A Vampire's Pride

Bad And Groovy

Viola's POV

            I hear it before I see it.

     A radio plays faintly in the distance as I'm transported into a backyard full of poppies and daisies. I hear the lyrics to 'oh, pretty woman' and know that I've been transported back to the 60's like Mahtu said I'd be. I step to the side as the back door of a small cottage opens, a younger and more groovy version of Mahtu steps out. She's dressed in a yellow and orange dress with trapeze shapes all over it, white platform boots and a white headband— I almost laugh, but am too awed to even giggle.

            "Frank I don't give a rats ass if she slashed your tires, I'm not putting a hex on her." She says, grabbing a watering pot from the ground and walking to her beloved flowers.

       This 'Frank' is the next person to walk out of the cottage, frustration evident on his face. His mustache is thick as if there's a catapillar on his upper lip, and his blue eyes are rolling at her.

         "It was a brand new Cadillac— you can't let her get away with this monstrosity." He whines, his stance like any typical cop from the sixties.

         "I can and I will." She hums in humor.
    "Just because you're my nephew doesn't mean you can command hexes from me. Doesn't work that way, sugar." She glances at the man with a grin.
         "We can egg her house like normal humans. With rotten eggs!" She wiggles her eyebrows as the man sighs.

            "I guess that can be fun too." He mutters as she cackles.
"Tonight?" He looks up at her with hopeful eyes as she taps her chin in contemplation.

"I guess I could squeeze you in. We'll take my beetle." She says, humming as she waters her flowerbed.
"Now go away, I think I've heard enough of grown men's whining to last the next forty years." She chuckles. To this, he makes a put out face and walks back into the cottage.

                 Soon, The image I'm looking at gets blurry as time speeds ahead— morphing my surroundings to the inside of her cottage.
     Her place is colorful, just like you'd expect from a hippie back then. A turquoise coat hanger, a peace sign tapestry hanging from the wall— an orange leather couch, I furrow my eyebrows. This is so different from her gothic taste now.
      Still, grimoires litter the tables along with a very colorful bong and and shiny keys to a Volkswagen.

       It's nighttime now, and Mahtu is getting ready by a large mirror. She's applying a rim of purple eyeliner and putting her hair up into a big bun. Her dress is now blue and violet, another matching headband on her head displaying her perfectly trimmed bangs.

             "I know you're there." She says slowly. My heart almost drops to my ass, could she sense me?

             A figure emerges from a dark corner, and I almost slump my shoulders in relief until I realize who it is.

         Kilian.

                 His ruffled appearance stuns me as he glares at the witch. His black jean jacket suits him, bringing out color to his otherwise angry face. His messy black hair falls into his forehead as he glowers at Mahtu.

              "Tell me where she is." He grinds out, I almost flinch at his menacing tone.

                Mahtu clicks her tongue as she continues to apply her makeup nonchalantly.

            "You shouldn't bring that bad energy in here— you're ruining my decor." She rolls her eyes and reminds me of Frank, her nephew.
              "Plus, I still have no idea of whom you speak of, demon prince." She hums, watching him coyly.

                  "It's been six months, stop lying." Kilian snaps, running his hands through his hair.
                "She needs to die— if I don't come back with the news of her death, I'll—" he stops himself abruptly eyes turning black as he glances at her.
                   "If I find out that you're lying to me about this prophecy—" he starts up again, but Mahtu interrupts him.

                  "I'm not lying. I know what's on the line. Your life and now mine since you dragged me into this mess. If the Fates have anything to say to me— you'll be the first to know." She says as he nods, tense and ready for anything.

              Then— as quickly as he appeared— his handsome face full of troubles is gone. Back into an inky portal of his, and out of her cottage.

              Once he's gone, Mahtu smiles to herself.

              "Over my dead trampled, burned, body." She says to herself. Then, she turns back to the mirror and starts to apply lipgloss.

My mind is swirling, trying to process everything at once. This is Kilian back in his prime prince days, his abused days. The years that took a toll on him and his dreams of helping people— instead, he was doing his fathers every bidding. These are the steps that he took searching for me, to kill me before the prophecy could be completed.

The steps he'd taken before my father trapped him for years in a grimoire to protect me.

He'd found Mahtu, a witch that the fates spoke things to. He'd tried forcing her hand to help him in the search— but she'd secretly never even planned on helping him.
He was so disheveled, and lost in his search— and my stupid self still feels that ache for him.

He's searching to put an end to my life, and here I am, thinking about those perfect lips on mine, passionately. What a turn in events indeed.

              As I wait for the scene to change in her memories, nothing happens.
          Mahtu continues putting the finishing touches of makeup on. I frown, looking around, waiting for what's to come.

            Then, as if no time had passed— a fire erupts in the fireplace, flames the color of emerald. Mahtu's eyes widen slightly, but she composes herself as she turns to face the fire— makeup forgotten.
            She bows low as the fire produces a face.

          That must be one of the fates.

       I can't make out any features, but the blank faces lips start to move.

"Prophecies are made and born— but this one is something that must happen for the greater good.
Years from now, two sisters will be born of flame and ice— and may be the one thing that can stop war in the dimensions.
One sister, naive and in love will be betrayed by that closest to her.
The other will go on to be queen.

Protect the innocents at all costs, that is your task.

She of ice will seek out your help in the future— do not deny what she seeks. A map and a door, that is all she needs.

Do not interfere with that of the prophecy.
Do this— and immortality is yours."
The flame goes out with a thunderous clap, and the room goes back to its colorful auras as Mahtu stands slowly— still shaken from the presence of a fate.
Her chest heaves up and down as she stares at the empty fireplace in terror, and I can't help but do the same.

One of us will be betrayed by that of which is closest to us?

Just as Mahtu tries to settle her heartbeat, a door in the cottage bursts open; we both jump in fright.

"I brought like five dozen— do you think thats enough?" Frank struts in as Mahtu's shoulders sag in relief.

"Idiot. Buffoon. Weasel." Mahtu insults him as he raises his hands in alarm.

"Did I do something wrong?" He grins as she glares at him.

"Let's go." She grumbles.

And the scene morphs yet again.

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