Euphoria's Minions

Bunching characters into one thread seems like the cool thing nowadays. So here we are:

Kami

Name: Kami

Race: Elf

Gender: Male

Eye Colour: Green

Hair: Brown, shoulder-length

Age: 24

Height: 6”4’

Weight: 109lb

Weapon(s): A long-bow that he keeps on his back and an elven sword

Armour: leather padding on his torso. His legs are left unshielded for agility.

Skills/Magic: Various elemental spells to increase the strength or accuracy of his arrows. If Kami is near death he can use a spell to give him a last burst of energy where he can hopefully kill his opponent before dying

Appearance: A thin, agile frame, small nose and sharp, intruding eyes. His hair is straight whenever he gets the chance to work on it. Most elves are vain and Kami is no different, aside from this he is a skilled hunter. He is usually clean-shaven. His feet are small and silent and he has long bony hands.
Kami wears greens and browns to blend into his surroundings and surprise his foes. He has a number of tunics that don’t serve any purpose other than to show him off though and he wears these at celebrations or formalities.

Strengths: Quick and skilled with the bow. His magic isn't as good as most elves but he makes up for it with a accurate bow shot and strong sword arm. He is ruthless and won’t think about killing an innocent man.

Weaknesses: His magic isn’t very strong and he bruises easily because of his thin frame. He tends to be vain too and can become distracted by his looks. He was always trained to fight with weapons so without them he is virtually powerless because most of his spells revolve around them.

Personality: Ruthless, stubborn and cold-hearted. But if you become friends with him an amazing being unfolds before you. He is a bit of a romantic too so when he is not tracking down killers and bandits he is in a banquet hall with elven women. As I have mentioned before he is vain, but only in his looks. He is always looking for a challenge and is eager to have a duel or join brigades intent on cutting down the bandit population. He doesn’t have many friends but the ones he do have are the reason why he isn’t an insane killer chopping little children.
He is a complicated person and has many sides to him, it is impossible to guess his mood because smiles don’t come easy to him and there is never anything showing in his eyes. His emotions are always running high, one minute he is a ruthless stalker and the next he needs a hug. Kami has been strange ever since his parents were kidnapped and is never quick to become attached to someone for fear of losing them.

Bio: Kami was born in a forest long forgotten by humans. His parents were loving and kind and raised him in their large tree house for three years before he ventured into the forest. He tried to make friends several times but was ridiculed because of his brown hair (elves had either jet black or silver hair).
Instead of playing with the rest of the children in the clearing where his parents lived he went exploring. He became very in-tune wit nature, more so than regular elves and made friends with the squirrels and rabbits instead of elves.
He had a happy life walking through the forest talking to the animals and he never said that he missed elven contact. Usually every day he walked down a small brook where small animals gathered to drink and collect nuts and berries to reward the animals with. His life continued happily until he was twelve when he was asleep one night.

Kami woke with a start as he heard a large bang, guessing that it was an old tree far off collapsing he peered out of his tree. The tree-house opposite him had fell, he looked down at the stump and saw that the severed part of the tree was clean-cut. Kami knew it must have been bandits, rogue elves cast out by civilization for not abiding by the law. He climbed out of his tree and ran toward the guard tower intending to alert the watch-men. The sight the met his eyes made him want to vomit, before his eye's he saw the bodies of to dead elves, fathers, brothers, husbands, dead. He started bolting towards the nearest tree to spread the word of the cretins before he heard a massive "thud" and went to explore the noise. This time the fallen tree wasn't a neighbour's, it was his. He frantically searched around it for his parents, their corpses or whatever he could find. All there was were his possesions. Picking up a sword that stayed in his parent's bedroom he vowed to find these, monsters, and destroy them for taking away his town, his life. Kami sombrely got out of the tree and caught the bandits just as they were leaving but he was too slow, they got away, but he could see that terrified faces of his parents being dragged over the shoulders' of two of the bandits. He lay down and cried until a woman came and found him in the morning. He shrugged off her hand and walked out of the clearing, secretly thinking he would never return again.

He headed toward the elven capital, Orion, which was about twelve miles away. He stopped for one night and gave himself a chance to think. One question was rolling around in his head, "Why do they want my parents?" He didn't have an aswer two hours later so he gave up and went to sleep .No animals bothered him because he had befriended him in his adolescence, but that had been stripped away from him, leaving a cold, revenge-seeking assassin. It took him three days to reach Orion, there he found a man named Ismera and told him the story. Ismera agreed to take him in and alert the ruler of Orion that a new recruit was starting training.

A week later Kami was in the training hall with the coach, Mika, along with seven other warriors-to-be. He excelled in swordsmanship and using the bow but his magic was worse than the others. He trained six hours a day then spent the rest of it exploring Orion.
He trained for four years before leaving the great forest, ready to hunt down his parents killers. For another four years he travelled around gathering information and attacking bandits. Then, in a large city now named Giza he found a piece of information concerning bandits raiding a clearing in the great forest eight years ago. He was on the trail for his parents' kidnappers.

Nathan

Name: Nathan (Nate) Overheart

Theme Song: EXTREME ULTRA-POP MADNESS COMING THROUGH: Alphabeat - Fascination

Age: 16

Race: Human

Sex: Male

Height 5ft 8in

Weight 52kg

Weapons: A long thin sword that hangs from a dark brown leather sheath on his waist. Also a pistol that he stole from his Father shortly before running away.

Strengths: Rather good with the sword and a dead-eye (if that’s a good thing) with his pistol. Agile too and willing to do most things. Nate is occasionally able to attack using his pistol and his sword simultaneously. Nathan is scared of very little and is quick to react, but not without thinking first. His friendly nature makes him able to attract allies easily. Finally, he is used to most terrain and hardly ever trips or loses his footing.

Weaknesses: Not much more than a child so his endurance is poor. He is not as fast as an adult either due to his shorter legs, but he is bouncier and livelier. Sadly, he has next to no magic for he is only human. His pistol can only shoot so many bullets before he has to spend precious time reloading or give up on it. He is constantly looking over his shoulder and on edge since the pirates kidnapped him and now his imprresion of all seamen is steriotyped by one evil group.

Magic/Skills: The only piece of magic that Nate can perform is a small electric spell that flows from his hands or the skies, whichever is more convenient. He has since learned the ability to channel the power into objects such as his sword or pistol.

As I said before Nathan can occasionally use both use both of his weapons at the same time. There is a special way of doing of so. Nate throws his pistol up in the air and then catches it with his sword. The blade acts as his finger on the trigger so he can swirl it around blasting bullets while hacking at opponents. This can however go awry so is saved as a last defence, usually he’ll just have sword in one hand, gun in the other.

Appearance: Nate has a pair of dark blue cargo shorts that go just below his knees. He wears a flowing plain white shirt underneath a dark waist coat with big, gold buttons. His actual face is very young for his age and smooth. He has big, blue eyes and soft, thin eyebrows. His jet-black hair is a curly bush that covers his ears but no more.

