I found myself waking in the deep of the night, my body stirred not by peace but by pain.
There was a strange heaviness upon my neck, as though something unseen had pressed there while I was asleep.
I reached for the side of my neck, my fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against my skin. Yet there was nothing there to explain the feeling. Just something wet… perhaps sweat. And still, the pain lingered.
I lay still for a moment, staring into the darkness of my chamber. The night was quiet, yet it did not feel kind. It felt watchful, as always.
A slow breath escaped my lips. Perhaps it was only another dream.
After a moment, I sat up, and slid down from the bed, my feet meeting the cold floor beneath. The chill crept up my skin, but I paid it no attention. I drew my nightgown closer and moved with quiet steps toward the door.
I need some water.
I opened the door with care and stepped into the space that led to the front room, then beside it was the kitchen.
I did not want to make noise, because I did not want to wake my mother.
I walked on slowly. One hand trailed lightly along the wall to steady myself due to the loss of light. The candles had long burned out.
My thoughts were not at ease, yet I could not say why. There was no clear fear, only a quiet unease that grew with each step I took.
And then… A sudden thunder rumbled above, with a voice so deep it seemed to pass through the wall of this cottage.
I halted at once. My breath caught in my throat.
And then I saw a pair of red eyes. Fixed on me from the shadows ahead.
It was him.
The same presence that had haunted my nights without fail. The same eyes that had followed me through dreams.
Another thunderclap broke the sky. This time, the light of the heavens split the darkness for a fleeting moment.
And in that brief moment… my eyes caught his elongated fangs resting on his lower lips that were filled with blood.
My hand flew to my mouth at once, pressing hard against it, as though I could hold back the fear that rose within me.
My breath trembled behind my fingers. A sound nearly escaped me. But I swallowed it down.
My heart beat too quickly, too loudly, as if it wished to betray my presence. I could feel each pulse within my chest, frantic and unsteady.
As if to make things worse… He moved.
I took an instinctive step backward, though my mind had not ordered it.
He came closer. The distance between us diminished with every passing moment, and I found myself rooted where I stood, unable to retreat further.
The cup I had carried, though I do not recall when I had even lifted it, slipped from my grasp. It struck the floor and shattered into pieces.
The sound was sharp in the silence. Yet I did not look away from him.
Step by step, he closed the space between us until there was nothing left.
Before I could gather myself, I was pressed back against the wall. The cold stone met my spine, stealing what little warmth remained in me.
There was no escape now. I am totally doomed.
He had always come, but never this bold and terrifying.
His hand rose, and moved with a patience that frightened me.
His fingers touched my lips, tracing its softness as though testing the very boundary of my existence.
Then they slid upward, tracing the line of my face before drifting downward to my throat.
My breath caught sharply.
I could not move. Neither could I speak.
His hand lingered there for a moment, resting against the fragile line of my throat as though he were aware of every pulse beneath it.
Then it moved lower to my cleavages.
My entire body tensed, though I did not understand whether from fear, shock, or something far more confusing that I could not name even in my thoughts.
I swallowed as a cold shiver ran through my spine.
Then, without warning, he drew me against him by my waist. My body collided with his, and all remaining distance between us vanished.
I could feel him every bit of him now. His scent wrapped around my senses as his presence surrounded me.
My breath faltered. My hands remained frozen at my sides, uncertain whether to resist or surrender.
And then he leaned in close to my ear, and whispered. "Mine."
My heart stilled in confusion. I did not fully understand his words.
Then, just as suddenly as he had come, he let go.
He stepped backward still watching me until the wall swallowed him in before my very eyes.
Silence returned at once. But I remained where I was.
Frozen.
≈≈≈
I woke up slowly that morning, my body still heavy against the bed, as though sleep had not fully released me.
For a moment, I did not move. I simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to understand why something felt… off.
For the first time in four years, his presence did not feel like a dream.
There had been something different about it. Something too real. Like I had not been sleeping at all, but standing right there with him, breathing the same air, feeling the same presence that never quite left me even after I woke.
My hand slowly reached up and touched my neck, and the moment my fingers brushed against my skin, I paused.
There was something there. A strange dryness, cracky
beneath my touch.
My brows furrowed.
I quickly stood up and walked to the mirror. I grabbed my curly red hair and brushed it aside to give myself a better view.
My breath caught in my throat the moment my eyes landed on my neck.
There was dry blood on it.
For a moment, I could not move. I only stared at my reflection, my mind struggling to make sense of what I was seeing.
Where did the blood come from?
My fingers trembled slightly as I touched it again, the dryness scraping faintly under my touch.
Just then, I heard voices from outside. My mother's voice… and another I did not recognize, loud and heated like they were arguing.
I turned my head sharply toward the sound, my heart, already unsettled, tightening even further.
Without wasting another moment, I moved quickly into the inner bathing room.
The small cottage space was cramped, nothing more than a narrow room with a basin and stored water, yet it felt familiar, and comfortable.
I filled the basin with water, dipped a cloth into it, and pressed it immediately to my neck, scrubbing at the dried blood.
My breathing was uneven as I worked.
If my mother saw this… she would only worry. She would ask questions I had no answers to.
She already suspected I was hiding things from her, and this would only raise more suspicion.
Especially when I had not told her the truth that I was dying in one month.
The illness has been with me for a while now… It was the kind that has no cure.
The old man had said I inherited it from my father.
Out of all the things I could have taken from him… his illness. The cruel fate that clung to me… I could not put it into words.
My mother had already lost too much in her life, especially father which she lost when she was pregnant with me… And I could not bear to become another loss she had to prepare for. So I kept it hidden.