A/N: Thank you to Mrskroy, rachel olsen-williams, and every single reader. Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist.

oXOxoXOxo From Chapter 6 oXOxoXOxo

I closed my eyes as twilight descended, breathing deeply over and over, and tried to will myself into oblivion, even though I had no doubts that my overdose would kill me in time. I wanted to slip away with some modicum of peace, drift into a wakeless, dreamless sleep – even if I was sure I deserved to suffer like hell instead. Perhaps that's what awaited me on the other side. But I wasn't nervous; I was ready to meet my maker, atone and pay for my sins.

Yes, I thought, Sarah Brightman had been right – it was time to say goodbye.

xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx

I'd never experienced unconditional love, as far as I knew it didn't exist. Every modicum of affection or attention I'd ever received had been dispensed with measure, strings clearly attached. I had been praised for being pleasing, and punished for being difficult. My whole life I had been groomed to serve without question. I'd grown up feeling like an alien in my own skin, foreign to my own needs and wants.

I'd been envious of others, jealous – especially of him and the fantastical life I believed he lived.

I assumed that he was free, unencumbered by the whims of others. I believed if I became like him, it would be the same for me. The thought terrified and exhilarated me – to finally have the opportunity to become a person, to be real – free. I desperately longed to have a sense of identity, with desires and dreams all my own, the chance to choose things for myself without fear of reprisal.

But I never wished for love – because love was a master I didn't wanna be slave to.

oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo

I couldn't help but feel someone slump down next to me, upheaving the placid quiet that had surrounded me. It was as if my safe zone had been impeded upon – and after the events of the night, I did not take it lightly. Eyes still closed, I thrashed around, ripping away the last of my stitches, and punched the interloper in what felt like the eye. The force behind my assault had the pain in my hand outweighing my other ailments – thankfully. Maybe I'd even broken it. I couldn't help but inwardly laugh at the irony of my own actions. Here I was, trying to kill myself, and yet I was still prepared to staunchly defend my own life and safety, even to the bitter end.

Truthfully, it gave me some measure of pause.

But then my sister's frozen and pained face rang through my mind. It flashed like an explosion within me. I had done that, caused that – not Henry… ME. I felt sick with myself, and then I realized, all too quickly, I was actually going to be sick. An unknown, and unwelcome, hand flew to my back, rubbing circles, as I doubled-over, retching up the meager contents of my stomach. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I heaved over and over until the urge finally dissipated – which was long after the well, so to speak, had gone dry. Hands flat on the dewy grass, I quickly inspected the aftermath, strangely comforted to see some of the pills had made their way out of my body. I refused to process what that relief meant as the ache for my sister still weighed heavily in my chest – Ginny.

But the nagging feeling dominated my thoughts all the same.

I'd been so resigned, readied, to simply end it all. I'd felt like I deserved to be punished. Worse than ever before. I hadn't just failed to protect my sister – I'd KILLED her. I was a murderer, a freak, and probably a fairy – which was insane to me, but explained a lot. I'd already accepted vampires were real, so why not fairies? Hell, there were probably a lot of things out there hiding in the shadows like Ezra.

Ezra.

Why hadn't I just asked him for help, long before any of this shit ever happened?

But of course, I knew the answer – because I'd just never even considered it. I hated my home life, but I'd been protective of it all the same. Guarding it was a foolish mistake I couldn't even begin to forgive myself for. Ginny. Her name circulated through the expanse of my body like it was trying to tear at my soul. But somehow I still didn't think she'd be altogether too happy with me if she knew what I was doing. Mostly because if I was truly being honest with myself, she wouldn't be.

She'd be disappointed.

It was a sobering thought, and it tore me back to reality and the unfolding scene. Who the hell was trying to comfort me, and why was I letting them? I didn't know, and I couldn't say, but I decided it was going to stop – now. With the back of my hand, I swiped away the disgusting remnants of vomit that clung to my face. Giving no consideration to my injuries, I cleaned the dripping mess off on my shirt, dragging it against my side. I hissed in pain, but also in anger, simultaneously flinching away from the unsettling touch of the stranger. Luckily my message was received, and the attentions ceased without ceremony. I pushed back onto my legs and finally took a look at the person I had blindly attacked with cause.

I sucked in a sharp breath when I realized who it was.

