

"Eleanor, dear, aren't you tired of walking all the time? Aren't you just longing to see someplace new?"

"I'd much rather we'd stayed where we -"

Clara held up a finger, staring at the money she held and glancing back up at the marquis. "There you are," she said, a smile appearing on her face. She strolled up to the counter, leaving Eleanor standing by herself.

There were plenty of people here, all of them moving. Eleanor wasn't used to so many of them at once. They always chose quiet places, where no one would suspect. What was Clara thinking, taking a plane somewhere else?

"Here you are." Eleanor took the ticket her mother handed her. "Wasn't cheap, so hold onto it."

Eleanor scanned the words. "New York? We're going to America?"

"That's just for now," Clara said hurriedly. "She told me that this flight gets off in New York and then takes off for Las Vegas, wherever that is. It sounds perfectly nice, don't you think?"

"You don't even know where it is?"

"We'll look at a map when we land in New York, okay?" She grabbed her daughter's wrist. "Flight's in an hour, we have to get ourselves checked over."

The scanning was awful. Remove your shoes, remove your coat, bags go here, what's in your pockets? Embarrassing, terrifying…she was glad to be done with it.

"Bunch of nosy bastards, huh?" Clara shook her head. "Come on, then. Looks like we wait here."

A half-hour went by before they boarded the plane. Clara seemed to be on high alert, scanning the terminal for someone. Eleanor knew better than to ask questions, at least at this point. She stayed quiet, dozing off and trying not to dream about the man with the cane, or the hundreds of bats, or the salty sea…

"Eleanor." Clara shook her shoulder. "Sweetheart, it's time to board."

They were in coach, toward the back. Eleanor sat by the window, marveling at how large the wing of the plane was. Clara offered to put her backpack in the overhead compartment, but she refused. She kept it close to her chest, unwilling to part with it.

Ten minutes later, they were told to fasten their seat belts. Clara grabbed Eleanor's hand as the plane rolled down the runway and disappeared into the night sky.