One wish alone have I

DISCLAIMER: Although all the vampire-related elements in this story are my own creation, Severus Snape and most of the other characters, locations and magical paraphernalia featured in this story were created and belong to JK Rowling.

AUTHOR’S NOTES : All the historical events depicted in that novel, be it taken from the Muggle or Magical world, are based on real events. If, unfortunately, you find erroneous information, please feel free to tell me and I will be glad to adjust.

And most importantly, an enormous thanks to Vaughn, my first editor, whose kind words, perpetual encouragements, vibrant intellect and wonderful sense of humour made my first fanfiction experience simply unforgettable!

And of course, a big thanks to CareCrystal, who also does some editing; your input is greatly appreciated, too!

Chapter 1
Arrival at the castle

I have always loved to look at the sun. I cannot say it has always been a fascination to me, for in my other life, I did not care that much about it. But nature has always had the knack to twitch curiosity in all kinds of beings, especially towards those curiosities that are forbidden. Indeed, a few decades ago, sun was totally forbidden for my kind, for my eyes, and had been for a long time. Nevertheless, for certain minds fortunately, curiosity also stimulated intellectual, scientific strivings and our finest scientists had finally managed to give us access to the golden interdict.

Oh, we were still apart from other beings, as it was still dangerous for us to have our skin directly exposed to the sun’s rays for a certain time. This is why, even in the middle of July, when the weather is at its warmest, I was loosely wrapped in my cloak, its hood covering half of my face, hands covered by long gloves. Despite the heat, however, I was smiling. These moments were always timeless for me. I felt such peace surrounding me that I often forgot where I came from and what I was destined to become. Our kind, anyway, has always had such a different feel about time passing by. All that existed, in that moment, was the mellow touch of the grass under my feet and the vibrations of nature’s powers emanating from within the ground. I let them penetrate every inch of my body, until I felt completely united with these forces, which were my essence.

I took a deep breath. The air smelled so good that day! There, nature remained untouched by any creature’s hands, so flowers were freely perfuming the breeze. This is one of the things I love the most about this country, named Romania shortly after I was reborn. Muggles seemed to show a true care for nature’s right, so the immense forests mostly made of oaks and beeches or odoriferous pines, the crops and the peaceful green pastures, had been kept intact over the years. I closed my eyes. Even then, I could still see the beauties that were displayed in front of me: never-ending paths, going downhill to small Muggle villages, cascading rivers, sparkling under the sunset light…

I often lay down on their shores at night, letting the running water rock my hand and murmur the latest news in my ears. Most Romanian rivers are the children of the great Danube that united Western and Eastern Europe. That way, I could entertain myself with events that occurred in all of Europe; some were also reported in the newspapers, like the economical predictions from the Goblin German National Bank or the success of a new Czech wizard singer. Some of them were more secret to the world… like the details of the slow but steady rise of an old enemy, who was gradually making new victims and disrupting lives. The rivers babbled more and more about him, and their splashes and gurgles were taking a less and less joyful twist with the passing months.

Why was I suddenly thinking of him? Curious train of thought. Not as long ago as a week before, one of them, a river hidden in the mountains near Sibiu, had told me he had been defeated in battle and quite a few of his followers had been captured, to my relief! Still, the rivers had not kept their happy sounds for long; they had returned to their pessimistic verses about the future. Ah, gone were the peaceful feelings that filled my heart just a few minutes before!

I opened my eyes and blinked at the sunlight, which was intense for my eyes even through my sunglasses. Shuddering at these dark thoughts, I started walking in the path in front of me hoping to chase them away. As I picked a few white and delicate flowers to bring a bouquet back with me, I felt anxious and excited all at the same time. Something was coming, I could feel it. Something would soon disrupt our daily lives. Was it a threat? Was the wind carrying the scent of battle to me now? I could smell it in the air... flesh... flesh and blood. I could not decide if it was the smell of delight or simply the smell of many deaths to come.

The breeze was intensifying and was whirling lazily around me, playing with my cloak. What was that smell? I could really not tell... nor could I know if my anxious and excited mind was plunged in apprehension or sweet anticipation. Maybe what was coming had friendly and peaceful intents, after all. I concentrated harder. Something… someone… yes, I could vaguely sense a presence approaching. A presence that did not belong to this place and, for that matter, to my kind. Slowly, my vision became blurred and the shadow of a humanoid face was forming in my thoughts. I was breathing faster, my mouth slightly open, my body still mechanically picking flowers though I did not feel most of it anymore. My mind had been clear so far, that night; if I was patient I might get a glimpse…

“Ouch!”