Nathan’s most noticeable feature is his large, typical pirate hat with a skull and cross-bones on it. Unusually, the hat has three silver bells that jingle when he moves. Thankfully, he doesn’t wear it all the time.

Nate is altogether quite handsome, bar his extremely young appearance. If it weren’t for his height he could easily pass for an eleven-year-old.

The smexy drawring of Nathan by I)ragon11

Personality: In England where Nate was born and raised he never stopped day-dreaming. Conversations with him were one-sided because his thoughts consisted solely on adventures that would never happen in England. People eventually gave up on being his friend, but Nathan didn’t care. His whole long was in the clouds.

When Nathan ran away he became a completely different person, he wasn’t pulling off a mask that was in England he was discarding all his old habits, dreams, and thoughts. He started anew at his luxurious destination.

Nathan is always ready for a challenge, it doesn’t necessarily have to be bloody or physical, he just loves living out the dreams that so many children back in England could only imagine. He is very friendly and adventurous and there is always a smile on his face. He finds it incredibly hard to take things seriously, so if something is getting a little too real he’ll walk off and start another more fun adventure.

He takes pleasure in the simpler things in life, like sitting under a tree or bathing in the ocean, despite his love of challenges he also enjoys relaxation. He is easily pleased too and will laughed at whatever he finds funny, no matter who the audience is or what the consequences may be.

Bio: Nathan Overheart was born in the heart of a large city in England. It was a bustling, pollution-filled city with no care for the individual and Nathan thrived on the dreams that some day the opportunity would come to get out of the filthy hole and off to somewhere amazing; paradise, as Nate called it.

Nathan waited for years for a foreign ship that would accept him or a plan with an exotic itinerary, but it never came. He slipped once again into the dreams of the future without taking action. He did terrible in school, “the boy just doesn’t care,” said every one of his many teachers. It was true, why should he care? In his opinion school lead to jobs which lead to society crushing your spirit.

He was kicked out of school and had to be taught at home, his Mother gave up her job for him but he still didn’t care.

“Why won’t you pay attention?” she screamed for the third time in an hour. Nathan hadn’t even heard her. He was engrossed in a drawing of a beach and some trees that hung on the walls.

Things only got worse. Soon word had spread about their failing son and his Father was discredited for having such a loser as a child. He lost his job and the family sank into dept.

“It’s all your fault!” It was his Dad shouting after getting fired. “All you had to do was show some emotion!”

“There’s nothing to show it to here. You may like the rules and regulations of normal life but they are chains
strangling me Dad!” He was really upset. “If I don’t leave some they’ll suffocate me!”

“Why don’t you just leave then?” His father stormed off into another room grabbing his Mother by her apron.

“Don’t worry, I’m going now,” he whispered.

Fifteen minutes later Nathan was on the poverty-stricken streets. He had a bag strung around his shoulder with his belonging in it and a pistol in his left hand. He strode along the path surprisingly calmly considering the emotional struggle he had just been in. “That’s behind you now. A new door has just opened; we just had to close the old one.” The sun was setting in front of Nathan; he quickened his stepped as he noticed the quay appearing as a line of dots on the horizon.

Nathan scanned his eye across every single boat on the docks, looking for flaws and the one most able to carry him to ‘paradise’. He noticed a wooden sailing boat not far off. Unknown to anyone, Nathan had a book on sailing which he studied should the need arise. He ran over to the boat thinking of the adventures he could have on it. He untied it from the Quay, grabbed two oars and started rowing. It wasn’t long until his arms were aching; it was time to hoist the sail.

With the sail blowing about in the wind it was time to work the tiller. Night had fallen so he positioned it to follow the North Star. “Nathan Overheart!” he cried, “World famous explorer!” He continued yelling out his most sacred dreams until he noticed a faint splodge of land to the east. “Watch the boon!” There was no boon but there were in books. He turned the tiller until the wind was catching the sail the right way.

Several times he began to nod off but jolted awake with thoughts of adventure buzzing through his head. The splodge had partially taken a form by then. He recognised the relief, it was the Netherlands. He realized how hungry he was and turned the sail toward France. “Nathan Overheart single-handedly crosses the English Channel!”

Many hours later, when Nate could faint from the rumbling in his stomach he reached the small town of La Rochelle. Little did he know that he had gone considerably more southward than he intended. “Food!” he shouted scrambling out of his boat after safely tying it to a large wooden pole. He had to work for the money for a few hours but he was exceedingly grateful, he found a shop that didn’t look to expensive and pointed at a croissant and showed the grocer his shiny gold coins. He also bought some sandwiches and devoured them instantly. Next he bought a map with the little change that remained. Since he had no idea where he was someone kindly pointed it out on the map.

Nathan’s little boat had stayed on the dock and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw this. He waved goodbye to randomers for no apparent reason and started on his journey again. His stop in La Rochelle had given him time to think and he had decided to go to Madagascar. A huge island where laws and punctuality gave way to freedom and adventure.
Paradise.

His voyage continued similarly all the way to Madagascar, it was amazing. A tropical heaven overflowing with milk and honey. There was nowhere to tie his boat to so he just dragged it onto the beach. Nate clambered up the sand dunes to take a look at the vast amount of sea he had traversed. Words could not express the sheer, simplistic joy that Nathan felt as he turned around. The setting sun lay lazily on the waters casting a shining glow on every drop. Overhead, the clouds turned a romantic shade of pink and floated about at their leisure. This was what he came to see.

The moment was soon spoiled when Nate was tripped by a shadowy figure and stuffed into a brown, smelly bag. He could feel himself being dragged along the forest floor for hours on end before being finally spitted out of the hideous bag. He lay on the other side of the island; a desolate, ugly place controlled by bucktoothed, dirty men. “What are you doing on our land?” snarled what seemed like the leader.

“You brought me here.” He remained calm under the intense situation.

“Err… shut up or I’ll cut your throat! Since you have trespassed on my land you shall become one of us!”

“Dirty, smelly and stupid?” he spat back.

“No!” the captain shouted slapping Nathan. “A pirate!”

And so it was. Nate was forced to raid poor innocent humans of all treasure in order to garb his waistcoat in shiny bobbles. He couldn’t stand for it. Wouldn’t stand for it. He was going to take action.

On one occasion the entire crew of thirty or so men were on the Prospero; Captain’s ship. Twenty-pirates had hidden under an immense sheet so the Prospero would seem like an innocent trading ship. Same as always, Captain asked to trade, swung the grappling hooks aboard the other ship, pulled it alongside his ship and looted the place. Except, Nathan was angry. He grabbed his pistol and grabbed out his hand towards Captain’s neck, pulling him in close to the lethal weapon.

“Hey! I’m in charge now! And to prove it, I’m doing this!” At that moment he pressed the trigger and a bullet tore through Captain’s neck. “As my first order of business I declare this ship mine! Mine alone! My crew shall disband!”

He had done it. The monstrous crew did disband and Nate had been left with a wonderful ship at his disposal. He picked up the dead Captain's hat and placed it on his head. Next, he brought three silver beels (plunder from a raid) out of his pockets and tied them to the hat.

