soft vampire (Yandere Twilight)

[1]

The cold seeped into the earth beneath me, evident in how the dewy grass felt against my sharp and cool fingers like tiny needles. The wind stirred the air, brushing against my skin with an insistent chill, carrying with it the faint promise of rain that, thankfully, hadn't come. I disliked the rain. It made everything heavier and made my clothes cling uncomfortably to my body, drenched and squelching. Today, at least, the sky held back.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of a muddy field, the soil soft and damp beneath me, staining the seat of my pants. Not that it mattered much; mud had become something of a second skin by now, clinging to my clothes and coating my hands. The scent of it surrounded me, earthy and grounding, mingling with the fresher aroma of grass crushed under my weight. I liked that smell—it was simple, unpretentious. Familiar. I didn't usually smell; it overwhelmed me, so I limited my smell as much as possible.

I couldn't remember how long I'd been out here, not exactly. The days had blurred together, measured only by the rise and fall of the sun, my one constant. Up and down, up and down—it was reliable like that. I preferred the daylight, though; the world was easier to navigate when bathed in sunlight. At night, I could still see well enough, but it took effort, and I didn't like to strain myself. The sun made everything clearer and sharper. Though it also came with its own set of complications.

When the sun was out, people came closer. Too close. My stomach twisted at the thought of them, their noisy chatter, their sharp, unpredictable movements. Their presence always unsettled me and left me jittery and on edge. Once, I had stayed put when they came near, too weary to move, and I'd watched as their gazes landed on me. Their faces had twisted disgust. Fear? I wasn't sure, but they turned away quickly. I don't think they liked me. It was never the same people, either; they came and went, just like the wind that stirred the grass around me. Still, the memory left a bitter taste. It was easier to hide when I sensed them approaching, even if it meant abandoning this spot for a while.

The sound of wings snapping through the air drew my gaze upward, away from my wandering thoughts. A quartet of birds darted past, their wings fluttering like paper caught in a breeze. Their feathers were a soft grey streaked with faint hints of yellow like the first rays of dawn breaking through a fog. They were beautiful, their movements precise and fleeting. I watched them until they disappeared beyond the line of distant trees. I liked birds. They never lingered long, never made too much noise, never came too close.

Letting out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, I shifted my focus back to the ground. My toes wriggled against the muddy earth, caked in layers of dirt and grime. I leaned forward, gripping one of my feet in my hands. Turning it over, I began to pull out small pieces of wood and sharp little stones embedded there. They hadn't pierced the skin—not really. They never did, which was odd, but I'd stopped questioning it a long time ago. It didn't hurt. If anything, it felt like peeling away something unnecessary, like shedding a second layer that didn't belong.

I paused, turning one of the tiny stones over in my fingers before flicking it away. My eyes drifted to the horizon, where the sky seemed to stretch endlessly, a pale canvas smeared with soft streaks of clouds. The world felt quiet, save for the whisper of the wind and the distant calls of birds. For now, at least, the field was mine, untouched by the world beyond.

Ah, Carlisle Cullen! That certainly adds a fascinating dimension to this encounter. Let me refine the scene, layering in his calm, compassionate demeanour and that subtle aura of mystery that makes him such an intriguing character. Here's the rewritten version with Carlisle's personality in mind:

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The sun had dipped below the trees, casting the field in deepening shades of orange and purple. The grass shimmered, golden in the final moments of daylight, but my stomach churned with the encroaching dark. Darkness brought the rain, and I hated the rain—the way it soaked through everything, clinging and heavy. I huddled closer to the ground, the damp mud cold against my legs.

Then it came: a sharp snap, the unmistakable sound of someone stepping on a twig. My entire body went rigid. If I stayed perfectly still, perhaps they wouldn't see me. Perhaps they'd move on.

"Hi there."

The voice was low and smooth but not harsh. It carried a warmth that unsettled me even more. Who were they talking to? Surely not me. I remained frozen.

"You've been here a while, haven't you?" the voice continued, closer now. The grass whispered under their careful steps. My breath quickened, shallow and silent. They couldn't know I was here.

"It's getting dark out," they said again, gentle but firm. "And it's going to rain soon. You might not want to be out here for that."

Against my better judgment, I took a shallow breath through my nose, trying to assess this stranger. My eyes widened as the scent hit me. Death. But not the acrid, putrid kind. No, this was something deeper, smoother velvet darkness wrapped in the faintest hint of sweetness. It wasn't human.

My heart thudded against my ribs. It was *like me*.

I must have reacted, my body betraying my alarm, because the voice spoke again, softer this time. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The words should have soothed me, but they left me uneasy instead. I remained perfectly still, refusing to look up. The crunch of grass grew louder, more deliberate until a pair of immaculately polished black shoes entered the edge of my vision.

"You can look up," the voice coaxed, calm but not demanding. "I promise I won't harm you."

Something in the tone, not an order but a gentle reassurance, eased the tight coil of tension in my shoulders. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted my gaze.

The man crouched a few feet away, his hands open and resting on his knees in a posture that was entirely unthreatening. His pale, marble-like skin glowed faintly in the twilight, and his golden eyes held no malice—only quiet curiosity and understanding. His blond hair caught the last light of the fading sun, framing his face in a soft halo. Everything about him was composed, deliberate. He radiated an aura of patience as though he could sit there all night, waiting for me to decide whether or not to trust him.

"You've been here for a while," he said, repeating his earlier observation. His voice was almost musical, its cadence soothing, though his words carried a quiet weight. "I've seen you from time to time. Always on your own."

I said nothing, my eyes flicking between his face and his hands. He wasn't holding anything, no weapon, no tools. Just open palms and an unwavering gaze.

"It's going to rain soon," he said again, a hint of concern threading through his tone. "If you don't mind, I'd like to help you find somewhere warm to stay. Somewhere safe."

I stiffened at the word safe. Safe usually meant somewhere loud, crowded, and full of people like him—humans. I didn't belong with them, and they didn't want me there. My silence must have conveyed my hesitation because he smiled gently, tilting his head.

"I know what you're thinking," he said softly. "But I'm not like them. I promise, I understand."

His words struck something deep within me. He understood? How could he? But there was no mistaking his scent, his stillness. He *was* like me, even if I didn't fully understand what that meant yet.

"You don't have to say anything," he added after a moment. "But if you'll allow me, I'd like to help." His eyes searched mine, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel fear when someone looked at me.

27th November 2024
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