Hunt? These people were mad. If I, the vermin son of the army general who could not at all lift an axe when he was twelve, could hunt those terrible creatures, then world peace had been achieved, and mules flew and...You may have heard enough. It was impossible and foolish to place your hopes on a grand failure, whomever blood he may have had transfused to himself. I stood. "I beg your pardon but I believe I may die earlier on this path than if I were to wait out the painless existence granted to me."
"Living is suffering, Mr. Diggory," the melodic voice chided. "You will not outrun the clutches of darkness but look well into yourself; and a source of strength will always present itself."
Women were truly the worst terroriste; worse than Jacobins supporters were. Those preachy moralistic words and the loftiness that carried them lit the fuse that lay for years inside me. I exploded. "What do you know?! You've never lived inside of a dark and dirty room because your father was ashamed of you! You've never been called a failure, chastised because you were not born the way you were expected to be," Alice's face went pale. A scream escaped her lips, I think. But I did not hear; only fury and hate whispered into my ears. Kill her. Kill them. Kill your father. Kill them all. Leave none alive. Voices that I had repressed for years reared their heads and directed me to obey them, to give myself to them. Alfred entered the room, an annoyed expression on his face. It vexed me that he was not cowering in fear so I lunged at him, the mahogany cracking under my feet. He pulled out a pistol and muttered something. I did not hear it nor did I feel bullet hit; it all seemed to have happened in a dream, nothing more than a nightmare that lasted more than what was normal.
***
The ambient light of the chandelier that hung overhead greeted me when I awoke. I was lying on one of the pale brown couch while Alice was perched on the latter. She took to sipping tea, her bleached hair falling in locks as she drank and poured, each movement made with grace and elegance. She looked at me and I realized that she was the princess I had seen in my brief flashes of consciousness, her rubied gaze no longer dressed in the hostility she showed before my faint.
"You are awake?" she asks, setting down the ornate marble cup with her delicate and womanly fingers.
"Yes," I croak. "I am awake."
"Very good."
The conversation ended, and a sullen air filled the common room we stayed in. I sat up and looked around the room, wondering if there was any change: windows let in faint moonlight that glowed a sleek silver, small fragments of wood were scattered on the carpet floor, adding to the labyrinthian design. I believe I caused it but I do not remember why.
My gaze fell back on the dame that sipped tea. I knew her legs were crossed even though the dress she wore hid it. The precise movements of her arm when she flicked her hair or when she held the teacup in poise made it that much harder to look away. She was beautiful. It was like watching a performer play a piece, no wasted actions, no wasted time. Just serene playing and performance.
"You like to look at women, Mr. Diggory?" She removed her attention from the tea, a wicked grin on her face. It contrasted her prim and proper attitude greatly but a prick of delight pounded in my chest. What it was, I could not say.
"What…no…" I stagger and her eyes flickered in amusement. "Do not flatter yourself, Ms. Alice, for I am a man with much options…And if I were to choose to look at a woman, it would not be you."
Her eyes twitched but she caught herself and remained the composed look she bore the first time we met, "Denial is not one of your strengths, Mr. Diggory. You are flushed red even now."
Was I? I put a palm on my cheeks to see if it was true, and sure enough, a faint burning was on my face, and I feared what my countenance would have looked with this. So, I looked away and laid down on the couch again, hoping to rid the flaring of my face.
"What happened?" I asked Alice, remembering the event that had happened beforehand. "To me, I mean."
"You transformed, Mr. Diggory," she said. "You let yourself be controlled by your anger towards me, and you transformed."
"What do you mean 'transformed'?"
"Exactly what I mean by transformed," she replies bluntly. I heard the distinct sound of tea being poured into a cup, and the wafting of earl grey left me wanting. "You turned half-vampire; your wings sprouted, which shocked even Virgil, and if it were not for Alfred's intervention," the silver bullet, I thought, "we would have been forced to eliminate you."
"It was your blood." I mumble. My head was filled with nothing but questions for these people but I knew better than to push a person's buttons. "Your blood made me into what I am right now."
It was not said with contempt nor hatred but a realization, a slight accusation perhaps but powerless and defeated.
"Correct, Mr. Diggory," she said, rising from the couch. I did not expect her to hear it for it was a soft whisper. "And if you are ready, Virgil and Alfred will want to speak with you. Preparations, I believe." She left the room and I was alone, lying on the couch. Preparations. She had said it with much pride and honor that I was left wondering what it would be. I wondered away, soon it wound off to visions of my mother, memories that were not mine. To my father, the tyrant still adoring my other brothers and sisters. My siblings, perhaps celebrating my absence or, in the off chance, wondering where I had gone to and what had become of me. To my retainer, what had happened to him in these past few hours? Memories and thoughts of the people that, even briefly, had been part of my life before, before it was split into two. Before I was turned into a monster. The door creaked open.