With the shackles that were holding him down all his life were finally released he began his first proper adventure. Leaving his boat behind, Nate set off through the forests of Madagascar alone searching for inhabitants. Deep in the heart of the forest he found them. Kind, peaceful people that led unburdened lives. He tried communicating with one but he just pointed to the central hut.

“I know why you’re here.” Said an eerie voice from inside the hut. “Adventure is your craving, and to spur you onwards I shall give you a gift. The strange man’s hands lit up in an array of sparks that crossed from his to Nathan’s. They stayed for a moment, tickling his hands and then subsided. “The power of Thunder is yours.”

Nathan didn’t say anything, just left the hut. He pointed to a nearby tree and a flash appeared from the skies. “Now the adventures can truly begin.

Winona

Name: Winona Balthier (Win-own-a Ball-thee-er)

Age: 89 (Appears to be about 8)

Gender: Female

Race: Winona belongs to the proud and elusive race of the Strael. Almost all of them dwell in the clouds, where they have cities, castles and all manner of civilized things. Being totally resistant to the sun, the Strael have deathly pale skin that is feared among the few people that have caught a glimpse of them. Each of them also has a “star-child” who they meet when reaching maturity.

Eye colour: Both of her eyes are pale, cloudy grey with little white behind them and tiny pupils. Almost all of the Strael have eyes like this.

Hair: Winona’s hair flows softly down to the middle of her back. It is the colour of chestnuts with a smell to match. She tries as hard as she can to keep it perfectly straight, but balances the formality with some brightly-coloured polka-dot ribbons throughout it.

Height: 4’ 8”

Weight: 104 pounds

Weapon: Winona’s one and only weapon is somewhat peculiar: a small black and white cat that augments her magical abilities. This is Cassidy, Winona’s Star Child. As well as greatly increasing Winona’s magical potential, Cassidy can – to some extent - sing a few spells himself or distract enemies.

Armour: Winona has three bands that act as her armour: a thick, purple circlet that lessens the pain of blunt blows; a thinner, yellow band that protects her from weaker sharp attacks and an extremely thin, gold anklet that absorbs magical energy. Her two physical bands she wears quite often because of their pretty looks, but she tends to wear the anklet less because it spoils her nice girl façade.

Strengths: The Strael are very adept with magic and can deal strong blows with simple spells. Being an elder of spell-singing, Winona is particularly good. Her young appearance can often get Winona out of unwanted battles and she finds that a big enough pout will get what she wants among the dimmer humans. The bands that the girl wears are quite strong, even if they seem to offer no defence. She has great magical stamina and can sing several spells before growing faint.

Weaknesses: No amount of magical bands can ever make up for Winona’s extremely young physical age. Because of her youthful body, Winona is rather slow and could not withstand even the weakest blow without her bands. In a close-ranged, physical fight Winona has almost no means of defending herself other than some defensive spells and whatever offensive spell she can think of at the time.

Magic: Winona can cast her spells alone, but is aided by Cassidy offering aid through telepathic communication. Each of these spells can be cast upon Cassidy who then inflicts it an enemy when he can get closer.

Fire: The first of the four elements Winona controls, fire is the most volatile. She uses it mostly in close-ranged combat, often casting burns and the like on Cassidy. Her attacks with this element normally consist of fireballs or projectile weapons.

Water: Water is the strongest of Winona’s spells, for she has practiced the most with it and revealed more forms of water than any other spell of hers. With water though, Winona must be near a source of it to harness its awesome power. Her most common form of water is sending waves to wind an enemy or knock them off course. She can also create whips of it and knock an enemy down with its power. Ice too, can be harnessed with this element and Winona takes full advantage of it. She can trap foes in a block of ice by sending water spiralling at them and changing its form. Or, she can use it as a projectile weapon and send disks, balls or bullets of ice at her foe.

Earth: Winona is new with this element but is fast learning to harness it. She currently uses it to gain height over her enemies or distance themselves from them while casting more offensive spells. She is however, known to send huge shards of rock flying towards an enemy or wrap an enemy in stone until their breathing stops.

Wind: The girl enjoys using wind more than anything else, for the forms it takes are simply amazing. She can summon up a whirlwind to engulf her enemy or lift her to amazing heights with this element. Winona also uses it to propel her projectile weapons faster and further towards her enemies. Wind can also take the form of a defensive spell by casting a volatile bubble around her that propels all assailants far away.

Green Frenzy: Her opponent becomes sickeningly dizzy and loses control of their limbs. These volatile effects wear off in a few seconds but foes have been known to see everything in various shades of green for hours after the spell is cast.

Force: This is essentially, a force field. But instead of protecting Winona from attacks a faint grey bubble expands around her, pushing away foes. Winona can choose herself when to stop the spell, but it obviously has limits as to how far it can go.

Strike Strike is, put bluntly, pain. The can be used to devastate foes or simply to escape from an assailant. Winona simply outstretches her hand and a wavy spear of energy will fly towards her foes, cracking weaker shields and harming unprotected enemies. Striker is not a physical spell though, for blood is not emitted from any of the wounds; the spell just damages enemies’ life.

Appearance: Winona looks like your typical girly girl, with a love of bows, pretty dresses and hair products. On her feet she wears a pair of simple white sandals with dainty straps to keep them on her feet. The girl’s legs are unnaturally pale, just like her arms and face. She wears a frilly purple dress that extends down to her knees and when travelling, puts a red cape over it. As I have already said, her arms have a couple of bangles on them, which help make her look a little older.

Winona’s features are sharp and full of knowledge, from her eternally pursed lips to her sharp nose. She has quite a round face, offsetting her otherwise sharp features. Her small lips are a faint pink and her nose is sharp, but doesn’t hook. Winona’s big grey eyes give her face an almost un-dead character. Her hair follows along with her formal face by being completely straight; although she does put some bows in it.

Personality: Winona’s youthful looks and cynic age are always fighting with each other, so there are almost two sides to the strange little girl. On one hand, we have a dangerously sarcastic prune that treats everybody inferiorly and would happily walk over anyone. On the other: a poisonously sweet girl that isn’t afraid to stamp her feet. Most of the time the little war going on inside her is subdued, but she can occasionally burst out almost schizophrenically. She can be cold and unforgiving at times, even to her closest friends and family. She isn’t a trustworthy person either, because she puts her values over anyone else’s. When in conversation the girl’s answers are strong and direct. She often tries to sway others’ opinions in order to achieve her own goals. As a result, the girl has few friends. She is very manipulative too, which is where her sweet side is allowed to come into play.

History of the Strael people

The Strael began their existence around the same time as their human neighbours. The first Straels bore four children, males, which became the fathers of the four countries. At this time, the Strael race bore no resemblance to the humans that dwelled below; but slowly and surely, as each of the four Strael brothers fell in love with human women and bore children, the two races became more alike. The Strael of course, were still superior, but they resembled the humans nonetheless.

