This is a story about a thousand year old royal vampire and a twenty six year old human woman. They have been bound by fate, the missing half's of their souls belong to each other. Destined lovers with an ending written by the fates themselves.
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"Ya' know, it wouldn't hurt to speak."
What's that sound?
"So, I'm just gonna have to do the speaking for both of us?"
Who's talking right now?
"Listen, pal, you don't gotta look so... Uhm, emo? Yeah! Emo! You look just like that phase I went through!"
Emo?
"Jeez? Not even a smile, my gods what was Annie thinkin' pairing the two of us together?"
Annie???? Who's Annie???
"Oh my gods! A reaction! So why did you look at me murderously right now? Is it because I called her majesty, Annie?"
"Fine, ignore me then, I don't care. Just know that when Annie comes back I'm telling her how much of a poop butt you are."
Poop butt? The fuck? What's happening right now? Why can't I see anything?
"Oh wow! So mature of you! Just disappear into the shadows then, looking at your emo face was making me bored anyways!"
"Ugh, Damien! Come back! I'm so bored."
I stir awake from my slumber and a familiar face comes into view as I blink away the haze. Her coiled hair styled like a ball of voluminous fluff, her glowy chocolate skin, those vibrant purple eyes, and a huge bag of cheese puffs are the first thing I see.
Maisie lounges on a sofa that's a few feet away from me, crunching down on the cheesy snack as she stares at the ceiling. She has her legs sprawled out over the edge of the sofa and her head hanging upside down over one of the arms. She doesn't seem to notice that I woke up.
Wait. Woke up? Was I asleep?
I rise from the extremely comfortable bed, taking in my strange surroundings. I don't recognize the room, but I do acknowledge how lavish it is. Cream-colored walls with intricate swirls of gold vines painted across every nook, shining marble floors, its color matching the walls, expensive-looking furniture that corresponds to the room's color scheme, and even a fireplace with an intriguing artwork hanging above it. It's like a picture-perfect depiction of what I imagined the room of a princess to look like.
Holy shit are those french doors? Does that lead to a fucking balcony?
Where the hell am I? How long have I been asleep? How the hell did I get here?
The last thing I remember was Skylar slicing my hand with a pocket knife. Oh shit, my hand! I lift the hand he cut, but there are no signs of injury. That's impossible.How could my hand heal so fast and not leave a scar? Was I just dreaming about it? Did it even happen? Before I can focus on the impossibility of my hand the rest of my memories begin to come back in flashes. I clutch my head as they return, way too soon for me to grasp.
