With these eyes, I will watch
It was a weird sensation when she could no longer consider herself a part of the living. For the first few days since she regained consciousness, she was unable to part with what she recognised as denial. It felt unreal. Did she still have a soul? Because deep down inside she almost felt empty, like there was something that was supposed to be here. Something that would verify to her that what had happened was not true. Did her continued existence alone now not prove to her, and everybody she knew, that she really was a freak? For real, this time. Just like her uncle had always told her. She did not know a whole lot about vampires, but she knew they drank blood.. and drink blood she did. That was why she toyed with the idea that she was now a real vampire, and she sure as hell knew that they were not considered normal by any means.
There had been many times in her past when she could not fall asleep at nights simply because she thought she could not feel or hear her heart as her ear was pressed against the hard fabrics of her floor. She could not deny that it had been scary, thinking, and not knowing if she was dying or if it was normal for everyone. She had never had anyone to confide in these thoughts before, nor did she expect that it would miraculously change now. Thus she contradicted: she could probably never die in her sleep now no matter how hard her body tried, or at least not from a stupid heart failure.. Well, unless she considered a wooden stick brutally shoved up her chest as heart failure. Ah, such a nasty thought.
Having allegedly died once already, she did not fear death itself so much anymore. After all, it had been a bit like falling asleep – considering the circumstances, it had been a rather painful sleep and not something she wanted to do again! Truthfully though, it was not as barren and lonely as she had expected. She was hardly conscious enough to remember the details of her death anyway.. That (and if she truly was a vampire) was probably why her fears had shifted and she now reluctantly admitted to instead fear the various causes that could lead to her "true" death.
The one person who first introduced her to such fear was, and she could have seen it coming from a mile away, her uncle. Knowing the sadistic nature that he truly held towards her, she knew that he took great pleasure from seeing her in agony. He would come awhile now and then to feed her. Notably at the sunniest days of summer, he would leave the cupboard door wide open because he knew.. Oh, boy did he learn fast, he knew how much she detested the sunlight. He also knew she would never - not even from a promise of freedom that she would leave her cot. It was to her a kind of minor torture. Such a shame that he always remembered, every time the light began to fade, he remembered to close and lock her beautiful door.
Sometimes when he opened her door she would hiss, not at him of course, she never dared to. She could let it slip now and then accidentally, but he always had some kind of hard instrument ready to whack her with from a distance. Rather she would attempt to threaten the light itself, scowl irritable and sometimes she found herself grumbling akin to an angry cat. All of this was directed at what his large frame did not manage to block from the wall opposite her whenever he squatted at the entrance. Just in case it should ever attempt to enter her domain further.
Having come to terms with the fact she turned into something non-human, she noticed in spite that it did not discourage her uncle's hatred towards her at all. In fact, it almost seemed to her that he felt even more disgust than he ever had before. She had quickly learned that he still did not fear to startle her with a slap to her cheeks, because it always popped the bubble which was the trance the sunlight put her under, and so she became docile. While she was now, sadly, more resilient than ever before – so, too, did the hits grow harder and more brutal. She guessed that this was one of those win-loss situations, or, however the phrase went. It was a good thing that she healed fast now.
She had not been allowed the pleasantly warm juice that she tasted the first time after she woke up undead. Should have expected it - they were the Dursleys after all, they always had some way or another that ended with her in a bad mood. They never went out of their way to purchase anything for her, not even when she knew there existed plenty of blood filled meals. Instead, greasy old, cold, blood, most likely leftovers from packaged meat in a plastic container was what she was given. She had a guess that they drained the packaged meat (purchased from a normal supermarket) of any extract and stored it in a bottle hidden deep in their little fridge, away from their own human-cuisine. Perhaps they had been forced into eating a little bit more healthy food, now, because of her situation... but she really hoped they had not. Once every other day she was allowed this lard of a liquid.
It was one of the wonders about her that caused confusion in her little head. How, now, did she manage so well on so little nutrient when before, when she was human, it was always, always, so difficult. Just a couple of days and she would have no energy at all. Not at all like today, and the days since she turned, where she would feel just as energised as the day before. Yes, it was true that she indeed craved sleep, but only because there was not a whole lot to do. And she was hungry, all the time. That food was not ever enough to satisfy her. But as circumstances stood, what could she do about that? She was simply a child.
Such went the days, and, for the most part, she was left alone in her little room. The locked door would reveal in its cracks by the floor, a passage of time that she could no longer feel; bright and dark, the only indication that told her a new day ended and a new night began. Sounds would resonate in her ears telling of passing cars, of footsteps, of inaudible talking – all of these were means as well in telling time. Thus would she sit, and lie, and wait, but what she was waiting for even she did not know.