The four countries, Treia, Nork, Delva and Sahle fast grew their own laws and diplomacies, monarchies and corruptions, and it was only natural that war would ensue. Nork was the first to give in to fighting by launching attacks on Delva, their foes. Neither was victorious until the armies of Treia joined Nork and defeated the people of Delva. In retaliation against their fellow savage countrymen, Sahle brought a fiery onslaught down on both Nork and Treia. Naturally, they replied with more carnage until the entire Overworld was in chaos. This world of fighting and pain was the one that Winona was born into.

Bio:

“Just one more story!” a four year-old Winona Balthier whined. “You owe it to me after cooping me up in a boring old house for so long.” The little Strael folded her arms grumpily and closed her eyes; willing the inevitable story to come. Her bedroom was lavishly furnished with girly necessities: an overly expensive dressing table with compartments for accessories; immaculate china dolls sporting various cultural gowns; teddy bears and plush toys with eerily permanent smiles. Being sole daughter of one of the richest Houses in Sahle however, Winona hardly noticed the wealth surrounding her.

“Alright then,” the nanny finally exclaimed from exhaustion. “What shall it be, Princess?” The pet name brought a sly smile to Winona’s face and she chose one of the many idiotic tales of princesses and dragons that Nanny had so reluctantly memorised. The tired woman rattled though the foolish tale, eagerly awaiting the soft breathing of a girl that has fallen asleep. It took longer than usual this time – probably due to the lack of activity in Winona’s day – but towards the end the little girl’s shoulders drooped in sleep and Nanny slipped out, unnoticed.

Once out of earshot, Nanny allowed herself a shallow breath and solemnly slid down the lavish stairs. “Her aura is growing too stronger,” she whispered to the girl’s parents as she rounded into the Gathering Room.

“Well what can we do to stop it?” Winona’s worried mother squeaked. “Before long she’ll be a danger to herself and others!”

“We wait.” The knowledgeable nanny replied. “And hold on to her childhood for as long as possible. But what of the father? Does he know of his daughter’s immense magical potential?”

“Of course not. He’s too busy keeping are finances respectable.”

“Well then, may I suggest a good night sleep? They have been known to cure every affliction under the sun.”

“Wise words indeed, Nanny. Words that I shall pay heed to.” With that, the stressed woman walked elegantly up the two flights of her stairs to her master bedroom. The door closed with a slight push of air, and then Nanny was alone.

**** Four years later****

“Greater conflict in southern Delva!” cried a paper-boy as Winona walked past. “Massacred said to rank those of the Delvan genocide!” A pang of fear struck Winona’s heart. Growing up in a war-torn country and greatly matured her, but not to the point of acting out. She felt helpless having not reached Maturity, especially since her powers were going to be so strong. Or at least, that’s what Nanny said. All she had to do during this war was hide and go to school.

A chill wind tore threw Winona’s impractical coat and into her fragile bones. She let out a cry of torment and broke into a horrible trudge back to the manor. Rain started plodding down before long and the trudge became a dash for shelter and warmth. Managing to outrun most of the rain, Winona gave an exaggerated shiver as she burst threw the doors of the mansion. The little girl stormed up to her room to change while exchanging ruffled glances with Nanny. The woman swiftly set about mopping up the dirty puddle brought in by Winona’s wet boots, but stopped at a glance from the outside world: the powerfully close sun shone brightly on the busy town and any precipitation that had taken place would have been dried up in minutes. How then, did Winona manage to come in looking like a flood victim?

The answer hit her like a ten-ton weight crashing on her shoulders. Immediately abandoning the mop, she half-ran up the few stairs to Winona’s bedroom. She pushed the door open with all the strength she possessed, crashing it against Winona’s wall.

Too late.

The little girl sat blankly at on the pink bed, staring down at one of her many plush toys. It was Cassidy the cat, a favourite of Winona’s in her junior years. “Winona, Princess?” Nanny called sweetly, not letting fear escape form her lips. “Why don’t you put that old toy down? I’ve prepared a snack for you in the grand kitchen.”

“I’m not hungry,” the girl replied in a monotone voice.

“Well at least let go of that silly toy. It’s for babies.”

“But I don’t want to.” With those words Winona stood up vacantly and gave Nanny a little push to usher her out. The door shut firmly behind her.

“Oh, my Winona,” Nanny worried. “What have you gotten into this time?”

**** Two days later ****

“There are no signs of Eruption,” said the plain spell-singer to Winona’s parents. “But I think it’s time we took Winona to the Source.” Winona’s mother let out a faint whimper, but did not object. The Source was a store of great magical knowledge used for training novice spell-singers in the arts of magic and educating them on the effects of Maturity. “If there are no objections, I will come back tomorrow for Winona and she will stay with us until we are sure an Eruption is no longer possible. After that, we’ll leave Winona to decide if she wishes to pursue spell-singing as a career.”

“Thank you, Sir. We will have Winona ready at noon tomorrow.”

****

“So Cassidy, what do you think of that news?” Winona shut the door to her bedroom silently, wishing to review the situation privately. Cassidy had only been her friend for two days, but already she felt a fierce bond between them. “Learning magic could be fun, but I’m sure there’ll be lots of boring parts too.

“It has to be better than this monotony,” the animated cat replied. “Aren’t you bored of mediocrity? This could be your chance to aid the soldiers at war and reach your full potential.”

“That does sound good,” Winona mused. “But it will be my first time doing things for myself.”

“You’ll soon learn,” her companion replied. “I’ve seen how bright you are.

****

Winona stood gingerly at the gates of an enormous establishment. Cassidy sat on her shoulder offering much-needed emotional support while a little bag was slung over the other, containing only her most prized possessions. The rest of her things were dragged along behind her by Nanny and a handful of movers. She took a timid step forward and peered across the threshold: immensely architectural buildings and looming offices surrounded her. Never before had the little girl seen such a place. Before the buildings though, stood countless curious Strael children discussing the newcomer quietly.

“Enough dawdling,” Nanny snorted. “I have more things to do today than wait for you to make a move. Your parents have employed me as housekeeper.” Winona gave a faintly warm smile and obliged the woman’s wishes, slowly walking towards the central building of the huge place. “We need a room please,” Nanny told the receptionist as the got to the foyer of the first building. The young woman that answered handed Winona a faintly rusted a key with a small red signet engraved on the centre. A new-looking key ring hung off it, attaching a small badge with the number ‘332’ to the key. Winona curtsied politely and walked off.

Her new home was modest, to put it in a polite way. A small, brown bed lay in the centre, with a little wardrobe and a bedside table beside it. A plain dressing table sat opposite to the little bed, and across from that was an equally “modest” en suite bathroom. Winona took one look around and made face to Nanny. “Can’t you make it any better?” Nanny rolled her eyes.

“You only have to be here when you sleep. From what I’ve heard they have some games rooms, a library and other really fun things. Can’t you just try to be content with it?”

“Okay,” the spoilt girl replied with a pout. “But I’m still going to fix it up.”