Never in my wildest imaginings would have I guessed it was him.

"It's you," I said with an air of stupefaction, genuinely surprised by his presence, "are you here to take me home again? I'm afraid there's no one there."

I joked darkly, detecting the slight slur in my speech – undeniably, a product of the pills and pain.

I recognized him instantly, even under the moonlight. He looked so much like the man who had carted me home when I was a three-year-old runaway that I was certain it was him. When I was a child, I thought he was a giant, but now I noticed that his height could be characterized as average. I was terrible with age, but he appeared to be much older than he should've been – like time, or the stressors of life, had wearied him. He had age lines and creases in the usual locations, but they were deep and rutted through. His armor looked like it had seen better days, and the insignia on the breastplate had been removed – forcibly, if the torn metal was any indication.

But it was him – black hair, blank mind, and all – I was sure of it.

Even if he did inexplicably stink of garlic.

"No, Princess, you have many enemies there. At your real home – in the Faery Realm, I mean," he admitted almost sheepishly, digging the heel of his hand into the grass next to him.

"Wait… so I am a fairy then?"

I questioned articulately, suddenly sobered by the prospect of getting some much-needed answers.

"A… partial one."

He admitted with a nod, twisting his body to gaze upon the water as if I was making him uncomfortable. He drew not one but two haggard breaths as he schooled himself. I scooted a bit away from him to give him some space, and released my own heavy sigh. Tucking my legs beneath me, I rested into a sitting position, my chest tight and heavy with grief.

I'd lost everything precious to me – Ginny.

"I…" the words got trapped in my throat as my heart hammered against my chest, "… something happened earlier…"

"It was… your light… that killed them… I went there first. It should not have manifested so soon," he responded after my words evaporated into the misty sky, the sun dipping farther below the horizon, "...but no doubt, drinking your vampire friend's blood ignited your quiescent fairy powers."

"You're wrong. I didn't drink any blood – vampire or otherwise."

I responded evenly, firmly tamping down my shocked expression as he turned in slow-motion back to face me.

His eyes hid behind a mess of black hair, but his countenance held a chiding and distrustful glower. He waggled a pointed finger towards me, like a parent scolding a petulant child, and barked at me like a rabid, feral dog – unleashed and unhinged.

"Do not lie to me, Princess. You reek of it…"

"Hey! I didn't…"

I snapped back hastily, an argument readied on my tongue.

"…and those marks," he continued without faltering, gesturing towards the crook of my neck, "… suggest you returned the favor, offered your blood to slake his thirst. Don't even try to say he glamoured you, hypnotized you into forgetting! You befriended him! You stupid girl! You are lucky he did not drain you dry! Our essence is quite addictive to those bloodsuckers."

My fingers trembled lightly as I reached my hand up to touch at the indicated spot, horrified to discover two dimpled bumps – healed over, but still very much present. His observations seemed irrefutable, but I knew he had pegged the wrong vampire. Despite the fairy man's implications, I hadn't seen Ezra in over a week. And there was no way I would've overlooked something as significant as two pink scars on my neck, not with all the care I took to hide my other marrings. No, a different name sprung to mind instead – Eric. That son of a fucker must've fed from me after I passed out in New Orleans! Right before he dumped me at some hospital despite my fervent protestations he do anything but!

That opportunistic bastard!

Anger flowed through me as it ebbed away from the fairy man.

"I... I apologize for my out-outburst, it was out of ch-character and unbe-becoming of someone in my st-station."

He stammered out, slamming one hand into his side while running the other through his hair in an effort to calm himself down. Finding success mere moments later, he continued very matter-of-factly, as if talking about something mundane like the weather.

"Undoubtedly, your vampire will be along soon. His blood in you calls to him, and when he gets here, I imagine he'll waste no time laying claim to what's his. He wants to possess you, control you."

WHAT?! By some weird vampire custom or something Ezra's son… thought he owned me?!

OH HELL NO!

My stomach threatened to churn again as the words bubbling in my throat died in my mouth. The color drained from my face; I felt it. No, the fairy man spoke lies; no one owned me – not anymore.

"Please help me," I pleaded, "help me get me outta here. Take me to the hospital, please."

"I am sorry. I'm n-not here to save you, Princess. I'm here to make sure that your vampire turns you. He needs to stumble upon you… teetering on the brink of death."

