We're not really sisters, you know. But say that to one of us...and you'll be ten feet under, pushing up daisies...if you're lucky. Our story, is a very long, and complicated one. So listen well, I'm not going to repeat myself. It all started so long ago that you'ld think that my memories would be fuzzled and blurry. You're wrong, there's no way I could ever forget that night that started it all. But before I lose myself in the past, I think that I should point out some...minor facts. My name is Lydian Lirthim. My sister's name is Widow Fellden. And...we were not always sisters...
Lydian's P.O.V:
The silent, shadowed battalion marched to a halt in a clearing surrounded by dense green trees that writhed in foreboding. A bird fluttered across the opening quickly, the pale light of the full moon glancing off of its glossy wings. That was the last of nature's movement. As I looked around, glaring, I marveled at the thought that it seemed like all of nature was holding its breath. My silver eyes glowed, and flickered curiously to the leader of our ranks...Dracula. He was already in semi form, and silently, I berated myself for not doing so earlier. He was glaring, smugly, at the opposite end of the clearing, each muscle tensed and his wings beating silently with anticipation. An unknown wind pulsed about him, lifting one of his black locks against the starless sky. I gazed at him, admiringly, his hair was blacker than the sky, showing his unreachable rank and power. The only parts of him that were visible were the silver weapons and buckles latched securely on his muscled form, and his pale face, everything else blended into the blackness surounding us. He looked to me like a cat ready to spring into action, tail swishing back and forth, growling. I narrowed my eyes confidently, smirking, as I let my exceptionally large bat wings unfurl themselves and come into view. Similar actions erupted around my fellow soldiers, but I never let my unblinking stare leave the opposite edge of the forest. For two beats we all stood there, silently, as if we had always been here and were never going to leave our spots.
Then, as an enraged howl pulsed through the paper thin night, I graced my features with a smile. Revealing my bone-white fangs, that glittered silver under the moonlight. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I knew that Dracula was doing the same. Here was our chance to redeem our lost ones, to revenge everything gone, and most of all a chance for raw, fresh, beating...BLOOD.
As you can see...I'm a vampire...
Widow's P.O.V:
"Widow."I turned my head, red ceremonial feathers that were tied into my raven-black hair twisting with the sudden movement. My father looked down on me with nothing other than pride, admiration, and love on his face before he spoke into my ear, quietly. "You're the last thing I have...be careful." I smiled, knowing what he meant by "last thing I have" and wiped an uneeded tear from his war-tatooed face and lovingly licked him on the cheek. He most certainly did have a lot of things...just...not any family. I'm his one and only. If I died tonight, I have no doubt that my father's death would follow.
But, thinking about the vampire-scum, that would soon be fatally reaquinted with death's ice-cold grip tonight, I knew I wouldn't die. "Be strong, uphold the honor, revenge the murdered, sacrifice the opressor, and...KILL THE DEAD!"My father started the chant that always ended with our loyal solidiers howling and seething with more than the choking rage that pulsed in our hot viens when the full moon entered. I gazed up to the sky, stomping my boot-clad feet to the beat and smirked as I noticed that the full moon HAD entered. I howled, with the others, brimming with confidence. Tonight, we would not only have the undying rage of all our reasons to go to war to solidify our strength...we would have the raw power of the full moon to aid us, filling us with rage, wherever we lacked...and oh did we lack.
We lacked
numerous family members
friends
a home that we did not ever have a fear of losing
and a reason not too slaughter innocent victims of the vampire race...
we would fight to the death...and we do...
And as you can see, my sister, Widow is a were-wolf...
Lydian's P.O.V:
The next few seconds were all just another blur of time that wooshed past me, along with many charging were-wolf soldiers ferociously slicing anything in their way with weapons...and claws and teeth, and anything else possible. Then, as quickly as it had passed me, time slowed down thickly around me. Shapes not near enough to hurt me were mixed together in a nonexistent blur that thudded to a beating rythem...of death.
With hate seeping from my long dead heart, I looked around for an object to vent upon.
My silver and narrowed eyes, framed by black lashes, cruelly locked onto the viscious gaze of what would eventually become my sister.
I HATED her.
I hated everything about her. I hated her for the envy I felt when her overly fast pulse pounded it's way into my ears. I hated her for her confidence that she could dispose of me like just so many others of her ruthless kind had done before. I even hated the war-paint brushed like blood on her mocking face as she growled a rumbling crescendo.
To me, she suddenly became the utter symbol of the whole were-wolf race. She. Needed. To. Die.
And...the were-wolves and vampires were at war with one another. It had been going on for a while, and both sides knew no reason to stop it.
Widows P.O.V:
With thoughts of long dead ones in my head I roared out my hate towards her. She stared at me, her steely eyes sparking with hatred equaling my own. We charged and, shrieking, I whipped my double bladed sword out of it's sheath right before we met on the already blood-stained grass that was trampled beneath us. The howls of my brethren around me, both victorious and pain-filled dying ones, urged me forward. She lept forward too, with equal strength, just controlled, unlike my wild unreigned power that ruled me at that moment. Her hair was stuffed into a black beanie keeping it out of her pale face so she could aim precisely, all except for a few black, whispy strands that floated mockingly in front of her sneering face. I snarled, the tips of her hair were dyed silver, making it all too plain that everything she stood for was my death. (silver kills were-wolves)But that was not what roughly shook me loose from all of my remaining sanity. It was her eyes. They were silver.
It was as if her very purpose for being born was to harm my kind.
PREY.
