Eau De Sang-- Emily Prentiss x Reader

chapter three

University of Michigan, 1992

The library was abuzz with chatter, not uncommon for a university library in the final weeks of a semester. Young adults were scattered around tables, working on group projects and studying alone. The bottom floor of the library was filled with computers and that's where you found yourself for the 18th straight day in a row. It had started as a simple project, your 6th-grade social studies class had been doing a unit on European history and you were looking into folklore for a group project. It was then that you came across myths and legends about bloodsucking demons, the risen dead, vampires.

At first, you thought nothing of the myths, remembering hearing your dad lecture once about how folktales and myths come to be: as a means to explain the unexplainable. But, it was when you clicked into a particularly detailed account of vampires did your heart start to race. The story told of how vampires were born, of a searing hot venom that courses through their veins with the bite of another and the agony of feeling your body turn immortal. It took you back to that fateful night when your mother died and you lay screaming on the kitchen floor as you felt like your body was on fire. You fingered the bitemark on your wrist, the scar always cold to the touch, never quite losing its swollen rigidity.

Now, almost 3 weeks deep into your research, you were thoroughly convinced your mother had been murdered by a vampire. The man had broken into your home, silently stalking around the house until he found you and your mother sitting alone in the living room, just as he had been expecting. You remembered his skin being almost unnaturally pale, his eyes a deep black, hunger written over his face. He snuck up on your mom, but you saw him and ran to hide behind the kitchen counter. She seemed to recognize him, only slightly afraid until he revealed his intentions. Her efforts to run were fruitless, he was superhumanly fast and strong, an apex predator of the human species. You didn't know how long you hid, crying as quietly as you could while you heard your mom's torture and subsequent death. It was only when things went silent that you dared to leave your hiding spot, thinking that the man was gone. If only you had been so lucky.

With a binder full of information in hand, detailing every vampire myth you could come across, you made the trek across campus back to your dad's office. It was snowing a light, early-December snow typical of southeastern Michigan. The walk to the modern languages building was short and your dad's office was just far enough to get the snow melted off your coat in the warmth of the room. He was just finishing up his last few minutes of office hours and you knew the drill—talk to the secretary and keep her company until the last student exits his office and the door shuts. Knock three times: long, short, short, and then walk in.

"Hey, Munchkin, whatcha got there?" your dad said as you entered the office, pointing at the binder in your hands. You rolled your eyes at the nickname, one you still hadn't outgrown from childhood.

"I've been doing some research down at the library." You didn't mean to be short with your dad, but you were unsure how he would react to your theory that your mother had been killed by a vampire.

"Your project was due almost a week ago, so what have you been so interested in since? I know you weren't particularly enthused by Eastern European history."

As your dad ushered you out of his office, bag slung over his shoulder and keys jingling in his hand, you sighed and clutched your binder closer to your chest.

"I was doing some research into folklore."

This piqued your dad's interest, as his undergraduate degree was in anthropology—he soon abandoned it for a Ph.D. in linguistics, with a specialization in romance languages. He was fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian, a skill he passed onto you from a young age.