Dec. 20th 2011
Happy Holidays, everyone, and a very merry New Years. It has been nearly a year since I last posted on fanfiction, and I was probably going to keep it that way, since juggling school and two jobs certainly hasn't been easy.
The stories on this account are each respectively two to four years old, written in what I like to call the "dark age of fangasm." My writing (I hope) has improved since then, and, with recent events and the opening of some time, I'll be re-doing this.
While this version is virtually plotless and the result of preteen boredom, I'm happy to announce that the new one is going to be exactly seven chapters long with each (hopefully) running 10 thousand words each.
So far, I have half of the first chapter typed up, started early this morning and maybe finished by tomorrow morning. For your gain, I've included an unedited preview of the first chapter.
Idly, she reflected on the actions that had brought her and her Master to this beautiful, but bleak household, folding her arms across her ample chest as she made her way to the fully furnished kitchen. It had been a (supposed) regular mission to the Swiss Alps, where a vampire had raised himself as some sort of God among the village folks, demanding blood sacrifices at the height of every full moon.
It had been a easy, to easy. The vampire, a slim, dark-haired devil by the name of Santiago, was like nothing they had ever seen before. He walked in the full light of day without any harm coming to him, his skin embedded with a crystalline stone that somehow protected him from the otherwise lethal rays, and his eyes had not been the crimson she had come to know (and love), but a blank onyx that had more than a little frightened her. When the job was done (he had died surprisingly easily, despite the foreign nature, but had lacked any sort of blood when it came down to her ripping him apart bit by bit), she had relayed the news to her Master, who had spent the last week in a picturesque cottage whiling away the days with some dreadfully boring books while her and her team had frozen in the blustering snow.
His reaction was startling to her, for she had thought herself an almost expert on his many mood swings. Tinted goggles removed, he had calmly turned to gaze at her, wine coloured eyes steady as he moved through her memories, lingering on a particularly strong image of the vampire standing in the snow, blood trailing down his throat from his latest victim, a little girl of five years. He had turned, then, murmuring only a single word.
"Futu-i."