In my distraction, I had torn my glove, and my skin, on a thorn. The apparition was gone now. Damn! But still looking down, in a flash, I saw a very large shadow moving swiftly on the ground. Looking up, I saw, to my surprise, a hippogriff in flight! I could not believe my eyes, as hippogriffs were rarely found in this part of Romania at that time. Actually, they had been seriously endangered by dragon proliferation during the last century, after an eccentric witch celebrity had started a wide campaign to stop dragon hunting. Before the Romanian Ministry of Magic had adopted the protection law, hippogriffs had been nearly exterminated by the growing dragon population. The hippogriff I saw that evening was majestic, and its wings had rather large amplitude.

“Surely it is a male,” I thought.

As it passed over my head, gliding silently in the clear sky that was now turning to various shades of pink and orange, I noticed a pair of black boots, pressed against the animal’s sides, just under the wings.

My surprise turned to astonishment. So, it seemed that the hippogriff had a rider! From my spot, on the top of my favourite peak of the western portion of the Carpathian Mountains, I could clearly see their trajectory. They were heading right to the Zaharia castle! I was too curious to let these two fly away, out of my sight. I wanted to see who that mysterious rider was; surely a stranger by the provenance of his mount. But was he, was she part of the vision I had had a few minutes before? Hard to tell... but it was worth making sure, anyway. In a wide motion, I spread my arms apart and Transfigured into one of the most common animals that could be found in this part of the land: a mountain eagle. I was already in mid-air when the flowers of my bouquet started touching the ground, in mellow bounces.

If you are surprised at my Transfiguration, dearest reader, please learn that only Muggles can be foolish enough to take what they see on their distraction device called “TV” as proof of indisputable truth. Those of my kind have been, for years, mistakenly believed to be capable of transfiguring only into a narrow range of animals such as bats, wolves, rats or mythical winged demons. In fact, we have the capacity of transfiguring ourselves into any animal we want, from the graceful and lovely hummingbird to the slimy and most repulsive slug. All depends upon the Sire , whose powers are transferred during the rebirth process, also named “The Becoming” or “The Change ” in certain parts of the world. Mine, I have deduced, possessed that capacity to its broadest range, because I can more or less transfigure myself at will, following my needs or fancies. But quickly, dearest, I go back to my story, as you must be as eager as I was to know who flew over Transylvania that evening.

At first, I was careful. It was always best not to be seen after all, even if I looked perfectly convincing as an eagle. I chose to fly high, so I could eventually reach a point above their heads. This was not an easy business, however. As I wrote earlier, the hippogriff’s wings had considerable amplitude, even more considerable when compared to the size of what were mine, then. Nevertheless, he seemed to be at the end of a long journey, as I could see his attempts to flap his wings as little as he could, preferring to let the air draughts carry him to his goal. Unquestionably, he was very tired. Maybe I would be able to manage to get a closer look by sneaking in the castle stable, after their arrival, and make sure he would be comfortable.

I flapped my wings faster, also taking advantage of the winds and pressure variations, which was easier with my size. At last, I reached their level, from above, and was able to keep their pace. The rider seemed to be tall, and was entirely dressed in black.

“Not a Goblin,” I thought.

I still could not tell what creature it was, nor its gender. It was clutching to its long cloak, trying to protect itself from the coldness of the wind during the travel. It was moving its head from left to right, looking, I guessed, for a geographic cue to guide it. After a few minutes, I saw it put a hand in its cloak.

I became suspicious. What if it had seen me and was retrieving an arm from its pockets? An arm it was indeed: seconds later, I saw it retrieve a wand from its cloak. A human, then! I should have guessed before. A Muggle would have never survived a hippogriff encounter and, even so, would have never had the nerve to ride it in that steady way. I shifted my position to the left. If that human attempted to throw a spell at me, I would be able to quickly take a dive and be out of its reach in a matter of seconds.

But the human simply waved its wand and something appeared in front of it. Thanks to my eagle eyes, I was able to clearly distinguish a map, floating a couple of feet above the hippogriff’s neck. It did not seem to be made of parchment, as I saw it was made of quite translucent material but to my surprise, I realized that the map distinctly represented the details of the area we were flying over. Looking through it, the human was able to know its exact position and the trajectory to its goal. Indeed, I saw two little dots flashing on the map; one, green, positioned where we were at the moment and the other, red, positioned a little bit higher, representing as I had concluded before, Zaharia castle. Seemingly confident that it was heading to the right place, the human waved its wand again and the map vanished.

