Begining
Love is the only thing that makes death feel like a promise instead of an ending.
I learned that the night I first saw her fangs.
—
It began on the evening of August 6, 2003.
A cold day, with a wind that slipped through your bones and refused to leave. The sky stretched above in deep violet, scattered with indifferent stars that watched without caring.
I left home five minutes before six.
There was a welcome party at school—something I would normally avoid—but that night, something pulled me there.
Not curiosity.
Not courage.
Something quieter.
Something that felt… like I had already made the decision long before I understood it.
—
The old black gate stood open.
I hesitated before stepping in, already feeling out of place. I hated school. I hated crowds even more. And yet, I kept walking.
Inside, I felt it immediately.
I didn’t belong.
Voices overlapped. Laughter echoed. Music pulsed through the courtyard. People moved like they were part of something I couldn’t see.
And I was just… there.
Alone.
The glances came quickly. Brief. Dismissive. Cold.
My chest tightened.
I wanted to turn around. Leave. Disappear.
But instead—
I walked forward.
As if I knew where I was going.
As if something was waiting.
—
Then—
A pair of hands pushed me.
Hard enough to break my thoughts.
And suddenly—
She was there.
Brown hair. Slender frame. Tall. Effortless.
Her eyes—
Green.
But not just green.
They felt… deeper than they should be.
Like they were looking through me, not at me.
“You’re going to fall, dummy,” she said, smiling.
And just like that—
The night changed.
“I’m Patricia. Don’t you remember me?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because everything else had faded.
Her face drained the world of color.
Her nose—sharp, precise. Her lips—small, delicate. Her presence—impossible to ignore.
She took my hand before I could speak.
“Not mute, just slow,” she teased.
And pulled me with her.
—
That was the first thing that didn’t make sense.
Her hand was warm.
Too warm.
Like it didn’t belong to the cold night around us.
—
She led me to her friends—three girls just as striking in their own way.
Laughter. Teasing. Energy I couldn’t match.
I froze.
Embarrassed.
Overwhelmed.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurted.
They laughed.
Of course they did.
And I escaped.
—
The mirror didn’t help.
My reflection stared back at me—dark eyes, pale skin, uncertainty written everywhere. For a moment, I wondered if I could ever be enough to stand beside someone like her.
Then I noticed something strange.
Freckles across my nose.
The same pattern as hers.
A ridiculous detail.
And yet—
It gave me just enough courage to go back.
—
“What happened to you?” she asked when I returned.
“You look different.”
“Nothing,” I said.
She smiled.
But her eyes lingered.
Longer than they should have.
Like she was studying something.
Me.
—
“You look like a sword,” I told her.
She laughed.
“For being aggressive?”
“For being elegant.”
She liked that.
I could tell.
“Take me to dance,” she said.
—
We moved toward the dance floor—
And ran straight into trouble.
“This place is taken,” one of the boys said.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t need to.
“Unless you want me to kiss you,” he added.
Something snapped in me.
I shoved him.
Nothing.
He didn’t even move.
“You’re dead,” he said calmly.
Before I could react—
Patricia moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Her strike sent him crashing to the ground.
The sound echoed.
The room shifted.
And suddenly—
Everything exploded.
—
Chaos.
Voices. Movement. Heat.
But in the center of it—
Her.
Still.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Like she knew exactly how it would end.
“Run,” she said, grabbing my arm.
—
We ran.
Through corridors.
Through shadows.
Until we reached an alley.
And that’s where everything went wrong.
—
They caught us.
Hands gripping my arms.
Too strong.
Too tight.
The redhead shoved Patricia against the wall.
Close.
Too close.
Something in me broke free.
I lunged.
“Wait,” one of them said.
“She’s Mike the Beast’s sister.”
The energy shifted.
Fear.
Recognition.
“My brother is Tom Rodríguez,” I added.
A mistake.
A stupid one.
The punch came instantly.
Pain exploded in my stomach.
I dropped.
—
“Leave him,” Patricia said.
Her voice—
Different.
Colder.
Sharper.
Not loud.
But final.
Something in it made them hesitate.
