orifice in my face must be something to do with me going completely off the rails last night. Sensory overload seems to be the only thing that can truly calm her down. If nothing else, at least I get to have a day off from fighting her.
The sun is only just rising as I sit up, resting my chin upon my knees and rubbing the sleep from my eyes with a yawn. The room is pulsing, throbbing in and out and making my stomach churn. I’ve been here too many times to know that wallowing in my own self-pity doesn’t help. Only one thing helps when I feel like this.
Feeding.
I dress without care, pulling on the first random thing, and am out of the door before the sun has fully risen, and heading straight to the dining room. It’s early, too early for most, but I’m almost sure that Mad Donny will be there. He seems to be no matter what time I turn up, and being that I am a vampire—that we are all vampires here, and sleep is a life choice and not an actual fact of life like it is for humans—the times that I have turned up for blood have been very peculiar. Yet he is always there, no matter what time it is, like an anchor for me to cling to. He’s very important to me, probably more so than he realises, because he is part of my support system: always here when I need to be fed.
The wood-panelled corridors are quiet, my steps the only sound. It seems I have been alone a lot since I arrived. Left to my own thoughts, my own devices, and with only a handful of rules that have to be obeyed: Do not go outside. Only feed what you are served. Control yourself, and train. Every day. What the hell I’m training for I don’t know, and I don’t like it either, but I made a promise to the Queen and I am bound by it, regardless of what I do or do not like. That much was made clear last night.
I jog down the concrete steps, from my floor to the second, and then again to the ground floor. The grand sweeping staircase looks old. Nothing is new or modern here: everything is old, and everyone older than me. I’m like a young sapling, trying to find firm soil to plant my roots, but I don’t feel grounded here, or free like a flower. I feel trapped.
My head pounds even more, making my stomach twist itself into knots. I need blood desperately. My arms wrap around my middle and I lean back against the wall to steady myself. Why the hell did they put the stupid blood bank so far away from the rooms, anyway? I glance about me, dreading the thought of some of the other vampires seeing me like this—weak. I’m not weak. I have a power that most of them can only dream of, and for that a lot of them are jealous.
No one warned me that everything we feel would be intensified by a thousand. I can’t just feel sad; I feel total, utter, devastating depression. I can’t feel happiness; instead I feel an overabundance of elation. And I won’t get started on the sexual energy that burns my core.
I slam through a heavy wooden door, the dining room finally in sight. I can smell the blood already, smell the humans, and I can smell Donny. I continue to jog to the door, running in and come to a skidding stop. Donny looks up at me, glass already in hand and a smile plastered on his face.
“Good morning, Mia.”
“Donny.” I tip my head to him, and in the blink of a perfectly lashed eye I’m snatching the blood from him and tipping it to the back of my throat. The pain intensifies and then dies down to a dull yet bearable throb in my lower skull. I rub a hand against the pain. Let’s just call it hair of the dog and be done with it.
“How are you today, Mia?”
I raise a sardonic eyebrow. “How am I? So you haven’t heard about my meltdown last night then?” The nausea is still there, but it’s settling down now, thankfully.
Donny turns to the human behind him: a girl—young, perhaps seventeen. Her cheeks are plump and firm, her skin rosy, but those damn eyes are still dead. She’s new, a fresh human for us, and if it weren’t for the dull
The sun is only just rising as I sit up, resting my chin upon my knees and rubbing the sleep from my eyes with a yawn. The room is pulsing, throbbing in and out and making my stomach churn. I’ve been here too many times to know that wallowing in my own self-pity doesn’t help. Only one thing helps when I feel like this.
Feeding.
I dress without care, pulling on the first random thing, and am out of the door before the sun has fully risen, and heading straight to the dining room. It’s early, too early for most, but I’m almost sure that Mad Donny will be there. He seems to be no matter what time I turn up, and being that I am a vampire—that we are all vampires here, and sleep is a life choice and not an actual fact of life like it is for humans—the times that I have turned up for blood have been very peculiar. Yet he is always there, no matter what time it is, like an anchor for me to cling to. He’s very important to me, probably more so than he realises, because he is part of my support system: always here when I need to be fed.
The wood-panelled corridors are quiet, my steps the only sound. It seems I have been alone a lot since I arrived. Left to my own thoughts, my own devices, and with only a handful of rules that have to be obeyed: Do not go outside. Only feed what you are served. Control yourself, and train. Every day. What the hell I’m training for I don’t know, and I don’t like it either, but I made a promise to the Queen and I am bound by it, regardless of what I do or do not like. That much was made clear last night.
I jog down the concrete steps, from my floor to the second, and then again to the ground floor. The grand sweeping staircase looks old. Nothing is new or modern here: everything is old, and everyone older than me. I’m like a young sapling, trying to find firm soil to plant my roots, but I don’t feel grounded here, or free like a flower. I feel trapped.
My head pounds even more, making my stomach twist itself into knots. I need blood desperately. My arms wrap around my middle and I lean back against the wall to steady myself. Why the hell did they put the stupid blood bank so far away from the rooms, anyway? I glance about me, dreading the thought of some of the other vampires seeing me like this—weak. I’m not weak. I have a power that most of them can only dream of, and for that a lot of them are jealous.
No one warned me that everything we feel would be intensified by a thousand. I can’t just feel sad; I feel total, utter, devastating depression. I can’t feel happiness; instead I feel an overabundance of elation. And I won’t get started on the sexual energy that burns my core.
I slam through a heavy wooden door, the dining room finally in sight. I can smell the blood already, smell the humans, and I can smell Donny. I continue to jog to the door, running in and come to a skidding stop. Donny looks up at me, glass already in hand and a smile plastered on his face.
“Good morning, Mia.”
“Donny.” I tip my head to him, and in the blink of a perfectly lashed eye I’m snatching the blood from him and tipping it to the back of my throat. The pain intensifies and then dies down to a dull yet bearable throb in my lower skull. I rub a hand against the pain. Let’s just call it hair of the dog and be done with it.
“How are you today, Mia?”
I raise a sardonic eyebrow. “How am I? So you haven’t heard about my meltdown last night then?” The nausea is still there, but it’s settling down now, thankfully.
Donny turns to the human behind him: a girl—young, perhaps seventeen. Her cheeks are plump and firm, her skin rosy, but those damn eyes are still dead. She’s new, a fresh human for us, and if it weren’t for the dull
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