“That’s fine. But we’ll have to be going now,” the tired woman said with a weak smile. She extended her arms to hug Winona and then closed the little door.

“Do you think it’s liveable?” asked Winona’s furry companion.

“It obviously needs some work,” she replied smartly. “But I could maybe survive.

****

Winona gave a sigh of relief as the final Source bell of her life chimed. Twelve years had passed since she had first joined the Source, and her magical powers had grown exponentially. What lay ahead was more important however, for she finally had to make a career choice. Three were three fields of magic that one could pursue: political involvement in society by becoming a lesser Elder; patriotic involvement by becoming a War Mage; or community involvement by overseeing events in her own town and using her powers to strengthen the community’s bonds. She had received countless career talks as to which path she would like to follow, but she still hadn’t made her mind up.

“What do you think, Cassidy?” she asked her ever-wise companion.

“From the day I met you I knew your powers would be amazing. With them, in fact, you could really help to end the Overworld War. I think that you should become a War Mage and fight for all Straels’ freedom from this nightmare.” Winona nodded in approval. “

“Alright, then. That means I’ll need to enlist in the Overworld Wars.”

****Ten years later****

“Stations, everyone!” chimed the skirmish overseer. Ten years had passed and the raging war was still no closer to ending. Winona had remained resolute however, and had remained a faithful weapon of the Sahle armies. She positioned herself in her usual spot at the back of the crowd, readying herself for the inevitable onslaught on her mind that these battles brought on. Cassidy extended his strength towards her and she offered a mutter of thanks. “Charge!” the impolite overseer called. Winona immediately raised herself off the ground and scanned the battlefield for potentially danger enemies. Spotting one, she threw a fierce ball of flame down at the opposing mage, leaving him burnt and gasping for breath. She lowered herself a little and threw out a force beam, knocking down several opponents. Just as planned, many of her fellow soldiers swooped in to finish them off. Is this really helping anyone? she asked Cassidy in her mind. Wouldn’t I have helped more people by becoming an elder?

Perhaps war is your key to getting political power, the little cat replied. Try showing off as much as possible and then present your idea to the elders.

That sounds good, but for now I’ll focus on the skirmish. The war mage sent out a fatal strike to a nearby foe, contorting his face into a deathly scene. Her troop soon won the battle and went parading back to camp. But the whole way back, Winona had thoughts of take-over on her mind.

****

“We need to be focusing on ending this war more than winning it!” Winona called out. Her voice rang through the courtroom, angering the faces of some and bringing enlightened smiles to others. A human would have laughed at the confusing scene – an 8 year-old child barking political ideas to much older men and women. She had fast become a rising elder, eventually becoming the youngest ever Mage Elder at only 58. Political debate had made her mind age much quicker than she would have liked, making the once sweet and spoilt little girl nearly fade to make room for a manipulative, persuasive elder who cared about no views but her own.

“And since the elders of Nork and Treia are so unreasonable on the subject of truce, power is the way to go about it! A propose that my star-child and I embark on a venture to find such a power that will end the Overworld Wars.” Several voices cried out in protest.

“But how will Sahle keep its defences up with our senior Mage Elder gone?” accused one of the many enraged on-lookers.

“Surely our mighty country can fend for itself for a little while,” Winona answered back. “Or do you have no faith in your own country?” The other woman quickly sat down in defeat. Suddenly the three other senior elders stood up from their higher seats in unison.

“I am afraid we cannot leave our country so unprotected,” said the closest one. He was a bald man that had chosen to mature at a very late age. “Sahle’s well-being comes before any searches for power and surrender. There was nothing Winona could say to change the minds of her fellow elders - years in this position had taught her that. So she simply sat down in her central chair as the political meeting was adjourned.

****

“Are you coming, Cassidy?” Winona whispered angrily. “Those old fools have lived to long to see the country’s best interests.

“I’m not sure about this, Winona. Treason is an unforgivable crime.”

“You’re either with me or against me.” In answer, the cat jumped onto Winona’s shoulder as she stepped out of her elegant room. The elder halls were silent – exactly what Winona wanted to hear. She shut the door silently behind her and strung a red cloak over her dress. Her position in Sahle had taken her only so far, it would seem that ending this war was now a personal endeavour.

Rosalie

Name: Rosalie (Rose) Harrington

Theme Song: Tears Don't Fall - Bullet for my Valentine

Sex: Female

Race: Vampire, to an extent.

Age 29 officially, although she looks a couple of years younger, cursed to appear that age forever.

Height: 5’ 6”

Eyes: An enticingly conspicuous scarlet. When Rosalie is hungry, her eyes will look completely pristine and piercing. When her thirst is satiated they look much kinder, and the scarlet within almost ripples.

Weight: 92lbs

Hair: Rosalie holds her hair in a thick bob which covers her ears, but doesn’t touch her shoulders. It is completely black, except for the few strands of shock white throughout. Her bangs extend just past her eyes, almost impairing vision.

Weapons: Rosalie is an absolute treat in this category. She has two weapons: her ever-sharp fangs which can slice through any manner of things, and a poison-tipped dagger. Rosalie positively detests her little knife, mainly because it is fused into her wrist, making her incapable of using her right hand for purposes other than stabbing. The knife’s hilt was dismantled before being stuck in Rosalie, so now there is only a blade that extends several inches past her clenched fist. Her hand is always in this position when attacking.

Despite her hatred for this weapon, it is Rosalie’s most common. Her rare disease (more on that later) makes any form of close-combat impossible, except for stealth. Often the vampire finds inserting her fangs in her victim too hard to do swiftly, so an inconspicuous stab with the mildly paralysing (lose control of arms and legs for a second – enough for Rosalie to begin the draining process) dagger is much easier to pull off.

The blade is made in such a way that it can be inserted and pulled out again swiftly, by means of a small groove in the blade that allows blood to drain out. The dagger is extremely thin, with the two edges blunted for she has no need to slash. The tip is however extremely sharp. One prick of the blade will open a nasty gash.

Armour: None. Armour would slow her down, which is a risk she simply cannot afford to take.

Strengths: Rosalie moves inhumanly fast, so fast that she can outrun the swiftest Olympic athlete three times over. She also has the ability of foresight, which allows her to glimpse her opponent’s action milli-seconds before it happens. She has extremely quick reflexes and thought processes, and never needs to think twice. She has just about learned to curb her enthusiasm for blood, not something a vampire can normally do. This means that if she wounds a foe without time to finish them off she won’t become distracted by the hot, sticky red liquid tantalizingly oozing out of them…much.

One of her best vampiric traits is spontaneous regeneration. This means that when Rosalie is cut or hurts herself in any way the wound heals in a matter of seconds. The one exception is the dagger that is fused to her wrist. She is still wounded there because the cut can’t close over. If something of a considerable size becomes lodged in her body she can’t regenerate.

Finally, Rosalie doesn't require sleep. She can stay awake for years without feeling even faintly lethargic. This means that she is always completely alert, except for under one circumstance which is explained below.