As the words tumbled from his mouth, I pressed my hands against the dew-covered ground, slicing them against the sharp blades of grass, to push myself to my feet. He mirrored my actions, his irises pools of black and unreadable. The painful, open wound in my stomach was long forgotten as adrenaline settled in discomfort's wake. I needed to get away from this place, from the fairy man – from the vampire coming to claim me. Sure, hot sharp pain shot through my form, but a second wave of adrenaline sloshed over it. I didn't wanna die, or be a vampire. I didn't want to disappoint my sister – Ginny.

I wanted to live.

I tried to launch into a hobbled, but speedy run, using every bit of training I'd done with Ezra to my advantage…

ZAP!

I felt a bolt of what may as well have been electricity strike me in the back and snake through my nerves before I'd made it even a foot away.

In fairness – I thought, grimly – I should've seen that coming.

I fell to the ground, convulsing from the waves of energy that cascaded through me. Rolling to my back to suck in a much-needed breath, I saw he was right on top of me. I couldn't move away, stuck to the spot. He straddled my waist and clamped down his palm over my mouth, silencing the cries that threatened to erupt from my throat. I squirmed, but he squeezed his legs together, his knees digging hard into my sides.

I lost circulation almost immediately.

With his hand still clasped over my mouth, he whispered apologetically, "I am sorry, Princess, but it's better this way. I can't let you live, but I can't let you die. This way, everyone wins. One day you will understand I've spared you from a far worse fate – that I did this for you."

My limbs pinned beneath him, I gasped and struggled to suck in air, to try to live – to no avail.

Black spots danced in my eyes, bespeckling my vision, and I could feel darkness wriggling through me. I could not believe it, after fighting tooth and nail for a life I had all but thrown away, I was going to die and join the undead – a victim of the fairy man's lethal ministrations. I-fucking-ronic, I thought to myself, as I fell limp, my steely grip on the ground releasing outside my volition. My eyelids filled with lead and surrendered white-flagged to the battle against closing. Unconsciousness quickly began to pull me under.

With my last waking thought, I couldn't help but think I must be cursed – because the last couple of days I just could not catch a fucking break.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Something felt eerily familiar as I peered down at my city map of New Orleans. I couldn't shake the strange feeling of déjà vu that had settled over me as I realized without a doubt that despite my best efforts, I was completely lost. I couldn't even remember how it had happened.

Did it matter? It'd happened all the same.

The laminated drawing may as well have been written in hieroglyphics, a jumbled mess of blurs and smudges. I knew inherently I wouldn't have been able to make head or tails of what it said even if the streetlights flickered on to break the night's obscuring haze. I shrugged it off as a byproduct of my renowned directional issues. I needed to find my hotel, which somehow had moved since I'd left it earlier in the day for a bout of sight-seeing. It was somewhere around here, but for the life of me I didn't know where.

I sighed deeply, and admitted defeat.

I was going to have to go with Plan B – find a local, or two, and ask for directions.

"Excuse me?"

I asked a couple passing by, who practically materialized out of thin air. I chalked it up their sudden appearance to my distracted state, ignoring the odd lack of traffic on the previously bustling street.

"Could you help me? I'm lost. I'm trying to get back to the French Quarter…"

I stopped there, almost expecting to be interrupted for some inexplicable reason.

The young blonde woman furrowed her brow, pursing her lips, and I rushed to continue, afraid she might walk away, "… that's where my hotel is. I'm staying at the Wyndam."

"You're not too far away," The young blonde woman enthused, smiling broadly – warmly.

She let go of her man's arm, and took a couple small steps towards me. I watched her closely, suddenly fearful of her approach. She looked maybe nineteen, only a couple of years older than me. Her face was so bright, and her eyes were full of happiness and life. She obviously took good care of herself.

The smiling Samaritan held her hand out for my map, and then motioned for me to come to her side.

I moved slowly, questioning my strange and unrelenting trepidation.

"Okay," She said cheerfully, "Now, you are here. This over here," She pointed to another section of the map, "is where your hotel is. So you just need to go one more block down this road, and then turn left onto Royal Street. You'll go about two more blocks before you hit the Wyndam, but all in all I'd say you're only about a ten-minute walk away – at most."

