Blood Rebel [COMPLETED]

Chapter One - The Bleeding

Vita detestabilis

Nunc obdurat

Et tunc curat

Ludo mentis aciem

*

Selene leant against the bricks of the theatre wall, comforted by the sun's residual heat emanating from within. She had propped open the stage door, allowing the artificial light inside to flood out onto the dark street where it formed a golden pool on the pavement. She took a breath and held it a moment too long, feeling a welcome dizziness swirl in her head.

One of the fleet of black night buses trundled past, clattering along the cobbled road and puffing out distorted clouds of black fumes. A Death Bus, number 78. Its windows were covered with metal grills and its dark body was sleek, like a bullet. No doubt it was transporting humans to their night-time shifts. A hand pressed against the glass, the fingers splayed, flesh pale and flat, as though to wave.

The white shape against the dark background caught Selene's attention and she raised her hand in response, accustomed to people waving at her, but then curled her fingers and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, realising that the hand was only wiping clean the window.

On the side of the bus was a larger-than-life picture of a ferocious looking woman, who stared menacingly at passers-by. Her dark hair fell in waves around the white flesh of her bare shoulders, against a background of regal purple. Underneath, it said:

SELENE: QUEEN OF THE BLOODBATH

Book your tickets today!

They had given her fangs, and blood trickled down her chin. Selene pressed her lips together and let them droop at the corners in an almost-pout.

Ridiculous.

"Selene, you can't be out here! Diana would kill you if she found you." The voice sliced through Selene's thoughts, and she prised herself off the wall to glance over her shoulder. Cecily, one of the other dancers, was lurching out of the door frame.

"It's safe," Selene replied, rolling her eyes and letting her head rock back against the bricks. "There aren't any vagrants out here."

"There could be. Get inside!" Cecily teetered in the doorway, not allowing her feet to press even momentarily street-side.

Selene dropped her shoulders and rolled off the wall, placing her hands on Cecily's back and pushing her inside. Then she dragged her own feet over the threshold and pulled the door closed behind her, hearing the metallic click of the lock flicking into place. She slipped off her shoes and followed Cecily back the way she had come.

Selene's feet made no noise as she walked, her hot soles supple and soft on the wooden floors. She scratched the back of her left hand with her right thumb, rubbing in a meaningless, fretful manner, turning a little patch of skin red.

All day a sense of foreboding had been building up within her, and she felt uneasy because she couldn't pinpoint the reason. She had been through the routine again and again, both physically and in her mind; she had danced this dance a thousand times before. There was no reason for her to feel nervous, and yet she couldn't shake the unease, which wrapped itself about her like a shroud.

As she approached the stage, hopping over discarded props and other items that lay backstage, the beat of the drums began to shake the floor beneath her bare feet. She reached out to touch the costumes that hung on a rail, running her hand along them as she passed, feeling the gentle tremble of the floor as she walked.