Chapter II- Difference
How does one describe pain? My pain is like nothing I'd ever believed possible. It's everywhere, licking at my insides, like flames, burning me to ashes. Only I never crumble. I just lie here, tortured by this agonising pain.
How long has it been? Months? Years?
I gave up on screaming when my voice gave out. No one came.
Acid is poured down my throat, leaving it raw and burning. Like someone has been rubbing it with rough sandpaper.
I've settled into a curled up ball. My eyes are clenched shut, tears burn my cheeks. My teeth are clenched, and I'm clutching my knees as hard as I can, trying to hold onto something, where there is nothing but suffering. My heart is beating so fast its almost a blur to my ears.
Is this death? Am I in hell? What could I ever have done, to warrant such a punishment?
The burning inside me has grown, engulfing me entirely within its grip. I hold my breath. I am shaking all over with the physical exertion of so much pain. The flames seem to have reached their peak, and I open my mouth to scream with agony, only no sound comes.
Then, finally. The end must be near. The pain begins to dull at an excruciatingly slow pace. I bite my lip, willing for the torment to be over. My heart seems to stutter. It probably couldn't take all the stress of the pain. The burning ebbs away, at last, leaving only a sharp burning pain in my throat. My heart stops. Death. I don't dare move, just in case the burning flares up again. Whoever said death was peaceful? I mouth the word, death, trying to get a grip on it.
Slowly, slowly, I unclench my eyes, opening them, where am I?
Death is beautiful, if painful. Wonderful, sparkling particles float around the air, catching the light and spreading a new spectrum of light across the room. Colours and objects are sharper and clearer, sharper lines and curves, clearer differences.
I reach out, with a tentative finger to touch the thick, plush red carpet which I'm lying on.
My hand is pale white. I blink. So different from the charred black bone I'd been expecting.
I pull back my hand, clenching it into a fist. That lone pain in my throat, once such a relief from the pain I'd experienced before, seems to be sharpening, stabbing at my throat. Craving something to satiate it. I gasp, releasing the breath I'd forgotten that I'd been holding, clawing at the carpet, desperate for that burning thirst to be satisfied. But I don't know how. I hear footsteps approaching from far off, moving faster than they ought to be. Come to welcome me to death?
The door opens.
I twist to a standing position, quicker than I'd thought possible. Unsure of my visitors.
Three figures enter, one man and a female and a young boy. All seem distinctly familiar. Behind them, remaining outside the room, are four hulking figures in dark robes. They look at me, warning in their eyes. I need to be on my guard from those.
Almost unconscious of my actions, I bend my knees slightly, as though preparing for a fight, but for some reason, I don't feel afraid.
The man who entered seems to notice this, and smiles. I don't. The man has long, jet black hair and pale skin. His eyes are milky red.
I remember.
A strange hissing sound escapes my lips as I recollect, and I back off, crouching further into a fighting stance, my feet apart. My throat burns.
"Charlotte." The man says. I vaguely recognise my name. An unearthly growling rips through the silence, and It takes me a moment to realise that the sound is coming from me.
I suddenly notice how afraid the woman next to the man looks. She's standing right up against him, her hand constantly touching his black coat. She's shooting frightened looks toward the men outside the room. The man reaches and pats her hand reassuringly, without taking his eyes off me.
"Where am I?" I hiss and my own voice startles me. It sounds terribly threatening, but higher, sweeter than my proper voice.
The man seems to notice my surprise. "Charlotte," he says again. The burning in my throat is building up and I find it hard to concentrate on the man's words over the craving my body has.
So thirsty.
Subconsciously, my hand reaches up to my throat. The man smiles.
"Yes, you must be very thirsty. I apologise for not realising, it's been many centuries since we've had a newborn amongst us."
My brow furrows as I absent-mindedly register what he's said, but the pain still consumes most of my attention.
The man reaches out to get my attention. My body seems to automatically interpret this as a threat and I remove my hands from my throat, growling. It sounds torturous. I can barely believe its coming from me. What has happened to me. This thirst is unbearable.
"Come," The man says, speaking calmly, despite my display, although his woman seems terrified. "Master!" she hisses under her breath, but the man ignores her.
"We will give you something to help against the burning." he says gently.
I stop growling, that sickly craving filling me again. I force myself to nod, my hands up at my throat again.
I follow the man out of the room, down one of the many corridors.
The change in smell comes so suddenly, and unexpectedly, going from the airy, light smell of somewhere high up, to a smell so overpowering that I could no longer control myself. A smell so powerful that I barely realise that I'm leaving my guides behind.