Feeling reassured, I decided to try something bolder. The human would be at the castle before long, and I suspected most, if not all of its inhabitants, guards excluded, would still be sleeping, just as they were when I had left for the mountains earlier. I wanted to tell Marilena, the head of the clan, about the stranger so she could prepare for its arrival. But before I left the human and its hippogriff, I positioned myself to their right side, levelling my eyes with its face. The hood of its cloak hid most of its features, but I could see a few locks of black hair that had managed to escape from the hood and were twirling in the wind. I made a few bolder manoeuvres in attempt to see more when a voice, cold and low, uttered grumpily:

“If you are a guard, then stop bothering me with your aerial pestering and go tell your mistress that I’m coming. If you’re not a guard, just bugger off, will you?”

These words smacked into my ears like a gunshot. I cried in indignation, but as of course I could not speak, I only made a loud squeal. Moreover, the accent colouring these words came as a slap to my heart. That wizard, as I knew then it was a man, was British! A Brit! A Brit was to come to the castle! I could not refrain myself from finding the mere thought of it simply repulsive. My mortal family had never been very fond of Brits, having suffered more than once from their oppression through many generations. I was perfectly aware of the fact that most of these wars, rebellions, and religious dissension had tempered over the last centuries. So they had in my memory, I was not a grudged fool. Still, the oldest fibres of my heart could not help but vibrate with a feeling of disdain and distrust like, unfortunately, many others that lived in the land where I was born.

All of this rushed through my head and heart very fast and, with a last squeal, intended to be as insulting as his words, I had dived and disappeared from his view in a flash. I vaguely heard the hippogriff calling me from behind, but I did not pay attention. It only occurred to me then that this wizard had no reason to know about my presence next to him. Even if, as I thought, my last manoeuvres had been a bit strange, I still quite looked and behaved like an eagle! Yet his voice had spoken steady and flatly, as if no doubt existed in his mind that I was indeed more than an animal...

These thoughts ran through my head all the way down to Zaharia. It looked lugubrious as I approached; it always did in that moment just after the sun was gone and the moon had not yet risen. As I suspected, everybody seemed still asleep, as only the front door and a few windows were lit, which did not brighten the castle’s moody look. It was well hidden, right in the middle of the eastern part of the Carpathian Mountains. Low enough to enjoy a warmer climate, more luxurious and diverse vegetation, but high enough so Romanian Muggles would not find it on their way during an expedition. It had been built in 1398, by a cainite named Horatiu, who was not so powerful at the time, but very enthusiastic. He managed to find a deep and abrupt cleft in the mountains, and had the castle built right next to it. To prevent further access by land after the building was over, he had cast a spell to make the castle look as if it were all surrounded by the cleft. In addition, he had managed to bewitch a nearby river into a majestic fall, which went down the magical cleft. The illusion was perfect; the raging sound of water falling from the mountain into that great emptiness was enough to stop any creature that wanted to reach the castle by the grounds.

Horatiu had lived for a while in Castelul Bran, a castle that was shortly later inhabited by Vlad Tepes, the famous Dracul warrior. Though its magnificence had lifted his spirits, Horatiu preferred to stimulate his senses with nature’s best charms. Zaharia had started as a typical medieval fortress, all made of the finest granite that could be found. Very patiently, he had managed to import and grow a most diverse collection of rare exotic plants, flowers and trees. Soon, he had constituted a luxurious garden in the middle of the open-air place made by the fortress inner walls. No cold dark stone was to be seen there, only thick green grass, bright flowers, water fountains, hawthorn, wild honeysuckle and laurel bushes. Oh, how many hours have I spent there, gazing at the stars, enjoying the smells, the melodious sound of falling water!

Horatiu had had, of course, to bewitch the vegetation for it to grow in such an unsuitable environment. Indeed, it had been able to grow quite well over the years, and the garden remained a peaceful haven for the people who abandoned their senses to it. Gradually, the castle’s peaceful magnificence and its capacity to keep intruders away attracted many cainites who joined Horatiu’s clan. Those who knew him personally when they lived there told me that a few decades later, Horatiu met a witch of glorious beauty, named Oriana. Being a naturally intense man, he lost himself completely to a wild passion for her. Those who saw her say she was a delicate woman, small and thin, but yet not fragile. There was some kind of strength emanating from her, probably produced by that joyfulness she spread around. She had dark blond hair, mischievously curly and rebellious and her strangely golden eyes always sparkled with excitement. Accordingly, words kept rushing out of her little mouth from sunset to dawn, telling unbelievable tales about her glamorous life in Italy. Her warmth and energy had soon won everybody’s heart in the castle. As an Italian, she was used to the sight of pompous gardens, but Horatiu wanted to impress her with what had been his greatest masterpiece since the last few years: the castle garden.

