Requiem: Prologue

Silver shards of light broke through black clouds, penetrating the high forest canopy and creating a macabre ballet of shadows bloodied by red autumn leaves which covered the dry ground. Jack's eyes strained against the darkness of dusk, the last remaining sunlight either blocked or distorted by tree and cloud. The air was thick and moist, alluding to a coming thunderstorm. His muscles tensed each time he bent to pick up a log, adding it to the dozen he carried in a sack slung around a shoulder. Eight straight hours of trudging into the forest for firewood, walking back to his cabin and returning yet again stole all beauty from the changing season.

    Finding a final log, he turned to head back home but stiffened as he saw a shape pass in and out of view before he had time to identify it, moving between trees several yards away. Blinking, he grabbed his pistol hanging at his side which he always carried in the forest. He waited several long moments until turning again towards home - but then he saw it again, a blur of long, deep crimson hair flowing behind a pale face, sweeping black clothes obscuring its form. Jack's breath quickened and he tensed instinctively, raising his pistol to readiness, though he had no clue what - or who? - the figure was, or whether or not it was dangerous. He knew a bear or wolf when he saw one; after living near a Romanian forest for ten years, you're bound to encounter them. But this was no animal, at least not one he had ever seen. It looked almost… human, though its movements, its physique seemed almost ethereal, primal in a way people can never be, even the most insane or primitive.

    Locked in place, he didn't know whether to wait or try to sprint home. Was the figure even interested in him? It hadn't stopped or looked at him; it just passed by, twice… the second time closer, and slower. Maybe it had heard him? He couldn't be sure. He was afraid yes, but… for some reason, he felt drawn to the figure, partially out of curiosity, but also in a way he couldn't quite explain. So he simply stood there, gripping his pistol tight and preparing to run if he had to.

    Finally, he saw it again - no, not it. Her. She was close enough now, no longer running, where he could see her a bit more clearly. Lithe and lean, the black dress she wore hung loose from her body, moving with the wind as if in communion with it, blending into the pale darkness around her. Though Jack had seen pale women before, she was not simply of light skin pigment. She looked almost… dead? But not as a corpse normally would after any amount of time post-mortem. It was as if she had died, lost all blood flow and color, and then simply froze in time. He couldn't explain it. But as he looked up at the woman standing only a few yards away, he gazed transfixed at an open mouth, smiling brightly, with sharp canines double their normal length - and dripping with blood.

 The pale dusk light seemed to bend around her as if avoiding her. But as Jack gazed into her eyes, he couldn't give the same response. He wanted to look away, but he didn't. His mind throbbed with an intoxicating desire. While his instinctual danger sense screamed for him to look away and either run from or shoot at the ethereal woman, even giving a sense of supernatural evil as if she were some sort of ancient specter or malevolent spirit, he could think of nothing else but her - the soft wisps of her black dress, the slender, smooth pale skin only just visible underneath, her high cheeks and full, pale blue lips, piercing bright eyes and beast-like, abnormal teeth. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed into one another's eyes. He couldn't - and wouldn't - pull away.

    Despite his hesitance, he was forced to eventually blink, and he momentarily lost his breath when he opened his eyes and she was gone. But before he could search for her, as he was willing to do for the rest of his life if necessary, he suddenly felt a tender, almost tentative touch against his shoulder. He didn't have to check to identify the sensation: he could feel her presence. Though he didn't feel her breath, no living warmth which would normally radiate against him, a raw fire coursed through him at her proximity, his skin tingled, his breath tightened. She pressed lightly against his back and licked along the nape of his neck, leaving a smear of warm, fresh blood - from what, he didn't care. He knew it wasn't her blood, but it didn't matter to him how it had gotten there. Any attempt to think was immediately barricaded by her image, her intoxicating, entrancing gaze.

    Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, and the scent of her filled his nostrils, a sweet, yet dry fragrance reminding him of fallen leaves in an autumn forest, beautiful but lifeless. Suddenly, he felt a sharp incisory pain on the right curve of his neck. Instinctively he gasped and recoiled, but she gripped his shoulders with impossible strength, holding him in place. Soon he felt his blood draining out of the neck wound, quicker than it naturally would, and he heard a soft moan from the creature holding him. He made no resistance - he didn't even try to think why she was drinking his blood. He didn't care. Lava rivers of pleasure rippled through him, filling him with deep, overwhelming heat.

    As she continued to drink his blood, he abruptly intuited a presence in his mind, cold and hollow yet familiar: her. She didn't speak, audibly or telepathically; she was simply there, empty, dark, but present. Amazed that she could give him both chill and fire, he closed his eyes and enjoined himself to her, giving up all resistance or struggle and ignoring the panicked screams of his survival instinct. He had wanted this all his life, had searched for it, longed for it - now he had it, and he had no intention of giving it up. Even if it meant giving up his life.