Sweet, light, with a slightly creamy orangey tang. Sharp, but still soft, I know that this is the scent of my cure. I don't know what it is, all I know is that I must taste it, drink it, consume it. This will stop the burn. This is what my body craves, my body needs.
Everything is a blur.
The scent is not difficult to follow. It's strong, and the closer I get, the more desperate I am, until I am running, running for my life, the burning increasing.
I am no longer the one who is in control of my body.
The smell reaches its peak by a large metal door. A large lock hangs by it.
Locked.
My relief lies behind there. Some small, very small, part of me looks at the door in despair, knowing that I can never get past that without a key. The current dominant part of me doesn't stop to think. I grasp the door, ripping it apart, destroying it with complete ease, as though I were ripping a piece of paper.
I don't even register what is in the room. Instinctively, I reach across as fast as I can, toward the smell. My fingers grasp something surprisingly warm, and delicate. My fingers break the thin film which protects my relief and I bend down my head, drinking the liquid.
The main part of me barely registers the taste, but gulps down the liquid faster than would be humanly possible, drinking desperately to satiate the craving, the burning. The smaller, weaker part of me registers a taste, more delicious than anything I've ever tasted. It tastes warm, creamy, but still clear, clean. The orangey tang is there, along with thousands of other tastes which my mind barely manages to register before I am finished. I can feel the deliciously warm liquid sloshing around in my stomach, warming me from the inside.
But its not enough.
The burning remains, only slightly dulled. Barely aware of my actions, reacting instinctively, like an animal, I smell the presence of more of my cure. I reach out, grasping for more. This time I bite into it, sucking out the sweet liquid, gripping the delicate container harder than it can take, breaking this one as well. That small part of me, defiantly not in control, vaguely registers that I should be more careful with them, so as not to waste any of the drink. The part of me in control, however, doesn't have time to think of this, and even less time to respond to it. Drinking in gulps, swallowing so fast that this one also is empty in no time.
After what seems like seconds, there is none left in the room. I feel heavy, If not fully content. The burning has been reduced to a dull burn. I begin to regain my senses.
I am sitting on a cold, stone floor. The room is windowless, but for some reason, I am still able to see.
The room looks like the scene of a horrific massacre. Corpses litter the floor. I feel sick. Who could do something so terrible. Confused, I clutch my head. What am I doing here? I take a deep breath. The room doesn't smell like death. In fact, I can still smell that delicious smell of the cure to my craving. It takes me a moment to realise that the smell comes from the bloody marks of the floor by the corpses.
I take a step back, a horrific though sweeping through me.
No!
I look down at myself. My hands are bloody, my clothes torn and streaked with blood. My horror rising, I lift my bloody hands to my nose and take a deep breath. That sweet, creamy taste, the delicious warmth. I moan in horror. I can almost feel my instinctive, uncontrollable side rising again, upon the presence of the smell, but I repress, backing off.
My back hits a cold wall. A scream fills the room, so horrified, despairing, unearthly.
I look about me in terror, realising again, that I am the one making that tortured sound. Me.
I see the man, woman and young boy standing in the doorway to the room with the hulking men behind them.
Kill me now! I want to say. You saw what I did! I've become a monster! But the words don't come. Just that chilling howl of pained despair.
I sink to the ground, reaching up and gripping my head. Mentally exhausted, if not physically. I want to die.
A sudden numbness seems to come over me.
Slowly, I raise my head. The boy is standing over me, his hand, hovering over my shoulder, expression unsure.
Up close, away from the older man, he doesn't look quite so young. Around my age, maybe older. Despite the darkness, he is clearly visible to me.
His hair is like dark chocolate, his skin as pale as mine though he looks slightly flushed. He has dark, purplish bruises beneath his vividly red eyes. Somehow his eyes don't terrify me as much as the man's do.
Tentatively, as though gauging my reaction, the boy reaches down a hand, offering to help me up.
I take it, welcoming the numbness, letting it coat me in a shimmering, hazy mist. He leads me out of the room, and up through the corridors, back to the room in which I woke up. The man and woman follow us, I notice the man shooting the boy strange glances.
When we arrive I sit. The boy remains standing beside me.
The man is still smiling. Sick.
"Charlotte." he crouches down in front of me. To appear less intimidating? Something tells me that I could destroy him easily. I want to scowl, but the numbness inside me is so sweetly relaxing.
"I take it you have realised that you are no longer human."
I don't like this man. Yes! I am a monster. I did notice. Idiot.
"You see Charlotte, your pale white skin, your strength, your... thirst..." He pauses to see how I react, but I feel peacefully numb and don't react.
"...these," he continues, "are all the characteristics of a Vampire."
