Touched

Eighteen, Back To The Past

'Bloody hands have found my innocence' 

The castle is riddled with chaos that I am seemingly immune too, I have not seen Rhydian nor the others since my change a week ago and I am vaguely aware of how little that matters to me, mixed with how I know it should.

How little they matter to me doesn't nag at me, but deep down I know their distance ensures their life; which seems to be a blessing because I feel the itch to rip them apart slowly start to consume my heart the longer, I am away from them; Rhydian especially.

There is so much power thrumming through my veins that I am reluctantly aware of what I am now capable of, I can feel the unholy desires thrum through me to kill everyone I see. I am trapped in a castle full of vampires and yet I am unable to follow through on it, the serum and the people who administered it have a weird kind on control over me.

Mady is viler and more vicious than I have ever seen her, as it turns out every moment that Evelyn perceived as romantic and flirtatious towards Rhydian was really just an attempt at persuading compliance. Cole was her mate and the death of one is a feeling that I never wish to endure nor understand.

She is colder than she was before, her threats and words of superiority have dropped dramatically, like she is rolling possible new plans around her head constantly and has not quite decided on what she wants to do.

The castle is scattered with traitorous vampires that deserve nothing less than painful decapitation. Does loyalty mean nothing to the collection of cursed wrong doers or is that just a side effect of losing your humanity and being cursed to live eternally with little in the penance of happiness. I may not be a vampire, I'm on an assassination mission, but I vaguely feel as trapped in the curse as they do.

"Blood lust yet?" Mady asks from behind me as the servants strip the large rooms of Rhydian's boring décor and drapes, at least something positive is occurring in the realm of design.

"Only yours" I reply in a monotone voice, despite the incredibly overwhelming urge to rip her heart out I have showed a remarkable amount of reservation that I am not enjoying.

If I need it my power is there, other than that I am just an empty vessel with uncanny patience. It's probably the desire to not end up like the assassins before me, though my curiosity is unravelling information that is to confrontational for anyone's liking, let alone my own damaged psyche...

'...There's more smoke than I can comprehend, its surrounding me and suffocating me in the process but I can't actually choke on the feeling, my senses are surrounded quickly by piercing screams. The strong echo of it sounds like it is leaving many raw throats all the noise ripping through me with a power that I have never wanted to feel.

The woods around me are dark and the memories surfacing are vaguely familiar and heart stoppingly-frightening, there's many cloaked assailants surrounding the collection of bleeding woman scattered throughout the trees.

There has to be more than ten of them, all in bloodied outfits that are more dated than the last; how many times have we failed at this since the 1600's? In turn how many times will it take us to get it right?

Men in cloaks emerge from the trees hidden by wide trees that seemingly hide their dangerous motives, the first woman is knocked down with a scream. Her auburn hair flies around her with the force of the blow, a large log looking item clutched tightly in the murderer's hand; then he evaporates, and she is left lying dead on the ground.

The apparent distaste for sexism present in both sides of me would undoubtedly bother me more, if that woman's cold green eyes weren't staring up at me.