𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

"...(Y/N)...(Y/N)..."

You woke up with a start, sitting up straight at your desk and taking a deep breath through your nose. Books, papers, and spell ingredients were strewn all around your workspace and there was a deep red imprint on your cheek from where you had been resting your head on your sweater sleeve. The bright yellow light of your desk lamp was pointed down at your head despite the bright midday sun that filtered through the open windows.

It took a moment for your eyes to clear away the haze of sleep, but once you could properly see your surroundings, you weren't any calmer. "Fuck!" you exclaimed mid-yawn, leaning back in your chair and shutting your eyes tightly.

Propped open right in front of your face was a book that you didn't remember opening the night before. It was the first occultist book that Mr. E had ever given you; The Secret History of Vampires.

 It was old, bound with flaking red fabric. The pages were deckled and the entire thing looked just one good slam away from falling apart in your hands. It was open to a random page, a morbid depiction of a vampire mid-feed was plastered in black and white.

A newborn vampire's First Hunger is a significant period in their transformation from mortal to immortal, the caption read in faded black lettering. It is the allotted time in which the turned vessel begins to crave the blood of a mortal for the very first time.

"Gross," you sneered, running a hand down your face before gently closing the book and tucking it away into one of the drawers beside you. It wasn't the first thing you expected to see waking up, but you would take it.

With another yawn, you reached your arms up over your head and stretched your limbs like a cat. You've felt weird ever since Michael took you home last night. It was an uncomfortable, anxious feeling. Like you weren't entirely alone. 

Like you were being watched.

No matter how hard you worked or how deeply you succumbed to the lull of written Latin phrases, you couldn't shake the piercing stare of the mysterious boy that you had seen right before leaving the boardwalk. His presence even seemed to weave its way into the privacy of your dreams, floating around in your brain like the melody of a long-forgotten song...

You were lost once again, chasing the distant light of the boardwalk. Sand clouded in the wake of your furious footfalls, spilling into clouds of dust behind you. No matter how fast you ran, it seemed like the forever-spinning ferris wheel in the distance was moving back just as quickly.

Sea water lapped at your toes and the smell of the ocean —dead fish and salt— had never seemed so strong before. The brass ring around your neck thudded against the front of your shirt with every step, burning like hot iron against your exposed skin. The ruby glowed red like a halo, painting the beach in front of you in its dim light.

"...(Y/N)...(Y/N)..."

An inhumanly deep voice called out for you, whispering your name like an incantation. It was one that you had heard several times before, but only ever in your dreams that took place in the dead of night, limbs thrashing until you were completely tangled in the fabric of your bedsheets. And in your dreams, you never had a face to tie it to.

"...(Y/N)..."

Another voice joined in, just as clear and guttural. Then another. Each voice called out for you, begging you to turn away from the neon citadel of the boardwalk. But you were afraid to. You couldn't remember exactly why, but you were. Not of the dark, not of the black waters that tugged on your ankles and shifted the wet sands under your feet, but something else.