Chapter 15: Do You Keep Trying to Gaslight Me?
The words tore from her throat with unexpected force, reverberating against the vaulted ceiling.
Her newly transformed body responded with frightening immediacy, muscles coiling and releasing with power she had never known.
For some reason, she felt incredibly light; the surrounding view began to blur, and, aware of this strange change, she immediately stopped herself.
SPLASH!
The abrupt halt sent a shower of crimson droplets flying from the hem of her dress, spattering across the marble floor like macabre constellation patterns.
Huh? Her mind was a mess as she slowly turned around, only to realize she had just crossed a distance of roughly fourteen or fifteen feet from where she had been standing.
The space between where she had lain and where she now stood seemed impossibly vast, yet she had traversed it in the span of a heartbeat.
It was fast, fast enough to leave her bewildered and frozen in place. She glanced to the front, only to see her little sister looking at her—tears gleaming in her eyes, but also, perhaps, a glint of amusement?
Elara's face was transformed in the colored light from above—her chestnut hair framing features that were both familiar and disturbingly alien.
"Wh-what are you laug—" Just as she was about to scold her, she caught sight of the indistinct figure behind her little sister: the towering vampire, standing silently.
His massive frame seemed to absorb the shadows around him, his pale skin and glowing red eyes the only points of light in his dark silhouette.
Lyra narrowed her eyes, her fists clenching with an audible creak of knuckles, but then… she found herself slowly stepping back from the pair.
"Did…did I…already die?" The realization struck as she looked at the imposing figure behind her sister.
Hadn't she already saved her little sister—pushing her aside and letting that monster drain her? The memory was there, yet fragmented—the searing pain of fangs piercing her throat, the cold emptiness as life drained away, then nothing but darkness until this moment.
It was then, perhaps for some unknown reason, that she noticed—with sharp clarity, even from a distance—her little sister smiling slightly. And in that smile, she now saw… fangs?
The detail was impossible to miss with her enhanced vision; she could see the light gleaming off the pointed tips, could even detect the slight indentation they made in Elara's lower lip.
"Huh?" Shocked to her core, Lyra rubbed her eyes and blinked again. The sensation was different—her eyelids moved faster than expected, the scrape of her fingers against her face registering with painful intensity.
"S-sister! Thi—this—" On the other hand, Elara, standing before the towering vampire, tried to explain.
Her voice cracked with emotion, the sound hitting Lyra's ears with painful clarity.
Elara's hands moved in explanatory gestures, the blue veins beneath her skin pulsing visibly with every unnecessary breath she took.
Yet, as she prepared to speak, she saw her frightened elder sister taking quick steps back, gazing at her with wide, horrified eyes, her mouth covered by her hand.
"STEP BACK!" Lyra shouted.
Following the next was, her mouth opened as strange words poured out—a chant—as the air around her seemed to tighten.
Her pale hands traced intricate patterns before her, fingers creating sigils that lingered momentarily in the air like ghostly afterimages.
Mana began swirling, drawing from her surroundings and filling her entire body. The familiar energy—something she had channeled countless times before—responded to her call, coalescing into tendrils of luminous blue that spiraled around her form, lifting the ash-blonde strands of her hair in an ethereal dance.
"Custodia Minor, shield me with div—" Just as she gathered enough mana and cried out the spell's name, her wide, trembling eyes—focused on the little monster that resembled her sister—suddenly shifted.
The blue energy pulsing through her veins darkened at the edges, like ink dropped into clear water. The familiar warmth of divine magic turned cold, slithering beneath her skin with alien purpose.
"Kyaa!" Her scream echoed through the entire abandoned mansion, bouncing off marble columns and returning as haunting echoes.
On the other hand, the towering vampire, Lucien—who had been observing this conflict between sisters—raised his eyebrows in curiosity.
Oh? OHH? His lips parted in a silent exclamation, fangs gleaming as they extended involuntarily in response to the magical display.
His curiosity grew into excitement as he watched the bluish light, which he recognized as mana, being absorbed into the second vampire woman's body. Every nerve in his borrowed body tingled with awareness; he could sense the energy as surely as he could smell the blood still pooled on the floor.