Lydian's P.O.V:
A second before I lost all of my control I took in her appearance, searching for weak spots. Swirling pieces of black material encompassed her lithe frame, that was flying at me rapidly. A hatefull snarl twisted her lips, revealing bone-crushing fangs. He face was tatooed with red war paint, symbolizing the blood that we have taken. And the same colored revenge that they were living for. Her hair was down, with many blood-red feathers tied into her black locks. Personally, I found the hair-do to be quite interesting.
The front was a pair of angel-wings that hung all the way down to her chin, framing her face. These hairs were streaked with red paint too, making my resentment for her grow. The rest of her hair was spiked wildly in all directions, no more than three inches long, and spattered with more red paint.
Oh, how I longed for her death.
I snapped out my two foot-and-a-half longknives and parried a backwards thrust from shining metal. I noted her weapon of choice, a steady double bladed sword. It looked as if someone had stuck two swords together, handle to handle. And as she twirled it from side to side, effortlessly, I rejoiced that I would finally be in a battle worthy of my expertise.
The next few periods of time were all blurred. A sudden jab would come at my side in the shape of a longsword, a foot or claw would swipe at me, all the while she spitted and hissed and snarled her rage out at me. As I noticed that this battle was not tipping into either of our hands(we were equally matched)I decided to kick things up a notch. I almost let myself laugh at what her face would look like when my plan was revealed. As she made a well-aimed sweep at my side, howling, I did the unexpected. I twirled away from the blade, on tip-toe, swords crossed in front of my chest in an x. Twirled right up until my face was only a few centimeters apart from hers, smirking. Before her face could register the shock and surprise of my sudden movements, I whispered something. "Shalleh Durmafi"
Then, before she could react to the hiddeously cruel statement Imade, I swiveled and ran, knowing that she would follow. I ran right into the very heart of this devilish battle that raged around us. I was right, heavy footfalls resounded in my slightly pointed ears, echoing the heated need for revenge that powered her after me like a missile.
I looked behind me,quickly, judging her speed and wondering if I needed to pick up my own pace. After all, I had just uttered the worst name in the were-wolf language...to her face. She's probably not very happy right now.
But before I turned my head back around, to see where I was going, I ran into someone. And fell backwards...right onto my enemy...and what was soon to be my sister.
I whipped around, bracing myself for a dig in the ribs with a boot or something of the sort. But then I saw her face.
Her face reflected my own when, in another battle, I was forced to watch my own brother brutally murdered. She sat immobile, frozen as feet stomped by us, ignoring us completely.
I heard a groan behind me and turned to see who I had knocked over, ready to attack if it was a were-wolf.
I sort of wished it was.
I had knocked over...
Dracula's son.
Widow's P.O.V:
Dad...
My beloved father was fighting the leader of all the evil that has ever and will ever be bestowed upon my race.
Dracula.
But that was not what bothered me.
What bothered me was the fact that my dad, my only family member left...
was losing.
His screams of heart-wrenching pain will forever echo in the empty depths of my heart.
Lydian's P.O.V:
I had just, accidently, commited the most highest act of treason any vampire could ever do.
I had harmed a royal blood member.
And I knew the price to pay.
And so, with thoughts of my sentence in my pounding head I looked over, dreadfully at him.
He looked back at me, stunned, through torquise orbs. He appeared to be my age, and at this moment he was looking fearfully up at his father who was currantly waging war with the leader of the were-wolves back to me. As if he couldn't decide who to look at.The moonlight reflected off of his pale skin and, looking at his stick-thin arm, I couldn't help but think he looked a little sickly. But a splatter of blood that rained stickily onto my face and his brought me back to my surroundings with a snap.
Dracula had knocked the were-wolf's sword out of his claws, smirking cruelly. Then, brutally, he swung a stinging blow to the were-wolf's head. The silver sword reflecting the greedy glint in his eyes when he saw the blood spray everywhere.
No one else bothered the two master fighters, this was only their battle. Not even allies were allowed to help them. I shifted, uneasily, finally noticing that the Prince's son was still staring at me.
Many a time I think back to this particular moment, not sure of what I feel about it.
But, knowing that not moving on a battle field could mean death, I helped him up after rising myself. Temporarily forgetting the enemy that lay, defeated(mentally) on the ground behind my turned back.
All of this happened in about three seconds.
Then all hell broke loose.
Widow's P.O.V:
It was as if my mind had elected a voice to comment and explain every action before me.
My father's bloody sword was lifted clean out of his callused hands(from all of the fighting) and sent spinning off into the distance.
His yellow/amber eyes widened in anger...and despair.
His sluggish heartbeat was all that I could hear, despite the screams and the swords clanging about me.
Time slowed, painfully drawing out the scene that ripped and chewed my insides in despair.
Dad tried to fend off the next attack, but it was so rapid, there was no hope.
The sound of his head being hacked into with a cold silver blade was soon followed by a thump as his bloody frame fell onto the grass beneath.
Something fractured inside of me.
As Dracula waltzed away, I crept up to my dead father and licked the blood off of his still warm scalp. Tasting the heavy, metallic taste that kept my enemies alive, as salty tears trickled down my face, I couldn't stop thinking about vampires.
I didn't care that they were hurting the were-wolf race as much anymore. I only cared that, if I had any power left in my bones, I would slaughter them all and laugh once it was done.
That was when my tear-stained face turned to glare at Dracula's son and MY enemy, I breathed in a rattled, shaky breath. And then I let MYSELF go.
Even now, I'm not sure how it happened, but what happened, happened...and I wouldn't change it for the world.