Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Angel Of The Night ❯ Prologue

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Raging fire throughout a vast country. Countless screams are heard as the villagers die and the woman, the lone woman cries. She weeps on the ashes and brings to life a forest with her forlorn tears, shed for a lost child. The ghost of a little girl is behind her. She is sickly pale and transparent. Her bangs are shaggy and hung over her eyes, concealing them from the sight of angels. Such a little pale mouth she has on her face, arranged into a small pout. Her high cheekbones are pale and she weeps no more for the dead.
Her hair is dark, very dark. Black as the night that is soon to approach. It shines like polished obsidian and two thick strands tumble over her shoulders in ringlets over a flat chest that has yet to grow into that of a woman’s. She wears a simple silk night gown, a little ribbon is tied around her torso just under her flat chest and above her also flat abdomen.
It’s little bow is on her left, a white flower in the middle of the two loops. Her arms are bare as her feet are, the bottom of her feet are scraped and dirty, blood still seeped from forever open wounds. Small and petite hands are also scraped, from falling onto the ground, and the hem of her gown conceals the scrapes on her knees.
Her small shoulders are covered by puffed sleeves, lace sown at the hem of her gown, on the ends of her sleeves, and her low collar, which leaves her pale neck and throat bare. A translucent and mysterious doll of fine porcelain with long, ashen eyelashes cast down over her eyes at the ends of her pale and closed eyelids, brushing along her cheek, that is what she is.
A demon in human guise perhaps or maybe an angel. Around her neck was a ribbon of pure white satin, the bow was like gathered up snow with various loops and long tails with faint golden embroidery. The complex bow frames a pure white carnation to match the one below her breast. It is tied on the left as well, almost like a soft scarf.
Limp are her little arms at her sides, a worn out brown teddy bear with a missing eye and a button for the other is clenched in her frail and tiny fist. The little girl tilts up her little chin towards the heavens, cursing whatever divine gods that have given unto her such a fate. Damn them to a hell far worse than any imagined by the mortals below them. The woman continues her mourning, oblivious the young girl watching her.
Devious thoughts fill her angered mindscape, the abrupt rage burns in her veins as if her blood were made of the very fire that destroyed all she had known . In unexpected madness, the girl suddenly throws back her head, tossing her hair to the side, and howls in musical laughter. Her mouth is opened and her pure white teeth gleam in the dying light of the sun, her long and sharpened fangs are visible like her eyes.
Oh, her eyes were spectacular and beautiful yet they were demonic and frightening as well. The insanity, oh the pure insanity, ignited by raw grief, had broken through the shock of the young girl, breaking her little heart, and now it was a glare in her eyes.
They were a glowing amethyst, amazing to see. Purples and lavenders, violets and lilac, sky blue and icy blue, ocean blue and teal, all mixed in with gold, silver, and white. Red glowing like a blood in her eyes as well, the slitted pupils frightening in their predatory glare.
Only now, during this insane fit of enraged and endless laughter, did the woman take notices of her and was frightened by her unnatural beauty and how menacing she was.
She was a child conceived in sin, the product of a quick affair, purely carnal without any emotion besides lust for the other. Miserable and frightened, the woman scrambled to her feet, also bare and scraped, and glowered at the girl through her light brown hair, disheveled and in tumbling waves down her back. Green eyes peered at the laughing child.
“Who are you?”, asked the woman in a hoarse, cracking tone. The little girls smiled like a tiger, deceiving its prey, “Why, I am a lonely little girl and nothing more than the pale orphan you see now, wretch.”, then she smiled wider, her eyes also widening and she seemed to be hysterical, “I am the vampire child of your worst nightmares, the very thing you fear the most!”
Then the woman struck the elegant child across the face.
It stung, her pale cheek, and she raised a hand in disbelief at both the pain and the utter sensation. In that moment, she realized as she hit the dirt, that she wasn’t a ghost. She was alive and that wretch had struck her beautiful face.
The woman had crumpled in pain, her hand nearly broken from the force she had exerted when she hit the girl’s stone hard face.
