Getting into the party was surprisingly straightforward. We didn't waste time standing in the endless line that snaked around the mansion-sized house, believing it to be too risky, and more importantly, too time-consuming. Instead, we relied on our vampiric speed to slip in undetected, effortlessly bypassing the front security.
The extravagant mansion stretched out before me, its grandeur seemingly endless. It dwarfed anything I'd ever laid eyes on, a testament to the incomprehensible wealth of its owner. The sheer magnitude of the estate was awe-inspiring, yet also unsettling. As I gazed upon the opulent facade, I couldn't help but wonder about the source of such immense wealth. It was a chilling thought, considering the possibilities of where those funds might have originated.
As I mingled among the elite guests, it became painfully clear just how wealthy and powerful they truly were. In comparison, my parents' home seemed like a modest abode. I had always known that the Wellingtons held significant influence, overseeing various duties, but I had naively assumed they were on a similar level to my own parents.
However, standing amidst the opulence of their mansion, I realized how mistaken I had been. The Wellingtons were not just wealthy; they were on an entirely different echelon of wealth and power. My parents must have been mere specks in comparison, overshadowed by the overwhelming presence of the Wellingtons. It was abundantly clear who held the reins of authority in this domain.
When Idalia initially mentioned that she had lost her phone while evading both WWA and my former friends, I was ready to call off the entire mission. But she insisted adamantly that we would be safe, and I chose to trust in her judgment. After all, Idalia wouldn't knowingly put us in harm's way.
As a precautionary measure, Idalia has ditched her usual blonde locks and opted for a high-quality brown wig, complemented by even darker contacts. Her makeup, meticulously applied, accentuates the sharp angles of her cheekbones, giving them a sunken appearance that adds to her allure. Her face radiates with a high-glamour aesthetic, a departure from her usual style. The transformation is so convincing that I barely recognized her at first glance, and I doubt anyone else will, unless they look too closely.
Idalia has confirmed that WWA most likely wasn't even aware of her true identity or name when they shot darts at her. Their focus is undoubtedly fixed on Cierien and Wrath, now that they're in the same city where everything takes place. They probably assume they're plotting something, perhaps intending to bring WWA into the fray. In their eyes, Idalia is merely another vampire caught in the crossfire, at least, that's what she's said, and I trust that.
For two centuries, she has skillfully evaded detection by WWA, remaining hidden in the shadows. Despite the man's knowledge of her true identity, he has yet to make a move to expose her or alert his subordinates to her presence. The mysterious nature of their relationship only deepens my curiosity, leaving me to ponder their connection. It's a puzzle that doesn't quite fit together, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story than meets the eye. While I harbor hopes of uncovering the truth in due time, I know better than to rely on Idalia for answers. She's proven elusive and enigmatic, keeping her own secrets close to her chest.
The possibility that my past could be present tonight looms ominously. If, by some stroke of luck, they managed to access Idalia's phone and uncover the events listed in her calendar, it could spell trouble. Idalia insists that the phone is beyond repair, having smashed it to pieces when she kicked it into a brick wall. Still, I refuse to leave anything to chance. I remain vigilant and prepared, just in case they do make an appearance. After all, in this world, it's better to be overly cautious than caught off guard.
They won't recognize me either. While Cierien may have looked directly into my eyes, there are several other changes that would deter them from identifying me. To err on the side of caution, I borrowed a pair of Idalia's contacts. Blue eyes and blonde hair present a stark contrast to the dark eyes and black hair they remember me by. And if that wasn't enough, the tattoos that adorn my arms and the few piercings on my face would surely give them pause for thought.
Leaving California marked a significant turning point for me. The transformation I underwent left me feeling fundamentally altered, as if shedding an old skin and emerging anew. Now, I inhabit my body with a newfound sense of ownership and awareness. I am no longer the same person I once was, and I recognize that I cannot continue to live as though I am. It's time for change, both outwardly and within, as I embrace the evolution of my being.
