“The night is dark and full of terrors” —Game of Thrones.
Some say that I am heartless, and that might be true.
Sometimes, my curiosity can get the better of me.
In favor of that, I ignore what’s going on around me.
Maybe that’s why I’m being punished for my arrogance.
And that’s why he had to die.
But I can’t call myself me, if I don’t break a few natural orders in life.
My fingers grip around the cool steel of my gun, which is hidden just underneath my skirt.
Adrenaline is rushing through my veins, pumping me up with anticipation.
In a room full of party goers, I am one girl preparing for a battle.
My skin is a pale contrast against the dark clouds of my gown. My lips are painted red, like freshly drawn blood, and they are pressed into a thin smile, my face framed by silky raven strands.
I can feel them moving from the far distance, plowing through the forest like it belongs to them.
Growling, barking . . . grumbling monstrous sounds, howling orders in a language I can’t understand.
Three. Seven. Thirteen. I can count at least these many heads approaching, heading toward us from the clearing ahead.
At the same time, all around me, noises continue to grow. While nobles and coven members are busy dancing and drinking blood from champagne glasses, our enemies are approaching with deadly speed.
Each echo of incoming footsteps makes my heart thump faster.
Hypertension brings me one step closer to bloodlust.
I’ll be ready when they attack.
When they burst in, debris flies everywhere, making a horrific mess.
A commotion erupts, some struck with shock while others rush to get away.
Swirls of darkness blur around me, trying to get to safety as fast as possible.
The werewolves move in packs, quickly invading our coven with their massive presence; claws, canines and a hunger for our death.
The noises around me intensify into a climactic crescendo, only getting louder and louder with its disorderliness, until I can barely hear a thing.
The first werewolf comes crashing in with a howl, charging toward the center of the room. The rest of his cronies begin pouring in, spreading out in all directions.
Luckily, I am already there, waiting for their arrival, standing by the center of the door.
So when the furry monster leaps toward us, my gun is already pointed his way.
My hands hold into the gun sternly, my heels digged onto the marble floor, already prepared for the backfire impact.
Then I pull the trigger.
The bullet tears out in silence, thanks to my silencer.
It spins in the air, zooming fast toward my intended target.
Everyone seems to hold their breath as they watch things happen in slow motion.
The bullet hits its mark, piercing right through the beast’s skull.
My first kill freezes in mid-leap, shock clearly written all over his furious face before he loses his momentum, falling fast and crashing onto the ground behind me.
“Close the doors!” I hear someone bark an order not from the distance.
. . . And the loudness comes crashing back in.