"Oh that's great!" I said genuinely, my anxieties melting, and accepted back the offered map, "Thanks so much for all your help!"

"No problem," She chuckled lightly, stepping away from me to thread her arm back into her man's, "Have a great rest of your trip, and safe travels home!"

She waved over her shoulder as they walked away, disappearing into the cloud of fog and mist that now surrounded me.

Weird.

That hadn't been there before.

I started walking in the recommended direction, and almost instantly I found myself back at the hotel, sitting on the bed in my favorite flannel pajamas.

I was unnerved by the unexpected insistent, stabbing phantom pain that shot through my gut. I hugged myself tightly as I contemplated going to sleep earlier than usual. What had I eaten for lunch? Because whatever it was just wasn't sitting well with me anymore. I straightened up to scooch under the covers and gasped when I saw my arms were covered in blood. I ripped up my buttoned shirt to inspect myself for wounds or injuries. But there were none – outside the usual scabs, scars, and bruises. Just as quickly, I glanced at my arms to find them clean, not a drop of red in sight.

Okay, no more Cajun food, Addy – I thought to myself – all that spice must be messing with your head.

My heartbeat slowed to a normal clip, and I shoved my legs under the covers. In seconds, I was out like a light. Or at least that's how it seemed to me.

The next day came and went in the blink of an eye, and before I knew what was happening I was back in Dallas, sitting at the kitchen table across from my little sister, Ginny.

Ginny.

A sharp pang shot through my heart at the mention of her name. Tears welled up and pooled in my eyes as if I'd lost her or something. It felt like I had. But that made no sense – she was right in front of me! Everything in the background was blurry, but somehow that didn't matter much to me because she was there, a beautiful light kissing her outline.

Ginny.

"How was New Orleans?"

She sing-songed, passing me a suspiciously-empty salad bowl – setting it down on the table to her left, like we'd been taught to do. Her eyes sparkled with life; I couldn't help but notice. It warmed my heart to see it, and made me feel less… guilty. What had I done that I needed to feel guilty about?

I refused to dwell on it, shaking my head of my own internal musings.

I had bigger fish to fry – at least it felt like I did.

Time practically stopped while I mentally catalogued each aspect of my sister's appearance – from the little scar on her chin from her first bike ride to the dimples that crept into her cheeks when she smiled. Gosh, I loved her. If love was a real thing, and not just a word people like my parents threw around, I definitely loved my sister. She lit up every room she walked into, and protecting her had given me purpose. What would I ever do without her?

Ginny.

I didn't rightly know.

My sister had been my anchor, my world. She pulled me back from the darkness when it threatened to overtake me. She was the voice in my head, the one who kept me sane – and grounded. Sure, I shouldered the burden of my father's aggressions to shield her, but her glancing smiles and bubbly laughs made it all worthwhile. I knew I'd never be anything but weird, or fit in with the normies, but I hoped to high heaven that the brunt I bore gave her the chance – the opportunity to be like everyone else. Happy, carefree…

Ginny.

To be something I could never aspire to be – accepted.

"It was great," I replied, "My trial run went off without a hitch, Mom."

Precipitously in my line of vision, my mother laughed melodically from her seated position next to Ginny. I furrowed my brow, trying to recall when she had joined the scene. But my recollections were diverted as I spied wisps of smoke rising from her chest. I attempted to address the unexplained billows, but my words got choked off in my throat, which felt tight and constricted like a hand was curled against my windpipe. My mother's mirthful expression transformed into a fearful gape, and I scrambled to my feet to rush to her side. My chair knocked to the ground without a sound, and I tried to yell out again, but to no avail.

What was going on?!

Panic set in.

When I reached her side, my mother peered up at me quizzically, wordlessly questioning my actions. There was no smoke, no graying vapors to be seen. I'd somehow imagined the whole thing. I wondered if the Cajun food still clutched at my stomach, and head. Or perhaps I hadn't gotten enough sleep. At least that's what I told myself as I ambled back to my seat. I chewed on my thumb nail absent-mindedly, feeling the slightest bit unsettled all the same.

"Good to hear, Addy."

My father said, the door thrown open and darkness casting in, inexplicably back from his business trip without a suitcase in hand.

