Cursed >> C. Volturi

Prolouge

1863

I was turned at the end of fall. A time when the harsh winters air steals one's breath away and leaves them shivering in the dark. A time of year when, if you aren't fortunate enough to be born into wealth, you better pray for a resilient body, for if you are fragile you will surely perish.
I was one of those people.

My family wasn't necessarily poor, but I guess I was more fragile than rest, or the storm that caught my body was more vicious than the ones before, for it was that night that the process of my rebirth started.

I remember the snow dancing wildly in circles around my trembling form as I desperately tried to reach my home. I remember falling, the wet ground cutting through my skin like knives.

I don't know why I couldn't get up, but I know that I tried. I guess it wasn't meant to be.

I remember the burn, at the beginning, the soft snow covering my body like an ice blanked, burning at my flesh.

After that came the numbness. The cruel detachment of the body was purely terrific. It started at my fingertips and run through my bones, spreading like a disease. In some way it was.

It turned my skin milk white and my lips blue. The tears that were creeping from the corners of my eyes froze on my face, as shadows danced around my vision. In that moment I knew it was over, I knew that my life is slipping away through my fingers, out of my body and high into the skies. I knew that I was lost and it scared me.

No one wants to die.

And in that, my very last moment, a face of an angel, or a demon appeared in front of me.

His hair was fair and his skin like moonlight. But what captivated me the most were the rubies he had instead of eyes. Red and dangerous and mesmerizing.

I remember thinking that if I were to die, it was nice that this creature of otherworldly beauty has decided to accompany me.

I know I managed a small smile, broken and sad perhaps, but a smile nonetheless, and then the man blinked, before lowering his head above mine, as if he were to kiss me.

In a way I wanted him to. I wanted to die with his lips pressed on mine, I wanted to feel what it's like to have your lips pressed on someone else's. I wanted to see whether the novels I read were true in their description of the butterflies that cover ones body.

I closed my eyes and felt his lips, not on my own, but on my neck, colder than the snow, before a pair of sharp teeth joined them, piercing at my skin.

Next thing.... Pain.

Executing, slow and cruel pain. It broke me down hundreds of times, both physically and mentally, repeating the process until it shaped me into something completely inhuman, something purely demonic.

The third day the pain stopped, and I opened my eyes.

The cold never bothered me since.