His red eyes dilated, glowing more intensely as they tracked the movement of magic—something his modern mind had only read about in fantasy novels, now manifesting before him in brilliant reality.
This was the first time he had witnessed magic—or a spell—cast in so conscious a manner. But what happened next was what truly stunned both him and Lyra: instead of the expected divine light, there came a darkness—a dark light.
It billowed outward from her fingertips like spilled ink, absorbing rather than emitting illumination. The tendrils that should have formed a protective barrier instead writhed like living shadows, hissing and sputtering as they consumed the blue mana.
"No… My goddess, how… how?" the second vampire woman, Lyra, stopped her chant mid-air, her eyes widening as she found herself sitting with her back against the floor.
She watched in disbelief as the bluish mana, instead of transforming into a golden ray of protective light, became darkness. Dark enough that even the silver moonlight piercing the ceiling glass could not break through.
It shook her, froze her thoughts—but only at that moment did she noticed something strange about her body.
Why—why am I not breathing?! Another wave of panic struck her. There was no heartbeat—she had to force every beat.
Even though her chest rose and fell, she was barely exhaling any air. The mechanical motion was merely habit, unnecessary for her new existence.
With trembling hands, Lyra raised her head to look at the monster that so closely resembled her little sister.
One by one, the pieces began to fall into place in her mind: the horror of realization dawning across her features like a shadow passing over the moon.
Her ash-blonde hair fell forward, casting her transformed face in partial darkness as her new crimson eyes widened with each terrible conclusion. The colored moonlight from the stained glass above painted her confusion in shifting patterns of blue and amber, highlighting the unnatural pallor of her skin.
How had she survived? Why wasn't her heart beating anymore? How could she suddenly move so quickly, or feel so impossibly light? And now, her final defense—her faith in the goddess Seraphiel—had manifested not as holy light but as something dark and heretical…
Had she also become a monster? Had she truly betrayed her beliefs? Her lips parted in silent denial.
The instant that thought surfaced, her hands flashed; searing pain burned her fingers, confirming her theory.
There was something… something she must do right now.
She didn't stop—she carried through with grim determination all the way to the end. Her jaw set with resolve, the muscles along her neck standing out like cords beneath her alabaster skin as she reached for something concealed in the folds of her tattered gown.
"Ugh…" A groan escaped her lips as she managed a forced smile, looking at the little monster who resembled her sister—no, who was her sister.
…
"SISTER!" The first vampire woman, Elara—who had been hoping her elder sister would soon calm down—was stunned to see a silver knife suddenly appear from nowhere, drawn from Lyra's pocket.
Elara's chestnut hair bristled with horror, rising around her face as if electrified by the shock of recognition. Her newly transformed body tensed to spring, muscles coiling with supernatural speed.
Her elder sister, Lyra, gripped it with a painful grimace, gritting her teeth as the searing pain burned her finger skin, but she pressed on.
Wisps of acrid smoke rose from where her flesh contacted the blessed silver, the scent of burning skin mixing with the metallic tang of blood that saturated the air.
There wasn't even enough time for a breath to pass before Lyra's resolve had her stabbing herself in the chest—straight to the heart.
The sound of silver piercing flesh was sickeningly soft, like a knife sliding into ripe fruit.
The tattered blue silk of her gown darkened instantly around the wound, the silver embroidery now outlined in spreading black rather than crimson.
Elara's eyes, which moments ago were full of guilt and wanting to explain, now went wide in shock as she witnessed her elder sister's action.
Her pupils contracted to pinpricks of terror, the red glow intensifying like flames fed by sudden wind.
Her fangs extended fully in response to her panic, pressing against her lower lip hard enough to draw a drop of dark blood.
Her feet moved on instinct, already running toward Lyra—her tattered gown billowing behind her like smoke, the floorboards creaking beneath her supernatural speed.
The distance between them seemed to stretch impossibly, each inch a mile in the slow-motion horror of the moment.
—but it was too late. Lyra's hand was faster than Elara's reaction, too swift for anyone expecting such a thing.
After all, who would ever think someone would really stab themselves?
"SISTER! SISTER! WHY!" Elara's anguished cry shattered the silence of the grand foyer, the sound reverberating against the vaulted ceiling and returning as hollow echoes.
