Gaze Into Her Killing Jar (She Even Poked The Holes So I Could Breathe)

She lay there, this wounded human girl, curled in on herself in a corner directly in front of me, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps as she watched me and waited. Her clothes were filthy  and torn, her hair a tangled mess of earth and blood.  Blood that had long since dried streaked her face, her arms, her whole body, and still it came, fresh blood from wounds that were probably healing too slowly to save her.

“It’s so tempting to kill her, isn’t it, Zithera?”

I flinched at the sound of her voice, the innocent air of a young girl, yet still carrying the dark amusement of a murderer. That was, after all, what she was. A murderer.

I didn’t answer. I felt that if I opened my mouth even slightly, the urge to kill her would be too strong. I had no other choice but to stay here, locked in this dungeon-like room, with its unforgiving stone walls and heavy, oppressing air that carried the scent of human blood. Day after day, a new victim, another human found wounded after a fight was brought in front of me, to test me. The scent of the others who’d been brought here lingered and once they died, another was brought to fill their place

I couldn’t touch them. If I did, they’d kill me. She was waiting for that. Both of them, the murderer and the victim, wished for different things.

The murderer behind me- her parents had named her Sophia-waited impatiently for me to slip up and give in to the temptation of human blood. I could feel her eyes on the back of my head as I knelt here, too weak to hold myself up anymore. She silently rejoiced at my pain as I willed myself not to do what she wanted me to do. Watching me struggle was her entertainment.

 The girl in front of me, the latest test subject, had long since stopped begging for help that she had realized would never come. Instead she kept her wide, terrified eyes on mine, not daring to look away, as if staring at me would stop me from killing her. I suppose it was working. We’d been sitting here for about five hours already and I hadn’t dared to move.

I hadn’t eaten in days.

“How close are you to giving in, Zithera?” Sophia asked sweetly.

I gritted my teeth against the next wave of nausea. Or temptation. I could barely tell anymore. On one hand, every breath of hers sent another wave of sweet, human blood into the air, that made it that little bit harder to concentrate on keeping my human form. On the other hand, it also brought the venom that she drank every week. And of course, my own blood that she’d found was almost as potent as the venom that she took from other vampires.

 “Prove me right, Zithera,” she whispered, leaning towards me so I could hear, “Kill her. Prove me right.” Her breath brushed softly against the back of my neck and made me shiver. She stank of the caustic acid of venom.

The other girl whimpered and curled up even further somehow, and shrank deeper into the shadows. Still, she kept her eyes on mine, wide and afraid, yet somehow determined to keep living. Usually they gave up under the pressure and begged for me to kill them.

That was always the hardest part. Listening to them beg.

The anger I’d felt the first few days- anger at being held here, just to prove that I had the self-control necessary to be able to live normally- had almost completely faded to nothing but misery. My mind was consumed by the pressure of trying to keep my human self alive. Fighting against myself, my vampire self. Thinking of ways to escape.

I was so weak.

I didn’t know how long I could hold on for. I could imagine it- was it me, or that part of me, the vampire side? – the taste of it, the sweet taste of blood, indescribable in human words. The roaring burn in my throat, the thirst, made my whole body shake as I tried to force back that side, the side that wanted to kill.