The mere thought of any of my past friends getting hurt gnaws at me, a visceral fear twisting in my gut. The possibility that they could be taken back to a facility, forced to endure more of those awful experiments, is something I can't bear to contemplate. I wish, more than anything, that they could just leave it all alone, let the past remain buried. But I understand that this isn't just about me. Idalia's actions have left scars, irreversibly altering Sophie's life. If Sophie sees fit to seek retribution by removing Idalia from the world, who am I to stand in her way?
While Idalia may offer me some utility, I have no doubt in my ability to handle WWA on my own. I've gleaned all the knowledge I could from her, absorbing every lesson she had to offer. Though I've developed an odd fondness for the woman, I won't hesitate to prioritize Sophie's need for vengeance. My allegiance to Idalia extends only as far as the terms we agreed upon from the outset- an arrangement based on mutual benefit. She has made it abundantly clear that she operates under the same understanding, and I have no illusions about the depth of our bond beyond our shared interests.
In the end, my allegiance lies with those who have stood by me- with Sophie, not with any transient alliances forged along the way. If Sophie seeks closure and retribution, I'll support her without hesitation, even if it means severing ties with Idalia.
While I understand Sophie's reliance on Cierien and Wrath for survival, I harbor no resentment towards her for it. However, when it comes to Cierien and Wrath themselves, my feelings are markedly different. I no longer feel bound by any sense of loyalty to them. They can fend for themselves; I owe them nothing- just like Idalia.
"What do you see?" Idalia's voice echoes through the earpiece.
I take a moment to survey the scene from my vantage point on the opposite side of the house, my voice barely above a whisper as I respond, "Fountains of booze, just as I expected, and a copious amount of people indulging from said fountain." Disgust colors my tone. "Seems like everyone loses their elegance when they consume too much poison. Even the wealthy can't escape their own folly."
The people surrounding me seem to be more interested in spilling alcohol on the floor than drinking it themselves. Their drunken antics are becoming increasingly obnoxious, revealing their true colors in the process. It's clear that alcohol has stripped away any veneer of sophistication, leaving behind nothing but a chaotic mess of foolish behavior.
I hear Idalia exhale softly, a sign of agreement. "Same here. Drunk, old, rich folks overindulging in booze. At least that makes it easier for us to snoop around. How many guards do you see?" she inquires.
I tilt my head to the side, casually lifting a glass of champagne to my lips as I discreetly scan the overly opulent room. "One positioned by each doorway. Four guards in total in this room," I report quietly.
"Three in this one."
"That's not much when you consider how many people are in this house," I point out.
"Indeed, it is not. Lucky us," she responds.
"Lucky us," I echo, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
If this is WWA's idea of increased security, I shudder to think what it was like before. It seems they're more focused on maintaining secrecy about these events rather than actually guarding them. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of guards present, and if someone were to become aware of our presence, it could pose a problem. But, it's nothing we can't handle if need be.
The absence of stringent security measures does raise some suspicions, especially given the clientele and the nature of the event. It's possible that the affluent guests prefer to keep a low profile regarding weapons, but the ease of entry does seem peculiar. Their should have at least been some measures to prevent any vampires from racing in, or possibly out.
The arrogance of organizations like WWA is well-documented, and it's entirely conceivable that they underestimate the potential threat posed by vampires or other supernatural entities. Their hubris could blind them to the very real dangers that exist beyond their understanding. Alternatively, it's chilling to consider the possibility that they are aware of the risks but simply aren't concerned about the consequences.
While I acknowledge that my wariness may border on paranoia, I refuse to let my guard down, especially considering past experiences. I've learned the hard way about the dangers of complacency, and I won't make that mistake again.
I trudge deeper into the house, veering left at the first doorway I encounter. The guard barely spares me a glance as I pass by, his gaze fixed ahead with the precision of a trained soldier. Suppressing the urge to freeze in place, I force myself to maintain composure as I enter the room. However, my resolve wavers as I catch sight of the horror that awaits within.
Vampires.
Despite expecting and even predicting this outcome, seeing it unfold before my eyes still hits me like a physical blow. The sight alone is enough to turn my stomach, the churning sensation threatening to overwhelm me. I clench my jaw tightly, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, refusing to let the revulsion consume me.