A wicked grin crept across the face once more as she sadistically licked her lips, absolutely delighted in her thoughts of hurting and torturing this woman. Discipline is essential. Torture is just fun. Every single sadistic idea was racing through her mind and she felt her mouth water.
In an instant, the vampire child attacked the woman and in one blow, successfully broke every bone in her arm. She howled in pain, more tears were shed. Revolting.
“How revolting you are, you petty mortal wretch. I am a vampire, par excellence, and am the most royal of my kind, and you dare to strike me!”, her voice soared higher and higher with growing anger. Such hatred she felt for this revolting woman in the few minutes she had known her.
“I am Angeline! The royalist of all nosferatu!”, her voice was so loud and high that the woman’s ears bled and she could hear no more. Angeline pulled out a knife and slowly carved out the woman’s eyes then ate them greedily before claiming her true prize-the heart.
She reached into her with a transparent hand, then solidified once she had grasped her heart then at the same instant as she sunk her teeth into the woman’s neck, she claimed the blood then ripped out the heart.
Angeline stepped onto the dead body and ate the heart, her slender hands bloodied. A white haze surrounded her and after it disappeared, she emerged as a teenage girl.
Her dress was still long on her and the ribbons and lace were where they were when she had been a child except that her breasts were now large, swelling from the dress slightly and the cloth beneath concealed a shapely figure.
Now her face was less round and was more defined, a womanly dignity was given off from the serene face. Her eyes were currently hooded as to how she felt very sleepy. Her bangs were longer and covered her face like a thick curtain of night, some parts in her hair still showed her eyes.
She decided that she would cut it later, once she had a nap. Her hair was longer and seemed a bit shinier and her legs were long, toned, and pale. With her larger hands, she gripped her puffed sleeves with her long, claw-like nails, and ripped the off.
Violently she tore the ribbon from around her neck and ripped in half to wrap her wounded feet in. Next, she ripped the hem of her dress and dressed the wounds on her hands, shoulders, arms, and now mostly revealed thighs.
The hem now ended below mid thigh with an uneven fringe to it with threads bare. Her fangs had grown and blood now stained the dress. Her hands were drenched in it as was her face around her mouth. So messy has she been that it was all over her throat and collar bone.
Her hair was past her hips and the ringlets were thicker and longer as well, though shorter than the rest of her hair which was perfectly straight. She smiled and stepped off the body, picking up her bear from the ground and brushing it off as she walked away, setting the body on fire with her mind.
Eventually, Angeline reached the thickness of the jungle brush and dug with her bloodied hands her nightly crave, uncovering her sleek black coffin with funeral cushion inside.
The cushioning was blood red and the inside had a little compartment that was about a foot in length and width. It contained clothes that fit a teenage women and all my jewelry. The only way to open it was a mental command sent by her. That was also how to open the coffin from both inside and out. On the top of the sleek exterior, her name was carved in elegant red script, Angeline De La Nuit, which meant ‘Angel Of The Night’ in French.
How fitting it was for a vampire to be named. She laughed then yawned and opened it effortlessly. Angeline climbed inside and lay on her left side, snuggling her bear and curling up, closing the coffin lid. Mentally, she forced her coffin to dig deeper in to the earth then pushed the dirt on top of her coffin. She tightly compacted it and mentally put wards around her coffin to ward away other vampires.
She yawned once more before closing her preternatural eyes. Angeline was now secured safely in a warm, snug coffin on the outskirts of London, England her birthplace, although she had been raised in France, and she was about sleep for over a century now.
Angeline had acquired the power of the sorceress she had just killed, although the sorceress herself had no idea of the dormant power within her. How revolting that woman was to Angeline.
Now she was a teenage girl and would not age past seventeen. Slowly, she let her hundred year sleep begin and allowed her powers to lie dormant and grow so that she would be intensified once she awoke a century later. ‘This is not the end of Angeline De La Nuit…’, she thought happily, ‘This is only the beginning of my wicked tale…’
With that, Angeline slept, only accompanied by the sounds and thoughts of the changing world outside and its changing people and the little bear she had in her arms along with the scents of lavenders, lilacs, and roses which resided within her comfy coffin.