It Was Venom In Their Veins

Prologue

PS: The amazing cover is made by Youknowitbroit :)

W/N: I'm just testing this story out. I'll leave it up for about a week and if it doesn't get good feedback, I'll take it down.

For the record, I don't actually like vampires, not the modern ones. I decided not to do the cliché hot-100-year-old-vampire-that-comes-to-my-highschool-that-happens-to-fall-in-love-with-me similar to Twilgiht, as that's been done so many times before. What I wanted to do was a story about how vampires came about, and the trouble they caused before they slunk into the shadows, becuase I haven't seen any stories about that yet. As Ghandi said, 'Be the change you want to see in the world.'

So here is the prologue of my potential upcoming novel, It Was Venom In Their Veins.

P.S: Fecioara Maria means 'Mary' in Romanian; I'm guessing from the time era (early 1500's) that alot of people in Europe were Catholic

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Romania, 1519.

  Angelo Marcovi stepped out from the carpenter's onto the cold stone street, facing the harsh turrent of rain. It wasn't the urge to go home that nudged him out of the carpenter's outlet - he had just been fired from his apprenticeship, again, by his boss. He remembered the sharp, cruel words the man fired at him in Romanian, as if he were still there:

  "You're useless scum! You'll never become anything, ever, d'you hear me? I swear, even the sweet Virgin Mary couldn't tolerate such ignorance, such slow-wittedness! I want you out of my shop! Now!"

  Angelo pulled his cloak up to his ears, hoping it would push away the bitter, wet cold surrounding him.

  "Damned bastard," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll show him who's scum."

  Angelo's house was just on the outskirts the bustling city of Bucharest. In order to get there, you had to pass a vast, unoccupied field, known for the invalids and criminals that lurked there at nights as bad as this one. Striding onto it, Angelo's boot made an unsafisfying squelch as it was submerged in mud.

  "Oh, Fecioara Maria." This was going to be a long, long journey.

  It was horribly difficult trek along the swamp of a field. Anyone could have caught up with ill-fated Angelo. Anything could have caught up with Angelo.

  Suddenly, something sharp nipped Angelo in the ankle. His reaction was instantaneous. The fierce stabbing pain engulfed his foot, quickly crawling up his leg. Angelo fell to the floor, gasping for breath. The agony had travelled up to his torso, taking Angelo prisoner. He would have cried desperately for help, if anyone could hear, and if his body didn't feel like it was on fire. Angelo's body shook in a vicious rage. Finally, an eerie, anguished cry left his throat. But it was took late. He was done for. Angelo stopped shaking.

  On that very field, in Romania, in 1519, lay the world's first ever vampire.