The room is meant to exude an air of comfort, adorned with various cushioned couches, chairs, and seating areas. People dance, laugh, and cavort in their alcohol-induced state of abandon. However, amidst the revelry, there are those who remain seated, their attention riveted on the vampires before them. I count only three vampires in this room, each positioned in different corners, surrounded by their own entourage of creatures.
The closest vampire, a girl, stands nearly naked in the corner, her hands held firmly at her sides as her mouth is forced open. Attendees poke and prod at her fangs, treating her like an exotic specimen on display. My heart drops to my stomach as one of the older men reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pair of medical pliers. I quickly avert my gaze, unable to bear witnessing the brutality about to unfold. The echo of her screams haunts me as I turn away.
"They're torturing them," I mutter under my breath.
"How many?" Idalia's voice is steady, but I can sense the underlying tension.
"Three. Two women and one man."
I sense her breath catching, a pregnant pause hanging between us as she absorbs my words. Without a reply, I feel her presence as she quickly joins me at my side. I'm grateful for the contacts concealing her eyes, shielding the world from the intensity of her emotions that likely burn bright with crimson fury beneath. "Is that him?" I ask wearily, referring to the man in the furthest corner of the room.
"No."
I exhale a sigh of relief, but it's short-lived as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Though he may not be her brother, he's someone- his life matters. The sight of someone being subjected to such torment, unwillingly pushed to his knees before a strange man, fills me with a sense of urgency and determination.
As his tear-filled eyes meet ours, I sense a plea, a silent acknowledgment that he recognizes us as different from the rest. Despite the chaos and revelry surrounding us, there's a shared understanding between us, a mutual recognition that we are not here to revel in his suffering.
Without hesitation, I turn away, but not before I offer him a silent promise. "We'll get you out of here... one day," I murmur, my words a solemn vow echoing in the depths of the room.
I hate that I can't help them right now. All I can offer at this moment is a promise, a slender thread of hope. But I vow to myself that I will follow through, that I will do everything in my power to fulfill that promise and rescue them from this nightmare. No one deserves to face such atrocities, whether they be human or vampire.
As I observe the faces in the room, I commit each one to memory, their features etched into my mind like a grim mosaic of vengeance. I will hunt down every single one of them, sparing none from the reckoning they deserve. One by one, they'll meet their demise. I swear it.
When this all began, I had naively believed that eliminating a few doctors, researchers, and families would suffice. But now, I realize the corruption runs far deeper than I had ever imagined. It's not just about a handful of individuals playing with medical tools- it's a systemic evil that has infiltrated every aspect of society, staining it with darkness and cruelty. And I will stop at nothing to eradicate it, no matter the cost. I am prepared to sacrifice everything. I'll pay with my soul if I have to, even my life.
"I'm going to check a few more rooms on the east side of the mansion. Meet up later?" Idalia's question hangs in the air, but before I can respond, she's already striding away with purpose.
Maintaining a casual demeanor, I make my way into the next room, intercepting a passing waiter and snagging a glass of an unknown beverage. Raising the glass to my lips, I take a sip, the familiar taste flooding my senses. A nearly involuntary groan escapes me as the delightful flavor washes over my palate.
I release a sigh, allowing my gaze to wander around the room, searching for any sign of danger or intrigue. At first glance, it appears there are no vampires present in this room- until I catch sight of the darker-haired man scanning the room with a similar intensity. Separated by the expanse of the room, he and I find ourselves isolated in opposite corners.
My heart quickens, and I curse inwardly, scrambling to put distance between us, yet hoping my movements won't draw in any unwanted attention. With each step, I quicken my pace, seeking refuge behind the shelter of a large gold statue depicting a random naked man. As I press myself to the cold metal, my breath catches in my throat, dread filling me as I watch him begin to make his way toward me.
He hasn't seemed to have spotted me yet, but if I don't move now, we'll certainly come face to face. Sensing the urgency of the situation, I act quickly, darting into a nearby hallway in an attempt to evade the approaching figure. The corridor is mostly deserted, save for a few inebriated stragglers stumbling about. Spotting the first door I come across, I push my way in without hesitation, my heart pounding in my chest as I close the door behind me, enveloping myself in a temporary sanctuary from the looming threat outside.