Then leave.
—
She helped me up.
And just like that—
Everything returned to normal.
Too normal.
—
We danced again.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just taken down someone twice her size.
Like I hadn’t felt something… off.
“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” she said.
—
That’s when I saw you.
Emma.
A hollow opened in my chest.
You stood surrounded by people, yet untouched by them—as if the world moved around you but never quite reached you. Your skin was pale as moonlight, your grey eyes colder than ice, your presence… distant in a way that didn’t feel human.
And beside you—
Tom.
Perfect. Effortless.
I felt ashamed.
Ashamed for looking at you the way I was.
Patricia had been nothing but kind to me… and yet, something about you pulled at me in a way I couldn’t explain.
Then—
Our eyes locked.
Everything else faded.
The music dulled.
The voices blurred.
Even Patricia’s hand in mine felt distant.
It was just you.
Watching me.
Your expression didn’t change.
But your lips moved.
Barely.
Run.
My breath caught.
I leaned forward slightly.
Trying to understand—
Then you spoke again.
Slower.
Clearer.
“Run… from the vam—”
Your voice faltered.
Your eyes sharpened.
Urgent.
“Vam… pire…”
The word broke apart.
Like something you weren’t supposed to say.
My chest tightened.
“What?” I whispered.
“What did she say?”
“I found you,” Patricia said immediately.
Too quickly.
Her grip tightened around my hand.
I turned to her.
Her expression was calm.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
“What?” she asked.
“Vampire? Who?”
She smiled.
Soft.
Confused.
Convincing.
But—
For a second—
Her eyes flickered.
Not fully.
Not enough to prove anything.
But enough.
Then it was gone.
“Take me home,” she said gently.
And pulled me away.
I looked back once.
You were still there.
Watching.
But this time—
You said nothing.
—
She didn’t let me walk her all the way home.
She stopped a few blocks early.
“My parents will pick me up,” she said.
I didn’t argue.
Something in her tone didn’t allow it.
—
At dinner, Tom talked about you.
Emma.
His girlfriend.
Perfect.
Untouchable.
And I sat there—
Knowing you had told me to run.
—
That night, I dreamed.
Of you.
Standing in fog.
Watching me.
Silent.
Cold.
“Run,” you said again.
But this time—
I didn’t wake up.
—
I couldn’t move.
My back pressed against something rough.
A tree.
My arms—
Held in place.
Bound by something I couldn’t see.
My breath came shallow.
Wrong.
And then—
She stepped out of the darkness.
Patricia.
But not the same.
Her eyes glowed.
Not softly.
Not warmly.
Something deeper.
Something hungry.
“Patricia…?” I tried to say.
But my voice felt distant.
Like it wasn’t mine.
She tilted her head.
Smiling slowly.
“What?” she asked.
“Vampire? Who?”
The same words.
The same tone.
But now—
They felt wrong.
I tried to move.
I couldn’t.
Her gaze locked onto mine.
And suddenly—
Everything softened.
The fear.
The confusion.
The need to escape.
Gone.
Replaced by calm.
By warmth.
By surrender.
“You’re safe,” she whispered.
And I believed her.
—
She stepped closer.
Her hand brushed my neck.
I felt my pulse.
Loud.
Heavy.
Calling attention to itself.
Her eyes darkened.
And then—
I saw them.
Fangs.
Perfect.
Sharp.
Beautiful.
My body didn’t fight.
Didn’t run.
Didn’t resist.
Because I couldn’t.
Because I didn’t want to.
She leaned in—
Slow.
Deliberate—
And I felt it.
A sharp sting.
Then warmth.
Then—
Nothing.
—
I woke up in my bed.
Gasping.
My room exactly the same.
Safe.
Normal.
I touched my neck.
Nothing.
No blood.
No wound.
Just skin.
—
It was just a dream.
It had to be.
—
But when I closed my eyes again—
I could still feel her breath.
Still hear her voice.
Still remember the way she said it.
Soft.
Confused.
Perfect.
“Vampire? Who?”
—
And somewhere deep inside me—
Something whispered the truth.
—
It wasn’t a dream.