Weaknesses: Osteogenesis Imperfecta (or Brittle Bone Disease) has stalked Rosalie longer than she can remember. It means she can hardly take a punch, a kick, throw, or even punch something herself without fracturing a bone. Because of this she is always afraid of being around people, just in case she experiences the crashing pain. Rosalie doesn’t die when a bone breaks, nor is she hurt for any period of time. Her vampiric regeneration means that the bone heals almost instantaneously. It does cause her a great deal of pain however, and the bone is weaker once mended for a few hours.

Rosalie is extremely susceptible to a few other things, which are widely known to kill vampires in the human world. The first is destroying one of two things: her head and her heart. Rosalie can’t regenerate a head, she simply dies. Likewise, when she is stabbed with anything in the heart (Rosalie abhors the old myths) she will die. Any form of holy thing – water, crucifix, magic- will do a great deal of damage, but not necessarily kill her.

Another vampire myth that holds true (and is probably her greatest weakness) is her affliction to sunlight. It won’t immediately turn her to dust as some scholars believe, but she will receive a nasty burn if her skin is in contact for too long. These burns are permanent.

Being a vampire, Rosalie requires blood to survive. If she is extremely thirsty Rosalie will be jumpy, distracted and susceptible to surprise attacks. She will also have weaker attacks and be quite a bit slower. Thirst is for Rosalie like exhaustion to humans. She needs blood about once every weak to survive, but to retain her strength a meal is necessary every two or three days. For your average vampire this thirst is extremely managable, but for Rosalie, it is very hard to catch a truly evil victim every few days. This sometimes leads to extreme tiredness and loss of concentration. Even when she is dying of thirst, she won't allow herself to feed on the innocent.

Skills/Magic

Foresight: Rosalie can briefly gaze into the future, although it is not like it sounds. Instead of zoning out into a foretelling reverie, a blurred, bright green clone of her opponent will appear and show Rosalie what her foe is about to do. Foresight is always active and distracted Rosalie at first. She can now implement it without losing focus on the present.

Foresight is not an innate ability for vampires, it is actually incredibly rare. In only a few cases has a vampire developed an extra ability outside the norm. These supernatural abilities aren’t completely random though; in Rosalie’s other life she had quick reactions and was incredibly empathic. It was these things that determined the nature of her power.

Spontaneous Regeneration: Put simply, this means Rosalie can almost instantly heal herself. This trait is explained in more depth in the 'Strengths' section.

Appearance: Rosalie is, like all vampires, simply gorgeous. She makes up for her short stature with perfect ivory skin and an angelic face, which is in odd contrast to her malevolent eyes. Rosalie’s lips are a ghostly pink and her nose is sharp, without looking hooked. Her eyebrows are very light and evidently heavily maintained.

She has a very slight frame, which her simple clothes almost hang off of. She wears sharp-pointed boots that reach up just below her knee. A tight-fitting set of leather trousers is tucked into them before they meet a white tank-top and a black leather jacket. All of the clothes are slightly ripped from mishandling the dagger and she wears a simple little bat charm around her neck; ironic, considering how much she detests the old myths.

Finally, she has a pair of thick-rimmed square sunglasses which she wears when in cognito. After a while she realised that humans were scared of her devilish ruby eyes, so she took to disguising them when in human contact, which turned out to be a lot. Her odd vintage glasses are often met with judgemental giggles and whispers, but Rose doesn’t care.

Personality: Every minute of every day Rosalie is atoning for the unforgivable crimes she committed in her undead life. For that reason she is poisonously sweet to everyone she meets. She is never particularly emotional, but will go completely out of her way to help someone that deserves it.

Rose has an absurdly poignant moral compass. Being a vampire, she needs human blood to sustain her existence. But she found that she couldn’t bring herself to drain the life from people that had done nothing wrong. She is constantly judging people, assessing them to see if they deserve to live or not. If they fail Rosalie’s evaluation she will follow them and kill them discreetly, mirthlessly.

To people that ‘deserve to live’ she is the best friend anyone could ask for. Kind, forgiving, impossibly patient, she is the ultimate ‘Go to’ girl. She is, ultimately, uninterested in the minor tribulations of her friends’ lives, but she would never let them know they were nothing more than a tool of her penance.

She is desperately alone, but won’t let herself fall in love for two reasons: she doesn’t feel she deserves those feelings of complete bliss that accompany love, and she couldn’t bear to go through that spiralling pain that she has felt one too many times before. She often argues with herself on whether or not to let herself, and has decide that if someone falls in love with her, she will oblige and reciprocate. In that situation she would be letting someone experience the ultimate happiness.

Biography: Note: The following events occurred in Rosalie’s human life. The story will inform you when the change happens.

“You know you mean the world to me, right?” The sickly-sweet interrogation had been occurring almost non-stop since the engagement. Rosalie cautiously flung her arms around her fiancé James as she awaited an answer.

“Of course.” It was moaned, in a mock, loving way.

The bear-hug tightened as Rosalie registered the answer. “So you’re prepared to do anything to make me happy?”

“Anything at all,” James replied kindly.

“Well the wedding is in a week and-”

The phone rang in the other room.

“Hold that thought,” she chimed, gliding into the kitchen. She picked up the phone with a delighted flourish.

“Is this Rosalie Harrington?” an unfamiliar voice asked. It was clearly male, but squeaky and with a sharp edge to it; probably just another caterer or a florist.

“This is she; can I help you?”

“Indeed you can, my dear.” There was an awkward pause. Rosalie twiddled her thick hair between her fingers, listening to the laboured breathing of the man.

“Don’t go to your wedding,” he finally coughed out. The easily-scared girl felt her heart plunge. What was the man talking about? She hadn’t the faintest idea. She did however know that he was trouble, what she had previously mistaken for sharpness was actually malevolence.

“What are you talking about?”

The line was already dead. The phone slipped out of her grasp as her knees buckled. The edges of her vision blurred, fear taking over. She barely glimpsed James flitting from the other room before crashing on the kitchen floor.

*

“Are you okay, Rosie?” It was James. Rosalie’s eyes immediately snapped open, taking in the sterile hospital room. Realization struck her like a lightning-bolt, along with a blunt pain in her forearm. James caught the nervous glance to her fragile limb. “Don’t worry, you’re fine.”

Rosalie thanked the heavens she wouldn’t be wearing a cast on her wedding day as she rearranged her thoughts. “How long ago did I fall?” she finally croaked.

“A few hours ago. The doctors said it was shock more than anything that knocked you out.”

For a second Rosalie relived the heart-plummeting moment: evil whispers down the phone-line, prophesying doom and regret on her wedding day. She had been terrified, traumatised. Her reverie was burst suddenly by a question from James:

“What happened anyway? And don’t lie to me, I know you too well.”

Rose chuckled before she began the story. “You know that I ran into the kitchen to fetch the phone. Well, it was someone I didn’t recognise that had called. He sounded evil, like he was going to hurt someone. Anyway, he told me that I shouldn’t go to the wedding.” She paused introspectively. “Come to think of it, blacking out might have been a tad melodramatic!”