One night, he spent several hours casting additional spells on various plants in the garden, causing them to grow much faster. As I mentioned earlier, Horatiu was an enthusiastic cainite and he completely lost control over the garden vegetation. Some say the plants accidentally developed a will of their own; others will casually prefer to believe Horatiu simply overdid the spells. Nevertheless, after a few hours, the vegetation had crept to the top of the castle and had completely covered it; after a few days, most of the outer parts of the walls were completely covered in green vine. Poor Oriana tried to fix the problem one day to surprise Horatiu, but got all intertwined in the wild vines that surrounded her until she found herself completely trapped. Her screams did wake the castle’s inhabitants, but the sun was only at the middle of its course and was shining with its brightest intensity. Despite all their attempts to free her, the wines kept wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around her. Horatiu was forced to watch her slowly lose her breath and die, as his friends strove to stop him from running to her, burning himself to death under the sunrays. When at last he was able to reach her, the night had completely fallen. As he freed her from her live prison and cradled her in his arms one last time, the full moon emerged from a dark cloud. Its light illuminated Oriana’s face with an eerie glow, rendering her the luminous and radiant beauty he had always seen emanating from her.

That night, the castle was named Zaharia, which is a Romanian name that means “moon.” Oriana’s tomb was placed in the best resting room that could be found in the castle. Not that its decoration was more extravagant than any other, but the moon, when at the highest point of its course, shone directly through the windows. With a few minor changes, the moonlight could be amplified by a series of prisms and mirrors, so Oriana’s tomb was, and still is, bathed in the brightest possible glow. As for Horatiu, not a night passed without him sitting next to her, right after he got up. I guess this waiting gave him the illusion that she was simply having a lazy evening and would wake up soon. Despite his assiduous deathwatch at her resting place, he never returned to the garden again. I learned he got killed during the Russian clans invasion, in 1756. I guess his death came as a relief. Three-hundred-and-twenty-eight years of mourning is an awfully long time...

Nobody ever attempted to remove the vegetation from the castle’s walls, first because of superstitious fear, then because it was more convenient. With civilization’s progress, it soon became easy for Muggles to reach the castle from the sky, but its green blanket made it look rather like an abandoned ruin or a part of the mountain and, along with the other protective spells, it had successfully kept intruders away.

When I flew over the fall, the night had covered everything with a black velvet cloth. It seemed so thick tonight that, as I slid silently in the long oak alley that led to the castle’s front door, I could almost feel the tip of my wings caressing its soft fabric. I landed among the last oaks forming the alley and Transfigured back into myself. As I walked towards the door, I removed my black gloves and my sunglasses and draped my cloak over my left arm. The guards barely reacted to my arrival; they were used to my early escapades before sunset. One of them was quite tall and had sturdy, large shoulders. His wavy light-brown hair framed his oval-shaped face and cascaded down to the level of his earlobes. His features were virile, but not rude. His forehead was high and spiritual under his hair and his nose, neither large nor small, had a straight line. His hazelnut eyes were the most expressive of his features, always gleaming in harmony with his emotions, ideas or thoughts. His mouth was small and timid, but usually open in a wide smile and circled by a goatee that added, with his somewhat pointy chin, to his naturally joyful expression. His name is Ivantie and he is one of my closest friends.

He has been named that way by a very lonely clan leader in Poland, Countess Valerica. Ivantie, a Muggle named Mariusz at the time, had been assigned in 992 as High guard of Lady Dobrava of Bohemia. She was married to Mieszko I, the leader and founder of Poland. He had met Valerica during one of Lady Dobrava’s trips, as they were coming back from Moldova. Their carriage, lost in a cold and unfriendly moor, had stopped at Valerica’s castle to ask shelter for the night. The Countess had gracefully accepted and, as it was the custom then, ordered her people to act as “Muggle-like” as possible, discreetly hiding any vampirism-related behaviour from the guests’ view. But as soon as Lady Dobrava and her duenna had retired to her bedroom, Valerica had innocently begun to entertain Mariusz on the latest associations of young but growing Poland with Moldova.