One night, in particular, she had awoken from her slumber by a strong and foul stench. The eyes she held which could see well in the dark, revealed to her by the door was hung a bundle of garlic. The terrible smell had brought tears, such was the keen sense she now possessed, and she would hide them of course. Put them away somewhere far, far away, but that exposed to her a new problem: there was no place she could hide it. So she left them suspended as they were and tried to forget about it all together. It was hard for her and, in the end, she dug her head deep down the dirty jeans that she called a pillow - and that was when she realised it: she did not even need to breathe.
With this mouth, I will speak
When the garlic had been hung there for a week it was the first time that she stepped outside her cupboard. She had awoken from a deep sleep as she was dragged by her feet from her safety and into the corridor that she knew was always here. If it was an intent to finally kill her or not, she did not know. The fact remained that after she stopped wrestling with herself on the floor, in a beat to her cousins' rhythmic laughter, she understood that she was alive still. It felt so good to stand up fully and stretch. Many joints popped as she did so, and she could feel as her legs sprang to life when blood suddenly filled them in a joyous warmth that she had long forgotten.
She hoped that he regretted what he had done. He had, after all, maybe unknowingly, presented to her a form of freedom that she did not know she possessed. She was happy to know, although she felt severely weakened, that indirect sunlight - such as these reflected from trees, and walls, and grass, did not exactly seem lethal to her. That was something she already expected, though, from her previous near-encounters. Although, it invoked a strikingly painful throbbing in her head, and it was a little difficult to see in all this brightness. Goodness no, she much preferred a nice cold and dark room to this. Ah, something like a window, perhaps, could suddenly reflect stray rays of light and she would rather not know what might happen, then, were she to be struck by that.
She was not foolish to experiment further and waltz outside in direct sunlight, and she sincerely hoped that Dudley would not attempt to drag her out there with him next time one day, either. The aggressive leer that she presented to her cousin, after that thought, made him flinch. Even though she was a head shorter.
"Who are you really?" The boy asked, but he had begun walking back into the kitchen from where he came without waiting for an answer. At the doorstep, he stopped and turned around, glancing sideways at her: "I don't recognise you." Before she was able to think of an answer he was long gone, laughing at something that only he could see on the television.
She stomped up the stairs and into the bathroom instead, turned the light on and stared into the mirror. Long. Seconds became minutes as she watched the face that was before her. She looked down to herself to make sure she was here, hands that, up until now, she thought were her own were shaking. That glare which stared at her through the mirror? It was not her, it had an expression that she did not understand.
She grabbed the hand mirror that her aunt always kept in the shower. Long and dark hair framed her pale face like was usual. An ugly scar with the shape of a lightning bolt still greeted her, like she remembered. When she opened her mouth, behind her lips there were two very sharp canine teeth that she never got to have a look at until now. Eyes that looked baggy and tired, previously confined behind glasses she did no longer need to wear, but that was not it... It was deep inside the pupils that it reside. Deep down in the darkest of black, that thing which was surrounded by a deep green ring seemed to draw her in, further and further.
She suddenly had the urge to blink and it felt like a spell was broken. She turned around hastily, back to the mirror on the wall and the mirror mimicked her. But the mirrors actions were different. Almost threatening, like Dudley's question just now.
"I don't know you." She said angrily to the mirror, her voice was raspy in the underutilised throat and she forced down the urge to clear it of any mucus. The mirror simply watched her but did not seem to agree, suddenly asked in response: "Is that true?"
"Ridiculous! Impossible question! Stop asking!"
She heard a woman screech her name from downstairs, followed by a dominant "Get down here!" as she watched as the girl in the mirror jump. She punched the light switch and felt relieved that she did not need to see any more. Did not need to listen to stupid questions. Instead, she walked out of the tiny room and down the stairs, idly noting how cold the floor felt to her bare feet, aunt Petunia held a bottle for her.. It was not fair.
She sat down hard on the thin mattress when the lovely door was slammed shut, and she could hear the rattling of keys as the bony woman locked her in from the outside. It was not fair that her aunt was scared of her, she could tell by the look she gave her. It said to her, don't ever touch me or my son. It was not fair that she was allowed to say that when she could never – ever – dare say that herself. It got her thinking, however, about what her aunt would even do if she did touch them? No, what could her aunt do? It was no secret that sad little Harry was much stronger now, if only in body, that she wondered what actually could she do?
It was such a chilling realisation that she stopped eating for a second. About school? Where could she go when she grew up? Was she to be stuck dependant on these... monsters until the day she died? Wait a minute, would she ever die? And.. would she even grow up at all?
Dear reader,
It has been a few months for this chapter to come out, and the reason is fairly simple: I'm not interested in writing any more. This is also the reason why it was such a brief chapter this time.
Thank you for reading, and sorry if you enjoyed it.. I can't say for certain that I will continue, and to be honest I have no idea where I wanted to go with this story in the first place.