As I step into the room, I'm struck by its surprising intimacy, a stark contrast to the opulence that pervades the rest of the mansion. Though the room is much smaller than the others, it still rivals the size of my old apartment, which says a lot.
Memories of my parent's house flood my mind as I take in the sight of a grand piano positioned in the center of the room. It's a far cry from the modest piano back home- or what used to be my home. Despite its grandeur, the lack of decor and personal touches only serves to amplify the sense of unease that permeates the space. The space feels eerily soulless, almost unsettling in its emptiness, much like those spooky backrooms you see online. The cold, empty expanses leave me feeling vulnerable and exposed, yearning for the familiarity and comfort of the entertainment room in my old house, despite the darker memories it may hold.
I waste no time in exploring the two doors leading off from the room. The door on the right swings open to reveal a bedroom, its furnishings elegant yet impersonal, with another door likely connecting back to the hallway. Turning my attention to the door ahead, it reveals a simple bathroom, devoid of any notable features. It feels as though I've stepped into an entirely different realm, isolated from the frenetic energy of the party outside.
Allowing myself a moment of respite, I sink onto the bench, feeling the smooth surface cool beneath my fingertips. The sudden stillness of the room envelops me, offering a brief reprieve from the chaos that swirls outside. It's only now that I realize how uneven my breathing has become, each inhale and exhale coming in quick, shallow bursts. Closing my eyes, I focus on steadying my breath, drawing in deep inhalations and releasing them slowly.
I lift the crystal glass to my lips once more, taking a long swig of the sweet liquor, relishing in the familiar taste as the coldness washes over my tongue. Setting the glass down on the piano, I run my fingers lightly across the keys, producing soft, melodic notes that mingle with the distant throb of music emanating from the other room.
The gentle sound is swallowed up by the cacophony of the party, and I find solace in the knowledge that my moment of respite remains undisturbed, at least for now. It's unlikely that anyone would notice my presence here, hidden away in this secluded corner, unless, of course, they possessed supernatural abilities like super hearing.
Wrath looked so handsome tonight. His dark suit exuded sophistication and wealth, fitting him like a second skin. His hair remained unchanged, a familiar sight that brought a sense of comfort. Yet, it's the tantalizing glimpse of his tattoos peeking out from beneath his cuffs that immediately captured my attention, tracing a path up his hands like forbidden secrets waiting to be uncovered. I find myself longing to see more, to unravel the mysteries hidden beneath the fabric.
The sight of him after so long stirs up a whirlwind of emotions within me. Anger simmers beneath the surface, constantly reminding me of past grievances and unresolved conflicts. Yet, despite the bitterness that lingers, there's an undeniable wave of nostalgia that washes over me at the mere thought of being in his presence once more.
I find myself grappling with conflicting desires, torn between the lingering resentment and the overpowering longing to reconnect with him. It's a tumultuous battle within my own mind, one that I know I shouldn't indulge in. But try as I might, I can't ignore the persistent yearning that tugs at my heartstrings, beckoning me back to a time when things were simpler, when he was still a part of my life.
With a frustrated groan, I toss back the last of my drink, the liquid burning a path down my throat. The force with which I slam the glass down startles me, jolting me from my reverie and eliciting a chuckle at my own expense. I roll my eyes at the absurdity of my own desires, recognizing the futility of longing for something beyond my reach.
It's not like he deserves to see me after everything he did to me.
With a quick glance behind me to ensure the door is still securely closed, I allow my fingers to hover over the keys of the piano. A bittersweet nostalgia washes over me as I recall the melody, one that I taught myself only a few months after embarking on this new chapter of my life- a piece that I couldn't bear to part with, despite everything.
Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to the music, allowing my fingers to glide effortlessly over the keys. Each note resonates with a depth of emotion that words cannot express, a haunting melody that speaks volumes of the pain and longing buried deep within my soul.
In that moment, a part of me hopes that he hears it- that he feels the ache in every note, the echoes of a past that still lingers between us. And even worse, a part of me hopes that it hurts.
//
I'm giving yall three chapters tonight ;)))
thank you for reading!