As he puts it, not so long afterwards, their conversation drifted to, shall we say, more personal and sensitive subjects, such as Mariusz’s feminine conquests, which were numerous, as he was eighteen at the time and had already pleased a respectable number of maidens. The Countess had pressed him with questions, being curious and excited to know more about how Muggle stags were pleasing their women. I take it that Mariusz became more and more practical in his explanations, as a few minutes later, he had ceremoniously pushed Valerica against the wall, ripped her corset open, lifted her dress and thrust deep into her. It probably came to her more as a delightful relief than as a shock; she was already all eager and wet as a result of Mariusz’s eloquence a few minutes before. None of Valerica’s people ventured in that corridor that night, as the Countess’ hoarse moans could be heard from quite a distance. At the end of their passionate encounter, Valerica, in a last fiery caress, performed the Embrace with Mariusz, who was still too lost in their physical intensity to realize what was going on, even less to protest.

As she curled up into his arms, after he had completed his painful rebirth and had followed her, vanquished and exhausted, to her coffin, she purred into his ear, “I name you Ivantie, the glorious gift, for you gave me back something precious that had been long lost. And in return, I give you my powers and the gift of eternal life.”

Ivantie spent joyful and serene decades with the Countess, and she taught him a lot about the manners, ways and capacities of our kind, which he developed with extraordinary skill under her guidance. After a while, he left her to seek out knowledge of new regions, clans, people, and finally ended in Zaharia, somewhere in 1536, where he has stayed since, fully considered by Horatiu as a clan member after he accepted to be linked to him by a blood oath.

As I approached, however, my features, reflecting a mind that was lost in dark thoughts, caught Ivantie’s attention. The smile he had first displayed to welcome me was soon decomposed to a worrisome expression, though his eyes were still bright with their usual mocking twinkle.

“Anything wrong happen on the mountain tonight, Antanasia?” he asked.

“No, the usual. I just enjoyed some time alone before the night began, looking at the landscapes and the sunset. Nothing to get excited about, really,” I said, distractedly. But with an engaging side look, I added: “Though I did see something else that would have certainly caught your eye.”

“Don’t tell me! Blue eyes, long silver hair, never-ending legs, hips to kill for, mouth to die for, part Veela, part Swedish witch...”

“Oh come on!” I interrupted, gruffly. “That thing does not exist! Told you a million times that you set your standards too high!”

“Ah, but I’ve got plenty of time to wait for her to cross my path...”

“Huh? Don’t you make that mistake and believe you’re truly eternal, Ivantie!” I replied, in the same moody tone, looking straight into his eyes. “And if she did cross your way, it would probably be to keep on going straight through it!”

His eyes instantaneously lost their mischievous twinkle. Frowning, he looked at me for a few seconds and commented, in a serious tone, “So... something wrong did happen in the Carpathians.”

I shrugged my shoulders and concentrated on folding my cloak as neatly as possible over my arm. And put all my skill to it. I was so embarrassed about my reaction! Ivantie was just being himself, always trying to make me laugh, especially so when he thought my heart was the least disposed to it. He had made an enormous effort of patience and perseverance doing just that during the previous seventeen years. Given what had just happened, I felt a bit stupid when thinking about my initial reaction to the news I was about to bring. I was so absorbed in my thoughts and my silly task that I did not hear a faint snapping sound, coming from behind the oak alley and almost completely covered by the great fall’s sounds. Ivantie stopped the jerky moves of my fingers over my cloak and took my hand in his.

“Did you have another vision about--?”

“No, I didn’t,” said I, in one breath, removing my hand from his and still looking very carefully at my cloak. “Well, I did have one, but it was about the future. However, it’s not the time nor the place to talk about it,” I added, tilting my head towards the other guard.

“I see... I guess we will have the occasion to talk about that one later, then.”

“Indeed.” I looked at him and smiled. “What I wanted to say a few minutes ago, before you began your usual delirium, was that I saw a hippogriff flying right above me tonight.”

“Here?” he said, rising his brows in astonishment. “It must have been, what, at least a dozen decades since last time I had the chance to see one!”

“But that’s not all, Ivan... it was a tame hippogriff; it had a rider on its back. They were heading here when I left them.”

“Did you get a glimpse of the rider as well?” he asked, getting all excited at the coming visitor.

“Yes. Actually, I flew a bit with them to check who it was. It seems to be a wizard. A... British wizard.”

