thanks po sa mga bagong readers ^___^
+ yays for you all ♥
medyo takot lang ako kasi i intend the later chapters (mga bandang dulo) to be a little bloody @__@; pero may onting romance rin. kaya lang... er... kakaiba yung gusto nung girl.
but have i seen this somewhere??
as far as i know, wala pang ganitong plot. :0 but seriously, meron? saan?
CHAPTER 1~
I. THROUGH MY FAULT;;mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
I’m a vampire, Celia thought, feeling for the first time the gravity of her situation.
I’m sure of it.It was almost a week and she was still as reclusive as ever, refusing to go out with her friends. She had covered her windows with her mother’s thickest curtains and her coats. She frequently slept in the mornings (which she used to do before, since the parties she went to usually started at midnight and ended at dawn, so it wasn’t a big change for her).
The little details all seemed to piece together: how she suddenly liked dinuguan, the puncture wounds on her neck, sensitivity to light, how she found that she could see clearly in the dark, how she had accidentally cut herself and the wound had healed itself just minutes after.
But, the biggest hitch was that
she couldn’t see her reflection.
At first, she thought that she was just having vision problems. She ignored it but when she sat beside her brother while he was watching the TV, she could see
his reflection reflected on the monitor’s screen but not
hers. She had read enough vampire books to know the signs of vampirism.
Okay, so she didn’t sparkle in the light like the vampires she read about in Anne Rice and Stephanie Meyer’s books.
And she wasn’t repelled by garlic, by roses, by seeds or even by crucifixes.
She also didn’t feel the need to kill the next person who came her way.
At least not yet, she thought with a shudder.
She was confused but Celia was determined to do something about it. Turning on her computer, she typed “vampires” in the search engine and numerous hits came up. One offered information on how to “reverse vampirism”. Warily, she clicked the link.
Contrary to the literary tradition created by Bram Stoker, there is no precedence in folk belief to support the notion that it is necessary for the victim of a vampire to drink the blood of the vampire in order to become a vampire himself. But, quite to the contrary, there are cases where the blood of the vampire was used to cure his victim of the illness inflicted by the vampire and/or to prevent the victim from becoming a vampire himself after he dies.
So that part was true enough. She didn’t remember drinking Leon’s (
oh god I’m going to kill him when I see him!) blood. And since Leon was now in Romania, she couldn’t ask him to please give her some of his blood to cure herself. She continued reading. The article basically said that drinking a vampire’s blood would cure you and baking bread using vampire’s blood (
how disgusting could you get?) would also be effective. A paragraph caught her attention:
In both Romania and Rhode Island, there was also a related practice: fumigation by the smoke from the burning heart or corpse.
In her article, The Vampire in Romania cited above, Agnes Murgoci wrote that, in the Romananti district:
“The heart was cut out, and one piece after another burnt. Last of all the heart was burnt and those who came near so that the smoke passed over them, and protected them from evil.”
Having her heart cut out and being burnt didn’t appeal to her. She shut off her computer and was thinking about what she was going to do for the rest of her (after)life when she heard a cry.
“
ATE! ATE CELIA! HELP!”
Freddy! She ran downstairs and saw her little brother crying, his hand trapped between sliding glass doors. The glass was broken, for some reason, and Freddy had tried to dislodge his hand but it had only caused his other hand to bleed and the more he struggled to get his hand free, the worse the situation got. She could see his tissue and the shards of glass that clung to it.
When Celia was a child, she was scared of blood. She would close her eyes whenever she saw blood; it nauseated her. And whenever she had blood tests or shots, she refused to look but still grew pale and often threw up. It came as a surprise to her that while she was afraid of Freddy’s blood, she longed for it at the same time.
“
Freddy...”
The little boy was crying. The blood loss was making him pale. “
Ate Celia, please help me...”
Celia stared at him. She grabbed a thick glove from the kitchen counter and pulled the door, freeing the boy’s hand. Freddy was crying softly, and asking for their mother, who was working. Celia could feel her heart beating inordinately fast and her breath hitching in her throat. She was hungry, so damn hungry...
“
Freddy... Come here...” She said, holding out a hand to the boy.
He obeyed wordlessly, hugging his sister. She held his hand delicately, and raised it to her lips. She could smell the heady, intoxicating scent of fresh blood and it was making her dizzy. She took a tentative lick at his wound and liked the taste. She carefully removed the glass shards, not minding the boy’s wince of pain.
“
I’m hungry Freddy, so hungry,” she whispered, her lips pressed to the boy’s wound. He was trying to pull his hand away, but she gripped it tightly. “
Just a small taste,” she pleaded. She bit into her brother’s flesh, the throbbing of her heart and the delicious pump of blood echoing in her ear, reverberating in her body, enough to reduce her brother’s cries of pain to a distant echo.
So delicious...She drank the blood hungrily, exploring the wound with her tongue, revelling in the soft tissues and ---
--- it didn’t seem fresh anymore. Something had changed.
Frowning, she wiped her mouth with her hand and was brought back to reality. She looked at her brother, his skin pallid and his face contorted in an expression of pain and shock. The realization of what she had done hit her.
“
Freddy! Freddy! I’m so sorry,” she cried, hugging him. She pressed the glove gently into his wound, applying firm pressure, but she couldn’t feel his pulse anymore. Shaken, she tried to dial their mother’s number on the phone, but what could she tell her?
I’m sorry, I killed your son?
Changing out of her blood soaked clothes; she knew what she had to do.
----
Fr. Matthias, the parish priest of St. Michael’s Goodhope Parish, was taken aback by the young girl who was breathless and looked disturbed. He recognized her as one of the newer immigrants in their town. She rarely went to Mass, but here she was, begging for a confession in the middle of the night.
“
We’re not holding confessions right now, but you can come tomorrow in the afternoon,” he told her.
She shook her head and her voice was laced with despair.
“
No, Father, I have to confess now,” she implored.
Curiosity got the best of the priest as he led the trembling girl into the confessionals. He bade her to sit, and she began, conjuring words that she had almost forgotten from disuse:
“
Forgive me Father for I have sinned. My last good confession was almost six years ago.”
She was silent, but at length, she continued. Her voice was barely audible.
“
I am guilty of the sin of murder.”
TO BE CONTINUEDdisclaimer: the parts in quotes are taken from
Monstrous, an online encyclopedia on monsters. (:
