"You lost her!"

It wasn't really a question, my father rather declared it, an incredulous expression crossing his features. "And yet here she is, in one perfectly insubordinate piece, her inclined acts of mischief unwavering." My grandfather Abe's sarcasm practically dripped off of his fanged teeth and I scowled before bowing my head quickly to avert the regret in my father's eyes. Regret of having let me go, and not knowing that it was on my mind for quite some time.

"Very well then," Abe cut in, avoiding further discussion. "I'll see you all tomorrow at the Royal Banquet." He let a few seconds of silence pass, a little hesitant when he added, "Oh and Dimitri, she hasn't eaten anything yet." With a very Abe-like nod of curtness, he left much quicker than he had appeared. I paused, apprehensive and a little pissed off by the sudden abrasiveness.

My dad quirked an eyebrow and gestured to a seat in the dining room. We had a nice house, very cosy and top quality for a Dhampir residing at the Royal Academy. Although, I was treated like anything other than a Dhampir, they even went so far as to discuss potential guardians for me when I came of age.

Meanwhile I struggled to persuade them that I was more than willing to become a guardian myself. I never liked to be babied, but that was exactly what the people of my world were doing; apparently I needed to breed before they could take their eyes off of me for just one second and focus upon more important things like, oh I don't know, the law and the Strigoi.

Which, speaking of, had only heard of me through a vine of whispers but had already found enough of that enmity within them to spare some for me. It was probably because I was the beginning of a new race among the already existing one they had tried to kill off for an eternity.

A waft of the heated up leftovers permeated the air, my brows contracted into a frown and I scrunched my nose up as I drew out a seat. I didn't have an unhealthy aversion to food, but I did have a very small appetite and didn't need much fuel to start a fire. In other words, I could live off more or less of what the Moroi take, minus the blood sucking thing, and feel content with it. But I wasn't so lucky, my parents were persistent in having me eat a regular diet. And if that pacified the arguments, then it was fair to try, I guess, but the food kind of sucked.

"All or most of it, Eva." I expelled a breath as a particular memory of when I was only four ceased my mind. It had always been this way, I recalled, and I fell into a trance like state that was more consistent as of late, and I swore to myself that I would catch up on my sleep.

I had used the spoon as a catapult, filling the mushy green food onto it with a devious grin upon my features.

My father was displeased at the outburst but my mother responded with,"There are many crises in the world, spinach on the wall isn't one of them." He sighed, almost appearing defeated. Or tired of the same games.

"It's not what is, but what will become of it,"

The flashback ended.

And I had barely a moment to process what had just happened before firm fingers gripped my arm and stood me up before releasing me to stare bewildered at the mess upon the wall. The wall of now, not the one of my past. My eyes were dark and wide, a protest dying on my lips when he chastised me. "Eva Rozalina Olei Belikov." I wanted to declare my innocence, but instead I bit my retort on my lip, for I rarely made my father mad and I did not like it at all.

"Clean this up, and then go straight to your room."

I didn't know what happened, and I wasn't aware of my subconscious act. For it must have been, but I couldn't argue, not exactly. Not when I wasn't so sure of it myself.

And so I threw myself onto my bed, the purple duvet was in contrast to rest of the stark coloured room. I never had an eye for fashion, and I never did look so nice in pink, and yellow with my dark reddy-brown hair made me look like a walking lavatory bowl. Or so Iolanthe says. She is Adrian's daughter, a twin to Isaiah, and Adrian was officially declared crazy in my book, because he seems to think he's married to the capitol of New South Wales. I think he drinks too much. But their mother is pretty, I never quite caught her name. I've asked, but they just keep bringing up Australia again. If they loved it so much they could have just moved there.

I tossed and I turned, doubtful of my own sanity and trying to come up with a reasonable conclusion to what had happened back there in the kitchen; and before I knew it, I was lulled into a dream. Or so I believed until it morphed into a vision of pure darkness, spine-chilling images spinning into a whirlwind wrapping around my mind, forcing themselves upon me and I couldn't escape. I wanted to scream, and maybe I was but all I could hear was an ear-splitting shriek, so shrill that I thrashed and writhed to find release.

You can't fight it. A voice said, or maybe it was the whistling of the wind battling against my eardrums.

You're unique, but you can't fight what you were born to become.

I threw my arms out in front of me, futile protection, I couldn't see them, but I could see my fingertips and they were... glowing. Purple tinged to the tips, emitting into a vibrant colour and I twitched, feeling emotion. I felt it in the air, carried by the nearest soul, and I tried to find it but I was enshrouded in wicked gloom once more. I felt distress, I saw it hovering in the air like an orb. I saw it dissipate. I felt absence.

And then it vanished.