She looked at James to gauge his reaction. It wasn’t the humorous smile that she had anticipated, but a sombre, almost vengeful, frown.

“What’s the matter?” she asked lightly, fluffing her pillow a little. “Surely you’re not upset by something as insignificant as that?”

“I’m surprised that you weren’t more upset!” He had placed an iron grasp on Rosalie’s forearm, and was breathing considerably more heavily. “This is our wedding day. Nothing is allowed to go wrong.”

Rose weakly replaced James’ hand and stroked his cheek. “And nothing will go wrong. It was just some drunken idiot that had heard about the wedding from a friend, or something like that.”

“You’re probably right,” James admitted. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again. Enough of that though; do you think you’re ready to be discharged?”

The woman replied with a crisp nod and a smile. “We’ve wasted precious minutes of preparation time!”

*

The sprawling cathedral was alive with flowers. The scent – heavenly – filled every crevice of the elegant building, and their subtle colours were garbed like dresses on the pews. Guests had started arriving an hour ago: men wearing hastily rented tuxedos; women in formal but beautiful dresses. The minister wore the customary black shawl and a white dog-collar, and held a lovingly bound bible. The smile on his face seemed to light up the room, but it was nothing compared to that of the man standing beside him. James’ thick blond hair had been parted in the middle and held down with several cans of hairspray. His white tuxedo wasn’t a rental, and was garnished with a frilly pink rose. The bride’s-maids stood a few feet away from him, each holding a small bouquet of the same pink flowers between their white-gloved hands. Everything was perfect, except for the absence of one Miss Rosalie Harrington.

“Let go of me!” Rose screamed hatefully at her captor. She was swung like a leaf over the man’s broad, heavily garbed shoulder.

His face was veiled by a pitch black balaclava, similar to the gloves he wore. There were no slits for eyes, but there was one for his malicious abyss of a mouth. Everything about him was black, especially his demeanour. “Shut it, woman!” he bawled. The cry didn’t sound human, it had been distorted by some piece of machinery. It sent a chill up her spine.

“You’re going to break something!” she squealed. “I’m fragile.”

The man laughed a demonic roar. It turned high, then soft, amplified and disappeared. He dropped her gently – horizontally - on the damp ground outside the cathedral, laughing as Rose fretted over her dirty dress. “You need some help prioritizing,” he chuckled, launching a violent kick at Rosalie’s shin. It broke with a sickening crack and a blood-curdling scream.

“I hate you!” The shriek was out before Rosalie could think. The balaclava contorted with a quick grin, twisting the entire hood into something other-worldly but for a second.

“Is that so?” he whispered back. “You don’t know hatred, little girl. Hate is the feeling of wanting to take a knife and plunge it into a person’s heart; could you do that? Could you take a life without a second thought, a hint of remorse? Could you?”

Rose stared down at the wet earth, defeated. She couldn’t do that, not even to a monster like him. She could, however, put up a fight. She looked the man right in the eyes, her lips little more than a taciturn line. “What do you want with me?” she spat.

The man didn’t answer for a moment. He turned away from Rose and looked up at the sky. “Can you feel the rain?” he whispered. “I can’t. Every drop that falls, every whiff of pungent cakes, every whisp of sweet, passionate music, it’s nothing to me. Yes, I can sense them – more than you can, by the way – but I can’t feel them, not the emotion that accompanies them. I’m a shell, a ghost. Perhaps you can restore my feeling?”

Rosalie was a sudden mess of unspoken questions. What is he? What will I become? She stared downward again, too terrified, too emotional to look her captor in the face. “What are you going to do to me?” she prayed through solemn tears.

The man laughed again, but it wasn’t from humour. It was insanity. “I’m going to sire you.”

*

She was strapped to a table: cold, hard, bone dry. She felt all the pain and discomfort, and she savoured it. From what the demon said, they might well be her last feelings at all. She couldn’t hear him, and the pain in her ankle prevented too much concentration. There was a silky opaque blindfold veiling her eyes, and her hands and legs were tethered to the table with the same material. She had tried tearing it; no use.

“Soaking up your last moments of feeling, I hope?” The voice had broken past insanity, creeping towards the very brink of a mental breakdown. The demon obviously had no limits. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “Now, as well as making you my little partner, I’m going to be conducting an experiment on your body.”

Rosalie’s blood froze.

The man giggled again and resumed talking. “I’m going to insert a knife into your wrist mid-transformation, just to see what happens. Fun, no?”

Rose pulled once again on her lashings, unleashing a violent scream as more pain crept into her ankle.

“Don’t try to move.”

“I’ll be your partner!” she shouted madly. “Just don’t do that experiment!”

“But, my dear, only the worthy can become vampires.”

Rosalie’s body went limp with a sharp pain in her neck. Next her head was being raised forcefully by the man, and a hot substance was trickling down her throat. She spat it out. The man grabbed her nose and sent a greater stream of liquid into her mouth. She resisted the urge to swallow, but it was in vain. The transformation had begun.

“You’re going to feel pain. Lots of pain.”

*

Blood. Feed. Kill. Blood. Must drink. Kill. Kill.

There was something in the room, pulsating with pathetic fear and expectation. Rosalie stalked towards it, her wedding dress stained with blood. “Must kill. Drink. Feed.”

The man gulped, pointed out the door into harsh sunlight. Rose could smell the fear in its blood, it had to die. She launched forward at the beast, intent on biting it, but something stopped her. There was a look of pure agony on the man’s face. She looked down. A razor-sharp dagger was protruding out of his stomach. She grinned malevolently. “Kill.”

Rose revealed the dagger with a fluid movement and grinned at it. She laughed at her own demonic reflection: gormless, rock-hard scarlet eyes sparkled back at her. She grabbed the man’s throat with her good hand, making sure not to press so hard as to break her hand. She traced the line of a heart in front of the man’s veiled face, before creating a sharp nick in it. A single drop of blood fell from the cloth. She watched it splash on the ground. She bent down and poked it with one finger, tasted it.

“No good.”

The girl snapped up in an instant and pressed harder on the man’s face with the dagger. As more and more blood poured she could feel his resistance weakening. Her grip on the throat was little more than a pinch. She moved off the face, down to the body. The wounds were miniscule, shallow, but everywhere. She could almost feel the pain emanating from him. She got lost in the work of pulverising the man, almost too lost to notice the rapid scars that had been created. “But...how?” she stammered. “It’s only been a few minutes!” She thrust the blade into the man’s shoulder, feeling a little better when a scream burst from his hidden lips. He was regaining strength; time to end it. With a casual smirk she slit open the vampire’s heart and laughed as a supernatural flame devoured his body. Only ash remained. She dusted off her hands – thoroughly peeved when she nicked her wrist, but overjoyed when it healed in seconds – and set off out the door.