I reached into my mind to try to throw down my telepathic shields. I wanted to gauge my father's mental state, to determine the immediate threat level. It was a habit of mine when he was around, practically second nature. But my shields were nowhere to be found, and my ability to hear thoughts was just gone – gone. The silence was off-putting, but also somewhat welcomed. Like I was just another normal girl. Ginny. My gift had proved invaluable time and time again, but its presence made me feel… less connected with the real world, like I was mostly living inside my head.

Maybe I was.

"You know, you're not really our daughter."

My mother said chirpily, clapping her hands together like a cheerleader about to break into a badly worded cheer. 'You're not our daughter! Not! Not our daughter! Said, you're not. Our daughter. Not. Not. Our daughter.' It was like her words were in stereo and on repeat in my mind as if on a record scratched and broken.

"What?"

I squeaked out, another wave of déjà vu crashing through me.

"I said, pass the peas," My mother sneered, "Geez, Addy, you sure are acting funny. Are you feeling okay?"

I glanced down. There was a ceramic bowl of green marbles in my previously empty hands. What was going on? I didn't know and I couldn't say – a lump the size of a frog taking up residence in my throat.

But, I was not okay. I definitely was not okay.

"The fairy's just a little tired I think. She's had a hard day, dying and all."

What?!

I wanted to scream out, but the word died as it bounced around in my mouth.

The unidentified speaker trailed a finger lightly up and down my neck, sending electric shivers down my spine. I tried to turn my head to see who it was – to question them – but no one was behind me. The space empty and black. When I whipped back around, I was alone, sitting on wet grass and staring at the moonlight dancing on the waters at White Rock Lake. I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to make sense of the jarring sensory change, the jumping scenes. With my glistening blues clamped shut, images of my family – dead and gaping – flashed behind my eyelids, and I jumped, almost out of my skin.

Ginny.

Frantic and terrified, I sought to escape the haunting and gruesome imaginings – God, I hoped they were – so I pried at my eyes. They clicked open, automatically – robotically. A red-hazed blur of hungry flooded me, tinging my vision. My mind felt heavy and crowded, full of crumbling walls and tsunamis filled with foreign sensations – all fighting tooth and nail for precedence. I spied a second figure in the room, and instantly catapulted myself off of the furniture I found below me.

I practically flew.

Everything felt raw and loud – and BRIGHT. My throat throbbed, and I felt my nerves sizzle in response. My body was boiling from the inside, hot like lightening. My hand trembled as it trailed across the skin of my stomach and upwards – my own touch feeling foreign, cold, and disturbing. Reaching my face, my fingers rested on the sharp pair of fangs descending from my gum line.

I yelled with a guttural tone alien to my ears, instantly feeling like a rabid animal out for blood.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!"

In a blink, I'd crossed the room – murderous thoughts dripping through my brain. I pressed at the stranger, blaming them and trying to sink my curled claws into them in an effort to feed my new passenger, the raging beast inside me. I stifled the urge to flinch as the faceless man held out a bag of something to me, hoping instead to spook him. I couldn't decipher the container's sloshing contents, but they had to be wet. Everything was out of focus like a poorly snapped picture – everything. My blurry eyes flitted up and down, striving unsuccessfully to discern the scene. The word 'surreal' popped into my head, and I heeded its warning.

'It's a dream Addy! – I screamed in my head – It has to be. Wake up! Wake up!

It had to be a nightmare; it HAD to be. Only my father and the Sandman had ever left me feeling so helpless, so out of control – and Henry was nowhere to be seen.

'Such disrespect… She will need to learn to defer to me in all measures as her elder, as her maker…'

My telepathy reappeared out of thin air, the speaker's severe and growly words pounding unmercifully against my addled head.

"Drink," the dark-eyed nightmare man said, temptation laced in his tone and his imperceptible features bathed in a reddish glow, "You are famished, and require sustenance."

My hands slipped out, of their own accord, and tore the bag from his hands. I zipped away, afraid to be within his reach for a second longer. Outside my own volition, my mouth sank into the rubbery plastic and its liquid filling coated my throat, tasting thick and sour – like curdled milk. But I couldn't stop, not even when the coldness jolted through my veins, electrifying me.

My own body gnashed at me, began to tear me apart – an insatiable beast inside me ravenous for more.

I felt inhuman, and I HATED it.

