I feel my body slam against the ground, cold and unyielding, but the pain feels distant, like I'm trapped in a fog.
I can't move, but I'm still here, barely. The world around me is dark, and the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind and a distant growl.
Then I hear it.
"Snowflake… You have to wake up."
The voice is familiar, achingly so. My mother.
"Mom?" I croak, though I don't know if I'm speaking or just thinking it.
"You have to wake up, snowflake. Now!" Her voice is urgent, tugging at me like invisible hands trying to pull me back from wherever I am.
But something else pulls me deeper. A sharp, piercing pain at my neck again—teeth sinking into me. It's different this time, harsher, as if draining what little life I have left.
I'm slipping further into the abyss when something cold and thick touches my lips. A drop at first, then more.
Instinct takes over. I grab what feels like a wrist, and the moment my fingers wrap around it, I press it closer. The liquid is… electric, intoxicating, and the more I drink, the more alive I feel.
My heart races, my mind clears, and for a moment, I don't care what it is—I just need more.
The wrist is ripped away so abruptly I nearly fall forward. A growl escapes my throat as my fingers reach out, desperate to grab it again.
When I open my eyes, I'm lying on the ground, my body trembling. For a moment, I can't move, can't think. Then I see it.
A body lies a few feet away, crumpled and unnaturally still. My attacker. His head is twisted at an impossible angle, his eyes wide and staring into nothing.
I recoil, scrambling to sit up as bile rises in my throat.
"You're welcome," Valentine's voice rings out dryly, his golden eyes fixed on me.
"You… did that?" I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
"He was going to kill you," he says simply, as if snapping someone's neck was just another chore.
"I—" My voice catches. My mind is spinning, trying to process everything.
He kneels in front of me, his expression unreadable. "You'll get used to it," he says softly.
"Get used to what?" I snap, my voice breaking. "This? All of this?"
He doesn't say anything, then as if suddenly burnt, I scramble back, my breath catching in my throat as the events of the last few hours flood my mind. "You're dead," I whisper, looking up at him and feeling my fear of him returning.
His gaze follows me as I move, but he doesn't come closer. Instead, he tilts his head, a mix of curiosity and irritation flickering across his face. "What the fuck drove you out here at this hour anyway?"
The harshness in his tone catches me off guard. "Excuse me?" I snap, my fear momentarily replaced by indignation. "You're a dead man! And you're scolding me?"
He shrugs as if my words mean nothing, then stands, brushing off his coat. "And now, so are you."
The ground beneath me feels like it's about to collapse. "What… what are you talking about?" My voice shakes as I inch further away.
"You should've stayed in your cozy little apartment," he says, ignoring my question entirely. "What were you even doing outside at two in the morning?"
"Are you kidding me right now?" I glare at him, fists clenching. "I saw a blonde man playing your violin under the streetlight. I thought it was you."
"So, naturally, you decided to wander into the night like a lamb to the slaughter?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't think—I just… I wanted to know what you are!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "A ghost? A demon? Some undead freak?"
His lips curl into a smirk. "Flattering."
"Answer me!"
"I'm not a ghost," he says casually, as if this conversation isn't unraveling my entire reality.
"Really?" I scoff, gesturing to him. "Because the whole 'I've been dead for centuries' thing kind of screams ghost to me."
"Ghosts aren't real," he says in boredom.
"Oh, but you are?"
He chuckles, the sound low and unsettling. "Do you see your body lying around, little ghost hunter?"
I pause, glancing around instinctively. The street is empty except for us and the now dead man. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not dead in the ghostly, floaty sense," he says, his smirk widening. "You are what I am."
"And what the hell are you?"
"A vampire."
The word hits me like a punch to the gut. I stare at him, waiting for the laugh, the punchline, anything to suggest he's joking. But his expression remains deadly serious.
"That's not possible," I whisper, shaking my head.
"Oh, it's very possible," he says, stepping closer. "And very real."
I want to run, to scream, but my body feels heavy, sluggish. My pulse thunders in my ears, and a sharp, searing pain suddenly explodes through me.
"What's… happening to me?" I gasp, clutching my stomach as the pain radiates outward.
"You're changing," he says, his voice softer now, almost… sympathetic.
"No," I breathe, doubling over. "No, no, no."
The pain is unbearable, like every nerve in my body is on fire. My screams tear through the night, raw and primal.
"Breathe, snowflake," he coos, his voice closer now. He's kneeling beside me, his hands on my shoulders. "You have to focus."
"I can't!" I cry out, my nails digging into the asphalt. "It hurts!"
His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a commanding tone. "You can. Listen to me. Focus on my voice."
But I can't. The pain is too much. My vision blurs, the edges darkening, and I feel myself slipping away again.
"North!" Valentine's voice is sharp, cutting through the haze. But it's too late. The darkness swallows me whole, pulling me under.