Lena took her time. After the maid, Martha, had left her alone with the plain dress, she sighed, standing before the small, grimy mirror mounted on the wall. The dress was simple, a drab, shapeless thing that hung loose around her curves, the sort of dress a spinster might wear. It wasn't her style—far from it—but Lena was nothing if not resourceful. With a few adjustments, she could make it work.
She hiked the hem up, knotting it at her waist to expose her long legs, her legs and panties showing through the makeshift slit. The neckline was modest, but Lena wasn't about to leave it that way. She tugged the fabric down low enough to show a generous amount of cleavage, the bra she still wore peeking out provocatively. With the dress barely clinging to her hips and chest, she sauntered back over to the bed, the loose fabric swaying with her every move. Even in something plain, she made it look more than that. She looked like she was selling something no one could afford to ignore.
She sat on the edge of the bed, cigarette hanging lazily from her fingers, and let out a slow, smoky breath. The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire, and her mind, which had been numb with fatigue and frustration, drifted back to the past. To the life she had lived before she became this—this strange creature walking between the living and the dead.
It was exactly seven years ago, on the 31st of March, 1990. She could still remember that day as though it had been burned into her mind with fire. A mother then, not this creature she had become. She had a husband, two beautiful children, and a house that wasn't much but was theirs. Her daughter, Ellie, was five, bright-eyed and curious. Her son, Charlie, only three, was a little shadow always trailing after his older sister.
That morning, Lena had gotten up early, hearing the whispers in the street about the riot. The Poll Tax riot, they called it. It was a time of chaos, unrest. The conservative government's new tax was causing fury in every corner of the city. People were angry. The tax, a flat rate for every adult regardless of income, was suffocating the working class. Lena and her family were barely scraping by, like so many others. It felt unfair—more than unfair. Cruel. But despite the unrest, her children still needed to be fed. There was no food left at home.
Lena had glanced out the window that morning, catching glimpses of angry mobs gathering near the city center. Signs, chants, people throwing things. It was a warzone out there, but it hadn't quite reached their street. She had tried to avoid the worst of it, sticking to the back alleys and quieter roads. She'd thought she could outsmart the chaos if she just stayed out of sight.
"Ellie, I'll be back soon, I promise," Lena had said, kneeling in front of her daughter. She cupped the little girl's face in her hands, smiling despite the growing dread in her stomach. "You take care of your brother while I'm gone, okay?"
Ellie had nodded, her tiny face scrunched up in seriousness. "Okay, mummy. But don't take too long. Charlie gets scared when you're not home."
Lena had smiled again, brushing a stray lock of hair from her daughter's face. "I won't be long. Just stay inside and lock the door behind me. I love you."
Charlie had clung to her leg, his big blue eyes looking up at her with a mixture of confusion and fear. "Mummy, don't go," he had whispered, his voice trembling.
"I'll be right back, sweetheart," she had reassured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Be good for Ellie."
With that, Lena had left their small flat, locking the door behind her. She had no idea it would be the last time she would see her children the same way.
The streets had been eerily quiet when she first left. Most people were at the riot by Trafalgar Square, protesting, yelling, throwing bricks and bottles. Lena had heard the distant rumble of the crowd as she made her way to the shop, her heart pounding in her chest.
She had managed to avoid the worst of it. Gotten the essentials—milk, bread, some canned goods. She had thought she was in the clear. She was wrong.
It was on her way back home, cutting through a deserted alley, that she had heard it. The faint sound of footsteps behind her. At first, she had thought nothing of it—just some poor soul trying to make it home like she was. But then, the footsteps grew louder, faster. And before she could turn around, something—no, someone—had grabbed her from behind, a cold, vice-like grip clamping down on her shoulder.
She had barely had time to scream before she was slammed against the brick wall of the alley, her groceries spilling onto the dirty pavement.
Her attacker wasn't human. She had known that the moment she looked into his eyes. They were red. Not the red of rage or bloodshot from exhaustion, but an unnatural, glowing red. His skin was pale, deathly pale, and his lips curled into a sinister smile, revealing sharp, glistening fangs.
A vampire.
Lena had heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. But she had never believed them. Not until that moment, when she felt his cold breath against her neck.
"No..." she had whispered, struggling, her body frozen in fear. "Please... I have kids... I have—"
The vampire didn't care. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. With one swift movement, he had sunk his fangs into her neck, the sharp pain piercing through her like a knife.
But he didn't drain her. He didn't kill her. Instead, the world had gone dark, her body growing cold and numb as his venom seeped into her veins. She had felt herself slipping away, losing consciousness, the last thing she remembered being the vampire's cold, cruel smile before everything went black.
When Lena had woken up, she wasn't the same. She wasn't human anymore. She had become one of them. A vampire.