This can't be real, it can't be real. Wake up, Addy. WAKE UP! – I sobbed in my head, unable to wrest the words from my throat.

'... that fervor suggests her hunger was overwhelming her sensibilities...'

I looked down to find my hands latched around a second bag, stuffing it into my mouth like its continued existence stood between me and my own. Greedily I devoured the contents, finding them this time to be settling… calming like a morning breeze or a summer storm. Human, I felt… almost human again. The syrupy substance stilled my shaky nerves almost immediately, hushing the crackling fires within me.

Dulcet and concerned tones rang through my form, and I swayed my head towards the sound. Who was that? Peering through slowly unclouding eyes, the rounded edges of the speaker's face sharpened until his identity came into unobscured view – Ezra.

And then I remembered – everything – and that's about when the nightmare truly began.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I'd been an unwitting prisoner in the cell of a vampire body for six days, three hours, twelve minutes and forty-one, forty-two… forty-three seconds – but who was counting?

"How's the mute?"

Pam said to Ezra's son, motioning in my direction as she swept into the common room, her too-high heels clicking and clacking against the stone floor with each step she took.

'Can't believe that little freak has to live with us until Godric comes back for her.'

Me neither, but here we were.

I'd taken up residence in Louisiana five days ago, the second time I'd woken up dead. The night of my rising had been… turbulent at best, a nightmare at worst. I'd almost blabbed about my telepathy, and Ezra had lorded his newly-acquired powers over me; his true self finally reared its ugly head. I hadn't said one word to him since, begrudged and bereaved – the latter unrelated to the former. But despite my foul behavior or his obvious displeasure with me, Ezra hadn't ditched me with his son. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

He was trying to ensure he got to keep me – forever.

He'd sent me away, for my own protection. King Whiskey had been much too interested in me for his own liking – mine too. So at least Ezra and I agreed on one thing. But it wouldn't have mattered if I'd objected because Ezra was my new master, a job previously held by my father, by Henry. Veritably, I'd gone out the frying pan and into the fire. Truly nothing about my life had changed. Albeit no stranger to suffering, now I faced my own personal, potentially… never-ending hell.

Well, so one thing had changed.

"Sluta det, Pam."

Gosh, I hoped Marmaduke Man was calling her a bad name. It certainly sounded like he was. But I'd already been around the two of them long enough to know he wasn't. I didn't totally understand the dynamics of their relationship, but I was pretty sure they were together. Like together together. I wasn't about to ask for confirmation, but they definitely had me feeling like the odd vampire out. I knew I was cramping their style, and I hated to admit I liked it. I didn't have much going for me – being dead, but not gone and all – so messing with them had become the one bright spot in my nights.

A small, pinhole-sized spot.

The rest of the time I just stared at the wall from my spot on the couch, wallowing in my misery, or locked in my room, doing much the same.

Six days, three hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-two, twenty-three… twenty-four seconds.

I hadn't left the house at all, or even stepped outside, since becoming a temporary ward of Ezra's son and Pam. Not because my new wardens kept me in, but because I didn't wanna go out. In fact, for five days I'd never even bothered to change outta my PJs. I didn't sweat anymore, so they weren't dirty. And honestly, why would I get dressed? It wouldn't change anything.

I was stuck in an endless nightmare, blinded – at least temporarily – by my grief and depression.

Everything reminded me of Ginny, literally every single thing including Ezra – especially Ezra…but also everything else in my Louisiana prison. The couches were dyed auburn like her hair, the bathroom fixtures shined like her smile, the blue accent wall screamed innocence like her eyes. She was everywhere, but completely out of reach. My undead heart clenched so often, I could've sworn it was just flat-out beating.

But that was impossible. Because I was dead – but animated, like a zombie.

"Varför skyddar du henne? Hon dödade dig nästan! OCH hon förlorade min jävla klänning!"

'UGH! The fucking nerve of him!'

Pam flipped her long golden mane over her shoulder as she stormed out of the room in a huff. Lover's spat, I guessed. Maybe he had called her a bad name. But I knew there was no way in hell he'd called her ugly, compared her to me. Like the Unincredible Hulk, Pam could've been torn out of the pages of a magazine. Truly, she might've been. That woman was so beautiful she had probably been crafted from clay and given life by the Greek Gods. She had legs for days – for days. She literally towered over me, heels or not, and I knew I paled in comparison to her. I didn't wanna focus on it too much, other more weighty things on my mind, but it was looking like a ticket to club vampire was only given to perfect tens.