She was on fire. A million tiny suns and furnaces ripped apart her skin from every angle, blocking out sight, movement. She dashed blindly for cover. Stepping inside was like an oasis from the greatest desert. Rosalie sighed uncomfortably and searched for somewhere to wait for nightfall. She was going hunting.

*

The humans would all be in their beds by now, resting, crying themselves to sleep, ignoring reality. Rosalie wasn’t. She had never gone to sleep. She lay down on the operating table and tried, but it was hopeless. She was an eternal insomniac, not that her feral mind would let her comprehend that. She thought of blood mostly as she lay there; blood trickling down her lips, her eyes splashing with satiation, the draining of colour from her victim’s face. It gave her pleasure, imagining their poignant deaths and the growth of her own strength.

But that was just a dream. Catching her prey would be much harder, especially with her new ‘weapon’. Rose sweeped off the table, spending a second to lament her tattered and bloodied dress. In a way she admired it too, the blood was a fierce red. It was strong blood. The vampire stalked out the door of the place she in, not bothering to check what it was.

The humans crowded the streets like ravenous dogs to a carcass. Rosalie was overwhelmed by the sights, the sounds, the smells; everything was heightened. Most of them gave her odd looks as she crept down the busy, lamp-lit streets, but she hissed and glared with her pulsing red eyes. They fled, dogs once again.

“Rosalie?” The woman broke out of her numb state of mindless walking. She snapped her head the direction of the sound, recognising the name. It was James. He looked distraught, but flowing with fresh blood. She contorted her evil face into something forlorn.

“James, is that you?”

The man rushed over to her. She savoured the smell as he gripped her, not too tightly. He walked her over to a nearby alley, away from the crowd.

“I’ve been looking everywhere! What happened yesterday? What’s that knife doing?I was petrified.” Rose took his hand with hers and parted his greasy hair with the other.

“Me too, sweetheart. It was that man that called me, remember? He kidnapped me, and –“ she broke off, feigning emotion. James gripped his shoulders, terror slapped across his face.

“What did he do to you?”

Rose turned away with a sob, even managing a few tears. She didn’t answer.

“What did he do to you?”

“I can’t tell you here; can we go home?”

*

The apartment seemed different, sharper. James ushered Rose towards a comfortable seat as she prepared to divulge her alibi. James ran his coarse hand over her face, wiped away her mustered tears. “Can you tell me now?”

Rose nodded with another aching sob.

“Just tell me truthfully what happened. I won’t speak, do anything, until you say the word.”

She gave a faint smile and began. “Well, I had just finished getting changed into my wedding dress when I saw something through the mirror. I turned around, but it wasn’t there. Suddenly I felt someone pick me up from behind, over his shoulder. He carried me out of the church and dropped me on the ground. He said some things – horrible things, James. Things I couldn’t bear to repeat. Then, he took me to a building I didn’t recognise. He knocked me out, but I still felt pain. So much pain, James. You have no idea of the sort of agony we can endure.

“I woke up disorientated, feeling weird, this knife was in my wrist. I noticed my captor in the corner of the room. He looked...fearful.”

James’ eyes opened incredulously, but he didn’t speak.

“I asked him what he did, but he wouldn’t tell me; he didn’t have to tell me what I am, because I know.”

“You know what happened? What? What?”

“He made me a vampire.”

James froze suddenly. He retracted his hands from Rose’s body fearfully. “A...vampire?”

“Yeah. So, I killed him. Sort of like how I’m going to kill you.”

Rosalie stood up abruptly and grinned. “Soaking up your last moments of feeling, I hope?” She let the dagger gleam in the moonlight, savouring the look of terror on James’ face. “Don’t take it personally, my love. I’m hungry.”

James started for the door, but she got there before him. Back to the door, she cackled madly and launched the dagger millimetres from James’ ear. “Feed. Kill. Kill. Drink.” James’ eyes darted to the windows, she punctured them with her blade. His scream filled the room, igniting a frantic euphoria within Rosalie. She took the dagger and stuck it concisely into his stomach, enjoying the sudden numbness of his ligaments. “You’re going to feel pain. Lots of pain.” With melodramatic relish she slithered towards James’ vulnerable neck. She simply set it on her jaws, stroking his grizzled chin one more time. Then, with pristine clarity, she bit into his throat. The blood was warm, almost bubbling. It rushed into her like a waterfall, filling her up with energy. When it was done, she dropped the rapidly cooling corpse.

Rosalie’s watery eyes mirrored the demonic grin on her face. “Miss you already, love.”

*

What were those green silhouettes? They plagued Rosalie all the time now, just seconds away from the bodies they belonged to. She didn’t understand them, didn’t want to. They plagued her nearly as much as her insatiable demonic thirst. It had been three days since she’d fed on James, and the hunger had crept up steadily on her since.

She was alone in the warehouse of her transformation, alone. The shadows hurt her head too much to go out, even at night. What’s more, images of James had started creeping into her thoughts. She had loved that man for years, and killed him in a matter of minutes. It didn’t have to be him, it could have been someone that actually deserved it. James was a good man, a honest man. What Rosalie did was unforgivable, and she would have to pay. In a way though, her act of penance wasn’t so great, now that ‘life’ was such an abomination. She didn’t care. It had to end, because of James.

It had to be painful, a blow to the heart would be too swift. In the end, she settled for melodrama. The shining dagger on her hand would do the trick; a few quick punctures from it would leave her bleeding to death.

The moon had risen a few hours ago, so Rosalie guessed it was midnight. This was when she had to do it. Steadying the dagger with practiced precision, she placed it on her left wrist and breathed deep. This was the end. She pointed the tip of the dagger into a vein, and pressed down. She didn’t stop into bone shattered and the knife could be seen through her arm. The pain was intense, nearly as great as her transformation. Apparently the man had left out the part about still feeling pain. She took the dagger out again and plunged it into another bloodied vein. Warm life-force gushed out of the wounds, making Rose’s ghostly face even paler. This really was the end.

A flash of green. Rose forgot her suicide attempt and dashed out the door to find the source. It had fled down an alley, and there was a second silhouette following it. She chased after the people, forgetting the blood that poured out of her wrist. Then she saw it. There was an enormous hulking man standing over another person. Rose could see a faint trickle of green blood that was soon to come from the victim, and she dashed over to help. Without thinking she slit the throat of the attacker with her knife, began drinking. The victim was a girl, but she couldn’t find out any more. The girl fled in an instant.

Rose wiped the blood off her face sombrely. “I know my calling,” she whispered into the night. “I’m going to live, but not like other vampires. I will live by the blood of the unworthy, the dangerous. My life will give life to others, and take it from the unrighteous. I will be good.

*

Harrington Investigations was set up a week later, in the dead of night. All the windows were tinted, to spread an air of mystery, as well as preventing Rosalie from combusting. Things took off immediately as she followed clues laid down by her police links. She got kills every few days, enough to live by. All of them deserved it.

So Rosalie spends her days researching the vile and unworthy, and her nights tracking them down. She’s miserable, but alive. After all, a miserable life is more of a penance than death could ever be. Everybody wins.[/quote]