“Oh, that explains the dreadful look...” he teased, his eyes sparkling again.

“Well. He basically told me that, unless I was a guard, I’d better quickly get out of his way and stop bothering him,” I said, feeling annoyed by this enthusiasm that completely clashed with what I felt at the moment.

“What, you talked to him, in addition? What had you transformed into?”

“That’s the funny part of the story. I was a common mountain eagle when we had that little one-way overwhelmingly pleasant conversation.”

“Mmmmh.… How the heck could he know you where there, then?” he wondered, seemingly as puzzled as I was.

“I knew because I could sense her presence, almost as well as I can feel it now,” said a third voice, coolly, behind us.

Ivantie, a bit startled, moved aside to look at the newcomer. I merely closed my eyes and stopped breathing, frozen on the spot. Ivantie, seeing my reaction, empathetically understood and took charge of the situation.

“Well, talking about the werewolf!” he said, in a joking and welcoming voice, holding out his hand.

“I beg your pardon?” said the stranger, seemingly taken aback, with a touch of irritation in his voice, his hands tightly held behind his back.

“Never mind, Sir, it is merely an expression we use here,” answered Ivantie, as casually as he could, putting his hand awkwardly back to his right side. “Antanasia was telling me about your encounter somewhere in the sky. Where is your hippogriff? Surely you did not land on this side of the cliff?”

“Indeed. There did not seem to be a clear place to land on, near the castle. I landed on the other side instead, next to the fall, and Apparated here. I came to see the leader of your clan.”

“Yes, yes, very well! But first things first! Let me go there and take your hippogriff to this side so it can rest in the castle stable. The journey must have been long for both of you. Antanasia can take you to Marilena in the meantime.”

I was still turning my back to the stranger, in perfect knowledge that I was being insultingly rude towards him. And a part of me, quite immaturely I admit, was enjoying it. I looked at Ivantie and, when his eyes met mine, he instantly concluded that I had no intention to spend some time alone with the wizard. He coughed, then added:

“Or, hum, maybe it would be better for you to accompany me there. After all, you know best where you left your animal and it knows you better than it knows me. I don’t particularly want a nasty hippogriff scratch at the end of a long guard shift! I will take you to a guest room afterwards, so you can have a little rest. Antanasia will announce you to Marilena, who will most probably be able to meet with you as soon as possible.”

Silence. Was there something wrong? Did the wizard anticipate a trap? Ivantie, a trap! That cainite was goodness incarnate. No... He was... he was looking at me. Intensely. I could feel that wizard’s glance burning the skin on the back of my neck. Still standing motionless, fighting the urge to turn back and lower myself by dignifying him with a look, I tried instead to concentrate on the feel he gave me. But other than the tingling sensation of his eyes shamelessly probing me, I could feel nothing more. I did not like it at all. Usually, I could at least feel something from other beings, a remembrance, a recent sorrow, joy, laughter, defeat, an intention, something! As seconds passed, I became more and more tensed, prepared to react and defend myself if he made any sudden move. But he simply said, very calmly, “Very well, then.”

And he started walking towards the oak alley again. I sighed in relief. Ivantie gave me an affectionate pat on the back and whispered, “I’ll meet you in your apartments after he is all settled in his.”

He then followed the stranger, as I opened the castle’s door and walked in, still not looking back.

This is how, on a wonderful evening in July, my life began to change because of a British wizard who, I learned later, was named Severus Snape.

~*~

AUTHOR’S NOTES
I hope you are enjoying the story so far! I would really appreciate some reviews. It does not take much of your time and it tells me if you like where the story is going or not! It’s in your best interest, in a way! Writing 25-30 pages every week represents a lot of work; your comments are a valuable reward! :o)

GLOSSARY
A Sire is the parent-creator of a vampire, used both in the female and male form. Source : Darkness unveiled, http://phrozen-neon.com/vampire/index.html.

Rebirth, Change and Becoming are all refer to the actual transformation process of a mortal into a vampire.

Cainite is a more poetic term preferred by elders that means « kindred » or, for Muggles, « vampire ». Source : Darkness unveiled, http://phrozen-neon.com/vampire/index.html.

The Embrace is the act of transforming a mortal into a kindred by draining the mortal\'s blood and replacing it with a small amount of the Sire’s own.

The Blood oath is the most potent bond which can exist between kindreds; the receiving of blood in an acknowlegdgement of mastery. This grants a mystical power over the one who is bound. Source : Darkness unveiled, http://phrozen-neon.com/vampire/index.html.