Now I focus.
"You may not remember, our kind often find it difficult to remember our human life, but four days ago, you were bitten by a vampire and thereby transformed into one yourself."
I get the feeling that the haze is what's causing the numbness. Surely I ought to be at least slightly bothered by this, but somehow, I remain numbly calm.
"I am Aro," The man says, "I, and three other Vampires, lead this Vampire coven. We are the law."
I shudder. Vampires. The thirst, the numb burning in my throat.
Aro smiles at me. "It will take some time for you to get used to this new life. It is important that we remain unknown to the humans, and as you are newborn and inexperienced in controlling your thirst, you will have a mentor who will help you until you are able to control your thirst."
I try to concentrate, but it all seems so surreal. I want to believe that this is all just a dream. That I'll wake up in a minute, feeling very much alive, but something tells me that that will never happen.
Aro looks up at the boy. There is a calculating look in his eyes that I don't like. I detest this man.
"This is Alec." Aro says, his gaze, slinking back to meet mine. "He will take care of you." I felt Alec stiffen beside me. Aro's smile grew.
Aro rises to leave the room.
"Wait" I say. That strange, high, sweet voice coming from my lips, startles me again.
"How is this possible," I hiss, even the numbness can't keep the anger, the uncertainty, the fear from my tone.
"Anything is possible Charlotte." Aro says. He reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small, ornately carved golden mirror. He hands it to me, a small calculating smile playing on his lips.
"Look at yourself. Anything different?"
I don't want to look in the mirror, if not because I'm afraid of what I will see, because he told me to. But slowly, I lift the mirror so its level with my face. At least, I thought it was level with my face. Two, large eyes glare back at me. Both, a brighter, and more vivid red, than any of the others in the room. My hair too, is different. Again, a more vivid red than it was before.
In my horror at what has happened to my face, I hiss, and fling the mirror away from me. Aro reaches up a hand and catches It in mid air.
"That is very valuable." He states, tucking it neatly into his pocket again.
Aro stares at me for a moment, in silence. I wonder what he sees in my face. Loathing of what I have become? Disbelief? I believe he sees more than I understand. He reaches out toward me. I glare at him, backing up against the wall, but the numbing sensation seems to spur, and suddenly I don't seem to care any more.
Aro reaches out, touching my face, and then reaches for my hand.
He doesn't take my hand like any normal person would. Perhaps it is a vampire thing. He grasps it, like he owns it. Like it was his possession, and he now wants it back. The woman is hovering nervously at Aro's shoulder. I wonder what importance she is to him? Anyway, her concern is unwarranted. I think this numbness, now so sweet, could be the undoing of a creature. Aro could destroy me and I don't believe that I would care.
He caresses my hand, gazing at it, a hungry look entering his eyes.
It seems like ages till he releases me. When he does, his gaze is different. He doesn't look at me the way he did before. Something tells me that this man is someone to be careful of. He's not someone I'd like to cross, despite his fragile appearance. He looks at me as though he's seen my soul. As though he knows me implicitly, better than I even know myself.
He gazes at me through wondrous eyes.
"You, are truly an amazing creature, Lotta." He whispers, and his words don't cause a shiver of revulsion to ripple through me as I had expected them to. Instead, I sit passively, staring back at him with my vividly red eyes. Red, like blood.
I don't know what to say, so I remain silent.
"Aro can read every though you have every had, with just one touch." the voice came from above me, and I look up at Alec. It's the first time I've heard him speak. He has a rich, beautiful voice.
I shudder slightly, feeling suddenly very insecure, at the thought that Aro may know me, better even than I know myself.
"What happens to me now, as a vampire." I say, fearing the answer, but needing to know.
"You will firstly need to learn to control your thirst," Aro glanced at Alec, looking thoughtful. "without Alec's help at numbing it."
I furrow my brow confused. The numbness seems to retreat slightly. My mind feels clearer, but with that comes the burning. It's not so bad, the mist still numbs my throat, but less than before, when I felt almost fully sedated.
Aro turns to leave, but before he does, I need to ask one last question.
"Aro," He turns, still smiling.
"Yes child,"
"Who..." I pause, not sure how to phrase my question. "...bit me?"
Aro frowns, his gaze flickering to Alec, whose presence I can still feel hovering beside me.
"Alec bit you, my dear..." He smiles,
"...you see, you were his singer."
I frown. His singer? What on earth does he mean by that?
Aro's smile grows, as though he knows what I am thinking.
"Your blood Lotta. It sang to him." Aro pauses, looking thoughtfully at the two of us, Alec and me.
"Yes Lotta, you are his singer."