Dark, viscous tears—thicker than human tears should be—streamed down her face, leaving trails like black ink on parchment as she cradled Lyra's fragile body.
Elara tried desperately to pull the silver knife free but recoiled with a hiss of pain as it burned her, too—her fingers smoking where they touched the blessed metal, the scent of searing flesh mingling with the copper-sweet tang of spilled blood.
"No..." Lyra's weak voice—barely a whisper now—stopped Elara's frantic attempts to remove the blade embedded in her chest.
With a trembling smile and dark blood oozing from the wound—unnaturally thick and almost black in the colored moonlight—she gazed up at her little sister's beautiful face.
The blood spread across the blue silk of her gown in an expanding stain, the silver embroidery now outlined in midnight rather than crimson.
"I—I'd rather die than become...a monster," she whispered, her shaking hand reaching up to trace the little fangs protruding from Elara's upper lip. Her fingers—already growing cold, the nails turning an ashen blue—left smears of dark blood on Elara's chin.
The touch was gentle, accepting, forgiving—and all the more devastating for its tenderness.
"I—I...NO! WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?! I—I..." Even in this moment, Elara tried to deny the truth—that she had turned her elder sister into a vampire. Her voice cracked and shattered, each word higher and more desperate than the last.
Her fingers clutched at the tattered remains of Lyra's gown, tearing the delicate fabric further as she held her sister close.
But seeing the vacant look in Lyra's eyes—the red glow already beginning to fade like embers cooling to ash—guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her.
She knew her sister had been a devoted follower of the Goddess Seraphiel. But...but... Elara's thoughts scattered like startled birds, unable to form coherent excuses or explanations in the face of her sister's sacrifice.
"I can't, Sister... Please...just please fulfill this one last request," Elara pleaded, tears streaming down her face—not clear like before, but tinged with crimson, a vampire's tears of blood.
She clung to her elder sister's body with fading strength, her fingers leaving pale impressions in Elara's arms.
The body in Elara's embrace was already growing cold and oddly desiccated once more, the brief vitality granted by Lucien's blood retreating rapidly. Dark blood pooled beneath them and spilled outward in rivulets across the mahogany floor, finding paths between the floorboards like seeking fingers.
Elara's thoughts raced as she remembered how Lyra, on awakening as a vampire, had screamed and tried to shield herself from the towering stranger in the room.
The horror in Lyra's eyes when she realized what she had become, the desperate attempt to call upon her goddess only to summon darkness instead...
Perhaps that was why she stabbed herself. What if...what if Lyra hadn't seen him at all? What if he had hidden, retreated into the shadows, completely out of sight... The possibilities tormented her, each what-if another knife in her heart.
Her fangs extended fully with her growing rage, pressing painfully against her lower lip until a droplet of dark blood welled up and fell, mingling with her tears.
Perhaps...perhaps...
I could have explained it to her, slowly—helped her accept the truth, Elara thought, raising her head to glare at the towering vampire, meeting his lifted eyebrow with a look of bitter accusation.
"W-WHY! WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP H—mm?!" Elara was mid-shout, her voice cracking with grief and rage, when her eyes suddenly widened as a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
The movement was so swift it seemed the air itself had been sliced apart; one moment the towering vampire was across the room, the next his massive frame loomed before her like a sudden eclipse.
Saliva splattered against his palm as the towering vampire seemingly teleported before her in an instant.
"Hmm..." The tall vampire, Lucien, only hummed in reply. He didn't bother to speak, even as Elara's muffled protest and her spit smeared his hand.
His grip remained firm, fingers splayed across her jaw with enough pressure to bruise mortal flesh.
Instead, his crimson eyes shifted focus to the black blood—now slowly drying—seeping from the wound in the second vampire woman.
Is it truly death? So simple? Memories from when he was unconscious—or when instinct had overridden thought—flashed through his mind.
In those fragments, he remembered getting shot in the chest with a silver bullet. The phantom sensation of that impact made his muscles tense involuntarily, his free hand rising to his chest where the wound had been.
He remembered being burned alive, flesh and heart cleansed by holy light—the memory so vivid he could almost smell his own burning skin, feel the agony of purification that should have ended him.
But I'm still alive. Yet she... Lucien eyed the simple silver knife embedded in the second vampire's chest.