VAMPIRE EMPIRE ♱ twd

prologue / don't seek me out, it's dark in here.

      THE OLD HOUSE, distinct to the series of white pristine houses at the end of the suburban street, was entwined in crimson blood and sorrow. The paint had been chipped off and the tips of the wood, now turned black, had started to splinter. The sun casted its rays through the curtains, peeking through the darkness, promising a sunny day.

As Rachel's fingers traced the contour of the set of necklaces hanging around her neck, the promise fell unfulfilled. Stuck at the threshold, the rays of sun never seemed to reach much further. She didn't mind the perpetual twilight that the house had made.

Her momentary dreamless tranquility was shattered by the presence of unwelcome guests. Raw rage ignited within her chest spreading wildfire trough her body, forcing her to bite down her lip until it bled. The metallic taste on her mouth prevented a blood curdling, fueled by anger, scream to escape her lips.

Suddenly sensing the unease, the usual banter going back and forward from the men on the garden came to an abrupt halt. With their eyes wide open and their breath on a hitch, the hand of the bravest reached for the door, twisting the handle slowly. The golden handle on the white door was rusty, emitting a squeak.

The pressure of Negan's gaze on them was crushing and unyielding, boring down on them until they entered. Their eyes strained to adjust to the scant light that filtered through the dust covered windows.

A deliberate clearing of throat prompted them to spread out within the cramped space. Every step taken echoed through the house, the wood floor being too old, didn't provide any discretion nor cover.

The house was coated in layers of dust, consequence of the unforgiving time. Their steps left footprints marking the intrusion of the house forgotten by everyone but time itself.

"Clear!" The yell that broke her comfortable silence was startling.

No one dared to open another door, fear seeping through their bones. As absurd as it felt, the red house seemed to breath down their necks, having life of its own. The house felt haunted by profound nostalgia, spreading an unnerving feeling that weighed on their hearts. Their certainty of it didn't waver despite the lack of proof.

Grabbing a hold of the handle, a tall man with sun kissed skin and brown wild locks whispered prayers in his native tongue. The door opens with a click and he is met with a modern marble kitchen sharing space with an old-fashioned dinner room.

"Spooky, uh?" Negan waved his fingers twirling them in the air to his associate, Simon. Brimming with ego, he mocked with a slight laughter the choice of fashion. The joyful tone was emboldening enough for them to follow his lead.

With this newfound confidence, another door was opened and there was a bathroom. And another door was opened, and there was a guest room. And another door was open, and nothing happened.

Negan had plopped himself on the dusty sofa coughing up a bit when he did so, leaving his soldiers to do all the work. The barbed-wire bat rested within arm's reach, while he eyed up his surroundings.

Everything was old, seemed to be left in a rush long before the turn. Perhaps that was the sadness that radiated from what had once been a home. It was the empty space that was pouring the nostalgia of the memories they held into the walls and beams of the house.

There wasn't any evidence of the existence of the previous owners, as if the house was built already abandoned. No family pictures, no toys, no shoes. A forever haunted house.

Negan had to tear his attention away from the overwhelming house, knowing that indulging in its atmosphere would make his pain materialize in traitorous tears. "Well, do I have to wait around all day? You know how impatient Lucille gets." His tone was laced with irritation, on his face a nonchalant facade. His fingers reached for the bat, tightening his grip in a subconscious attempt to assert control over his emotions.