So why the hell had Ezra done this to me?

Had emo-vampires existed before? Because it was definitely a thing now.

Six days, three hours, twenty-one minutes, and… oh, right on the dot.

I stifled the urge to sigh for about the hundredth time since the sunset. I had no need to breathe, but I just felt… defeated. I wanted to actualize my pain – to feel something else – but Ezra had stolen the choice from me. A marionette to my new puppet-master. So instead I pictured myself with my shoulders slumped over, sobbing until my eyes hurt.

I fantasized often about having an emotional breakdown.

But in reality, my posture couldn't have been stiffer or my expression emptier. Henry would have been so proud – or at least he would've have approved. I'd learned several lessons at his hand and, as sick as it was to say, I was finally becoming grateful for them. My life had taken a sharp left turn into a deep chasm, but I'd already lived through chaos and with a monster – so now was just more of the same.

Head down, emotions schooled was the only play worth running, the only chance I had at survival.

Plus, if I didn't play nice, I was irritatingly aware that Ezra had the means to make me.

"Sookie."

Without craning my neck, my eyes flicked to the right to glare at Drew. He was waiting for a reaction I had no intents to give, but he still quirked his eyebrow expectantly.

While Drewth hadn't said or thought anything altogether too nasty about me, unlike Pam, he certainly wasn't above trying to bait me into speaking. I would've expected vampires to be able to handle silence, but I could tell my depressed muteness unnerved him. Like Ezra, his thoughts were a jumbled mix of languages, but I had caught enough English utterances to get the drift. Mentally, he'd been plotting, devising ways to try to trick me into talking. Case in point, Andily refused to use my preferred name because he knew how much it irked me. But his efforts hadn't bore fruit previously, and they weren't going to pay off now either.

I stared right back into his cerulean blues, still trying to stave off melancholy thoughts of Ginny.

'Quit acting like a spoilt child, min lilla faerie! Say something! '

Mister Impatient growled in his head as he searched my eyes for… something.

Not. Gonna. Happen.

I thought – inwardly giggling that I could hear him, but he could not hear me.

I didn't rightly know what I would do once Ezra came back to Louisiana to take me away. He reminded me too much of Ginny. He'd helped to take her away from me. Intentionally? Unintentionally? Those were just words. He'd told me – he'd told me! – he'd intervened and stopped his son from turning me.

And the result?

I'd lost everything important to me – Ginny. I'd killed my sister, pulled the trigger on the veritable smoking gun. I hated myself for it, but him a little too. Whether he meant to or not, he'd inadvertently put the lightening in my hands and metaphorically shoved me in her direction. How could he have been so short-sighted taking me to the hospital?! Of course, I'd run home! I'd woken up alone and scared!

Sure, I was being infinitely petty and unfair, but I hadn't turned myself into a freaking weapon.

Plus, shouldering all the blame would drive me crazy – I had to parse it out.

So instead, I was rebelling – by swimming around in my own head. Occasionally, I'd pop up for air and pay attention to the things happening around me, but only if it involved annoying Ezra's son. I loved how easily I could frustrate him. Seriously, were vampires not that adept at keeping their cool? Because I was beginning to think no.

From all Andrew's internal huffing and puffings, I was pretty sure he hated me now more than ever. Sadly, the feeling was no longer quite as mutual, even though I wanted it to be – especially since he'd bitten me, fed me blood. But bothering Fangy Towers temporarily distracted me from my grief and pain, kept me from losing my last shred of sanity. Gave me a much needed break from reality.

Pin-hole bright spots.

Ginny.

Six days, three hours, forty-four minutes, and five, six... seven seconds.

Forfeiting our staring contest – Addy: 12, Drew: 0 – Raggedy Andy turned away from me, and pushed his fingers through his hair, dejectedly. I studied him like an open book, and I didn't like what I saw. It wasn't a good look on him – giving in, giving up. My heart clenched again at the sight of him.

Sometimes winning brought me no measures of happiness, not even tiny ones.

"You are going out tonight. I have Area business to attend to, and you are coming along. Go get changed."

