She lived in the night. She was forever alone and left aimlessly searching for a purpose-nothing more than to understand her insignificant existence. She had been known by many names, yet . . . acknowledged only one: Aria. Aria was unable to see the light of day; to feel the warmth of the sun's vibrant rays caressing her porcelain skin. She yearned for the light. When she would venture into the lamp-lit streets of Paris at night, she could hear a beautiful symphony taking place within each living being she would pass by. She couldn't remember the rhythm her own beating heart used to create, only that it once held a pulse. Aria envied humans for their life; for the blood that washed through their veins and the blush that burned their cheeks. She missed such things that she'd taken advantage of within her short life: the sound of her heart thundering in her ears after a run through the swaying fields of uncut hay, the nervous jitters she'd get from a man's embrace, as well as the cold chills from a cool breeze. During her human life, she had never took into consideration such simple things as having an impact so great on her . . . but now-being eternally dead, yet still roaming the earth as a creature who only sees the dark side of the day-she misses every seemingly insignificant occurrence from her mortal life.

"One mustn't linger upon the past for too long, lest one becomes consumed by their own sorrow and festers into nonexistence once more." Throughout her lifetime, Samira has had many names, she lived a life of seclusion, away from the rest of her kind. Living amongst mortals for over five hundred years (not in the same place though) has caused her to feel no anger nor hatred toward humanity; rather pity and a motive to protect them as though they were her own children. Do not misunderstand her, throughout her existence she has killed many men, women and yes, even children. She feels pain when she commits such sins, but can't satiate her hunger for their sweet crimson wine. She is amazed by them. She is afraid of them. She is confused by their actions. However, she admires them for their many uses. For some strange reason, everything has come crashing down upon her like the Roman empire once did many years before her time. She's looking to one man to assist her, but the problem is, this man holds a grudge against her for a crime she committed against him nearly five centuries earlier. Ancient enemies, old and new friends and new foes---a dangerous quartet for a vampire who has wretched luck with such relationships. Where does Samira's origin lie? Where does the vampiric origin begin in this twisted tale of fate? What is the role that a swarthy man, by the name of Ulric, will play when it comes to her life? Strange occurrences surround Samira, beginning all with an encounter with a flawless small girl in an alleyway. (*IMPORTANT NOTE* This story has yet to be edited past the first chapter; however, it is still readable---the flow is slightly off and a bit awkward.)