It Was Venom In Their Veins

His Eyes Were Red

W/N: Hello! Thank you for the great feedback! A few comments we demanding me not to take this story down, and others were saying that they'd like to see were its going. So I'm carrying on :)

There's some bits of this chapter that some of you guys may not be familiar with, so here's a bit of info that you'd like to keep in mind:

Ducats were the currency of Venice, Italy in the 1500's. I found this out from Google (a.k.a the ultimate source of knowledge)

Madre means 'Mother' in Italian. I used Google Translate to find this out.

Leus are the currency of Romania.  I discovered this using Google, but I don't exactly know if this was the currency they used in Romania back in the 1500's. So maybe Google's not the ultimate source of knowledge.

Angelo actually means 'Angel' in Italian, if you were wondering. In my opinion, Angelo is a rather pretty name (yet again, I found this out via Google Translate). 

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :)

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  He woke up caked in mud and confused. A menacing, absolute silence had enclosed around him; the only other thing that was in the field was sheer darkness. Angelo couldn't remember what happened, or why he felt like he was in a new body, and just assumed nothing occurred that strange night. Getting up and composing himself, Angelo continued to trek back home.

  The Marcovi family were small and peculiar - and their house was no exception. Only Angelo and his Venetian mother lived in the humble abode. His father died when he was just a young child, leaving nothing but a string of gambling debts and drinking bills. With no money to their name and nothing but a couple of ducats in their pockets, Angelo and his mother were forced to emigrate to Romania.

  Angelo's mother was a frail, delicate elderly woman, who was rapidly losing her sight and ability to move, so it was up to Angelo to bring in the leus for the household. This meant any job that Angelo could find, he's have to take it - butchers, sewage cleaners, baker's assistant, barber shops, or, in this case, a short-lived carpenter's apprenticeship. 

   But if you looked at their house, you'd never guess all the hard work to put into it. Gnarled, extensive weeds imprisoned the crumbling domicile. Inside, what wasn't cloaked in dust or cobwebs was either rusting or already broken. Mrs Marcovi remained in bed, occasionally taking trips to her sewage pot, oblivious to the horrible state her house was in.

  Angelo opened the front door, and stepped inside.

  "Madre?"  he called out to the ancient staircase that winded up to upstairs.

  "Angelo!" his mother shouted back in Italian, "Where have you been? It is the middle of the night! I have been worrying!" 

  "No need, madre," Angelo replied, making his way up the stairs to enter his mother's room. He had sped up the stairs at a fast, unsual pace. Although he had woken up in the middle of a muddy field, Angelo felt alert. His sense had somewhat heightened: faint smells became strong aromas; instead of murky colours he saw the vibrant constrast of differnet colours; his mother's creaky, soft voice was suddenly loud and clear, and the slightest touch could decipher almost anything, including the hard feel of the wooden door and the coolness of the metal doorknob.

  "I come bearing bad news. But no fear - I have a solution..." he started, walking into the chamber. At the sight of him, Mrs Marcovi shrieked.

  "Stay back, demon!" she screamed in Italian. Angelo frowned.