'Maybe then she will actually look more like a fucking vampire, and less like a mopey teenager.'

I stood up, my bare feet kissing the cold stone floor, and slipped on the slippers I'd shucked off next to the couch to head towards my room. My actions earned me an over-the-shoulder glance, and a look of genuine surprise. If he had expected a fight, or a hissy fit, he had another thing coming. Head down, push forwards; it'd been my daily mantra for as long as I could remember. Plus, I was nothing if not adaptable. It was time I started acting like a vampire, like a monster – like a Harding. Got my emotional displays in check. My outward expressions under lock and key.

It wasn't like I hadn't had tons of practice at it.

It was time to truly showcase my talents, to make the years of hell I endured worth it.

Because, like the Testy Titan, I'd been knee-deep in stratagems too. And for my jail-break plan to work, I needed Ezra and his son to believe I hadn't lost my spirit, that I loved my new state of being – Addy 2.0, now with fangs! I couldn't beat them by brute force alone, so I had to make them think I'd joined them. I had to lull them into a false sense of security, so I could grab control over my life. I almost laughed out loud just thinking about it – almost.

Because despite his best efforts, Henry had taught me how to do that, too.

"Well, I'll tell you this, sweet pea – you've certainly got the balls to be a vampire."

Pam enthused as I glided down the mahogany staircase, periwinkle cardigan in tow.

'Is that my fucking sweater?!'

I'd strategically chosen the least vampire-like outfit I could dig out of my meager new belongings and Pam's closet alike. I cared little if she got irked by my intrusion, if I bothered my vampire… niece? – I still wasn't too keen on how this weird undead family tree stuff worked – by borrowing her clothes. I figured, if anything, she'd owed me. She'd been acting like I murdered her puppy the whole week. She obviously hated me, and I was eager to return the sentiment in kind. Plus I had to admit, minus a couple missteps in my opinion, she really had style.

But, sometimes Pam liked to dress like a soccer mom who had choked on a Technicolor paintbrush, and in this case, it was a good thing.

Her strange obsession with pastels worked perfectly for what I'd concocted in a spur of the moment sass-filled rebellion against the authority in these here parts. Sheriff What's-His-Name had told me he planned to cart me along to his job – bring your vampire sister to work night? – asking me to change first. Despite hopping to my feet, I'd been none too enthusiastic about shucking off my comforting pajamas for some real "vampire" clothes until I realized the potential fun that could be had.

Because Pam was also a vampire.

So any of her adornments counted, right?

Yes – I thought – yes, they freaking did.

My heart clenched again as I descended the stairs – Ginny – my grief railing against the prison-like confines of my chest, but I tamped it down. Right now I needed to reach for my full snark-potential and pretend I was the same girl I used to be. Even though I wasn't, and I'd never be again. I was a murderer, an ugly freak, and now a monster – with fangs.

Some blights just couldn't be remedied.

Six days, four hours, seven minutes, and fifty-eight, fifty-nine… eight minutes.

"You like?"

I practically croaked, while twirling down the final steps, as I stretched my vocal chords to break the silent streak I'd maintained for five days straight.

'I hate you so fucking much right now, sweet pea.'

I deftly pulled the buttoned sweater on, instinctually tugging the sleeves down to my wrists, not ashamed but covetous of my secrets, the raised white marks that still littered my arms. Battle-earned trophies, proof I'd survived my childhood tribulations – in some sense. Vampire blood had done wonders for my complexion, and surgery site, but apparently some scars just stuck – like these, like most of them.

"Well, I will say this," Pam purred a moment later as her pointy teeth clicked into place, waggling an eyebrow suggestively, "Dressed like that, you're bound to get a little fang."

If I could've blushed, I would've – that wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been going for.

While he sped down the backroads of Louisiana towards a destination unknown, Ezra's son complained in his head as he effectively white-knuckled the black leather steering wheel of his red corvette.

'A yellow fucking sundress, really?! What does she want to do – attract all the fucking attention in the fucking world?!'

I couldn't help but smirk.

Now that was closer to the reaction I'd been hoping for.

Translations

"Sluta det, Pam." = "Stop it, Pam."

"Varför skyddar du henne? Hon dödade dig nästan! OCH hon förlorade min jävla klänning!" = "Why do you protect her? She almost killed you! AND she lost my damn dress!"