"What do you mean there's nothing you can do!" Amelia Grace screamed; she could feel her blood pressure rising as the room began to spin. The white-haired witch had rushed to the elders of her coven as soon as her doctor called with the results; returning Ovarian Cancer is not a bit of news you want to receive as a cancer survivor, but Amelia knew she could turn to the Elders magic to heal her this time. After the first struggle with chemo and almost dying, there was no way they would deny her help. She was wrong.
"Its Law, Amelia," answered a wrinkled woman, hair thinning and skin darkened from ages out in the sun. Her sapphire eyes looked into the young witch's soul as tears threatened to pour from Amelia's eyes. "No witch has control over life and death, we already broke that rule by allowing you to be treated by chemotherapy last time, but this time my dear, we believe that the universe is telling you it's your time," her voice was gentle but stern as the rest of the elders nodded their heads.
"But Grandmother," Amelia cried out, tears flooding down her face as she tried to hold in the sobs that shook her body. It felt like she had been slapped in the face; most witches lived to two hundred and fifty, but Amelia was only twenty-three, and she had so much to live for in life.
"That's enough, Amelia Grace," warned her grandmother, shooting a stern look before calling the meeting to a draw, leaving the dying witch as she began to feel herself sink into nothingness. How could they deny her life? She was the descendent of the Great Witches, women who conquered the Night Walkers and birthed the shape-shifting warriors. She was going to be the new regent of the coven; she was born to rule. So she followed every rule; she stayed in line even when dying years ago; they didn't realize she had a way out, but she kept herself confined to keep them satisfied. "Fuck this!" Amelia growled, determined for a chance, a chance only one person could give her.
"Hello?" spoke a calm voice on the other line; a slight chill went down Amelia's spine, rehearing the ancient doctor again. The last time they had spoken, she was bald, skin and bone, barely living. He was her doctor; he had seen her through all the treatments and the effect they had on her body; they both knew she was close to death, so he had offered her something that most mortals couldn't refuse, but Amelia wasn't a mortal. She was forced to deny the immortal doctor's offer.
"Carlisle, I'm dying," the witch spoke, her voice breaking as she clung to the payphone, the crumpled up business card on the floor as she sobbed, letting out all the frustration in the phone booth. They both talked for what seemed like hours, discussing her condition and what the consequences would be of her taking his offer, but Amelia didn't care. In her eyes, her family, her coven, the people she always learned to rely on betrayed her. She was young, she had fought so hard the first diagnosis, and now here they were refusing to let her fight again. No, Amelia's life was in her hands, and it was her turn to decide her future. "I want to become a vampire," Amelia confirmed, sealing her fate for the rest of her life.