To those of you who once read this story from a few years ago, will now be able to read it again, in this newly updated version where it is hopefully better edited. Setekh & Bane are back and are here to stay! And to all you new readers out there wh...
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Dear Journal, September 8, 2016
I had that dream again. The same dream I've had since I was six. I see myself moving through the woods at blinding speed, feeling the tiny air molecules as they brush against my skin. Then a strange power engulfs in the center of my chest daring me to move faster. My stride flows beautifully as the lungs in my chest breathe in and out without much effort. My legs that are powerful push off at the trunk of a broken down tree as I swan dive through the air, my entire body engulfing in a blinding white light.
And that is when the dream ends. I awake the following morning usually in a pool of my own sweat and my heart pounding in my ears. But last night was different. The dream was different, like something out of a long, lost nightmare. A vast empty courtyard with dense fog all around me and the familiar smell of danger in the air carrying with it the hint of spilled blood. To the north, six tall figures emerge wearing black robes that nearly touch the dirt they walk on.
My muscles twitch telling me to run while my brain orders me not to move that help will come. But would it? The lightly feathered snowy ground crunches beneath the soles of my boots as I shift into a crouch. The creatures of the night crawl to a halt at the sight of my defensive stance but make no move to attack. Then the air around me suddenly changes as the snow falls harder and the wind picks up with tremendous force causing me to narrow my eyes just to see through the blizzard.
I hold my breath as I wait but nothing happens. Strange that they would not attack me now. A howl soars across the icy air as the creatures look at each other in confusion. Behind me, I feel the hot breath of something panting as it brushes against the nape of my neck. Help did finally arrive after all, and I would be alone no longer. The time had now come for both sides to make a choice: fight or surrender. Live or die. I channel my power to course through my veins as I shift and dig my claws into the earth.
A glint of gold catches my eye as I zero in on a pendant that is draped around each of their necks on a silver chain written in the Old Language. But when translated into English it means: The Cold Ones. Vampires. I close my eyes then, listening to the sound of my own heart as it pounds in my ears like thunder. The battle for supremacy had begun.
I close and wrap the leather journal with its thin black strap and set it down next to the pen on my father's desk. The sun had came up hours ago, but outside the air was warm, cloudy with rain in the forecast for the next couple of days. The grandfather clock at the far end of the room chimes twelve times and each time it marches to the beat of my own heart. I lean back in the leather chair as I prop my feet up on the desk and stare out the window.
Hawthorne Manor was built in the early nineteenth century and currently sits on twenty acres of the most beautiful land you ever laid your eyes on. I, however, was born and raised here deep within its stone walls and castle windows. My mother took great pride in herself on keeping this place clean and dust free what with all the treasures and antiques my parents had collected over the years with their archaeological digs in the desert sands.
