(The girl stirs, fitful rest interrupted by a noise at the edge of her awareness…a voice, she realizes. She can’t make out the words, but it’s clear that someone is speaking nearby. She opens eyes that glow with an inner light of purest gold, snarls and bares fangs that were not there when she fell into slumber.)
(She is changed…)
(She is hungry)
“Oy now, was wonderin’ when you’d come out of it. Welcome back, lass.”
(The girl leaps toward the voice, rising from where she rests with little effort and hurling herself at the source with newly grown claws reaching for where a neck should be. She knows nothing, in this moment. Only that the hunger must be satisfied. The Thirst must be quenched…)
(A man stops her. He holds out one thin arm and snatches her out of the air, fingers closing around her throat. She claws wildly at him, desperate to tear into warm flesh and drink deep of the crimson waters which flow only in the veins of the living. She can smell the stench of blood; and it drives her into a deeper fury)
“Now now, calm down lass. I’ll not harm you, but neither will I allow you to harm me. Made that mistake myself, never lived it down.”
(She does not listen. Cannot listen. His words are just noise, carrying no meaning.)
“Let…me go!” (She manages, forcing the words out.) “LET ME GO!”
(The man before her smiles. He’s short, thin, but his strength is unbelievable. He holds her in place seemingly without exerting himself to the fullest extent; her thrashing an inconvenience, not a burden)
(He holds his free hand up to his mouth, and bites deeply into the wrist. Blood pools on his tongue, and he draws his wrist away swiftly before spitting it back out on to the floor. The waste angers her, but the rage is brief. Slowly, almost tenderly, he brings the bleeding wound up towards her mouth and allows a small trickle of his blood to fall upon her lips. She licks it, and the taste… indescribable. He does not allow her to grab his arm, to pull it close and latch on as she wishes, but the blood flow from his wrist remains constant, and she opens her mouth to accept it. She is in heaven; lost in the sensation of… satiation?)
(Why does his blood satisfy? Who is he? Where the hell is she? Question upon question, flooding her mind as the fog of the Thirst clears and allows her to begin thinking again.)
“There we go… drink up, now. Not too quickly, you’ll sicken yourself.”
“Who…” (her teeth are stained red, her tongue alive with the taste of his Vitae)
“Shhh, questions are for later. Right now, focus only on clearing your mind… you know yourself? Your name?”
“A…Amanda.”
“Last name?”
“I…I don’t remember”
(He moves his wrist away from her and licks it, cleaning the excess blood away. As she watches, the wound begins to close; skin reknitting itself until only a faint scar of teeth marks remains, before that too begins to fade. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowers her to the ground, allowing her to stand, but not removing his hand from her throat. His grip holds her in place, the strength of it enough to halt any attempt at movement)
“Think, lass. Find it, and I’ll let you go.”
(She struggles for a moment, searching through scattered memories in search of her own identity. She remembers a street corner, cold upon her skin, rain in her hair. She remembers begging, searching for succor among strangers…)
“Westenra.”
“Say again?”
“My name…I think…I think it’s Westenra.”
“Good lass.”
(He removes his hand from her throat. His fingers are tipped by claws, she notices)
“Now… you’ll be confused. Disoriented. Take a moment to steady yourself. Don’t push yourself too far too fast lass.”
“Where am I? Who are you? What are you?!”
“What are we, lass. Where you are…well, I found this little corner of nowhere during a hunt. It’s a warehouse on the edge of town, if you remember where town is. Who am I? I suppose I’m your Da. Call me Atlas.”
(He reaches for her, extending a hand as though expecting her to shake it. She doesn’t; she merely stares at him)
”What are you!?”
(He smiles. A predators grin, on the red bearded face of a man. In his eyes is the wisdom of one beyond his years.)
“You know what I am. What you are. Say it with me now, lass: vam…”
(Her eyes widen)
“No…no this isn’t real. I’m dreaming.”
“Aye, thought that myself when I drank the red. I could smack you, but me ma would do somersaults in her grave. Take me word for it: this ain’t a dream, and it’s very real.”
“I was…I was hiding. From you?”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. You’ve been on the streets for months, lass. Plenty of things to fear out there besides me.”
(She shakes her head in disbelief. This thing, this Atlas, is telling her that what’s happened to her is nothing less than a total transformation: mind, body, soul…)
“It’s not real…this isn’t real…”
“Oh it is. I assure you.”
(He takes a step forward and rests a hand upon her shoulder. The motion is comforting, despite the fear that consumes her core. Somehow, this man does not frighten her. He hasn’t hurt her so far…that she knows of.)
“How?”
“Gonna have to be more specific.”
“How did this happen?”
“Well, it’s a long story. You see, I’ve been watching you. I’ve had my eye on you for a long while now, and what I’ve seen upsets me terribly. You were living in an alleyway, sheltering in a cardboard box from the rain and the cold while men and women in fine clothes walked right past you, blind to your suffering. I don’t know how you came to be there… but it’s a crime that you were.”
“And…you saved me?”
“In a sense. You’re not human anymore, lass. Don’t think you were ever meant to be, either. You’ve got the spark of a killer in you…”
(She pulls away from him, eyes widening.)
“I am not a killer!”
(He doesn’t attempt to restrain her, he merely returns his hand to his side and meets her gaze. Hers is fearful; his unflinching)
“You are now.”
(Tears well in the corners of her eyes. She feels them racing down her cheeks and presses a hand to them. She notices the claws on her own fingers for the first time, and jerks her hand away. The fingertips are red)
(She’s crying blood)
“Now now, enough of that bollocks!”
(The man - Atlas - reaches for her. Past experiences barely recalled cause her to jerk away from the motion, but he presses on despite it, running his hand across her cheeks and eyes to clean the blood from them.)
“You sweat it too, before you ask. If you want to maintain some semblance of humanity, I suggest you halt that weeping.”
“You’ve killed me… you’ve murdered me…”
“Again, said the same thing when I was born. But in the end, I realized a very simple truth: my life was dogshite before. Probably why I’ve forgotten most of it. I’ve tasted the sorrow in your soul, the pain in your blood…I’ve a feeling our stories aren’t very different. You remember your life before now? How it turned to ash?”
“I was… I was in college. I dropped out. My dad…”
“Aye, shite Da’s, that’ll usually do it.”
“No…no my dad died. I couldn’t go home. I didn’t have a home.”
(This seems to give him pause. He runs his hand through his hair before beginning to pace.)
(He stops, and looks at her)
“As I said… not very different.”
(He places his hand upon her shoulder once more, slower this time so as not to startle her. She accepts the contact. His proximity calms the fear brewing at her core; his touch seems to quench it entirely)
“I don’t want to kill…”
(He reaches into his coat pocket and removes a flask. He shakes it; the liquid within sloshes audibly, sluggishly, as though it were filled with oil. He puts it back)
“You don’t have to. There are more ways than just one to walk the night, lass. I can show you…if you’re willing.”
“S-show me?”
“Oh aye. We may be monsters, but we don’t have to be killers. You can take what you wish without stopping a single heart, but to do so, you’ll have to learn. You can’t do that on your own, trust me.”
(She closes her eyes, willing fresh tears back. She draws in a shaky breath…only to realize that feels no need to continue doing so. Her heart still beats, her blood flows…but she can tell that she is dead. A walking, living corpse, animated…)
(Animated by what?)
(She hears his words, and knows that they are true. She feels his concern, and knows that it is sincere. She senses his pity, and knows that it is not false)
(She opens her eyes)
“You said you’re my ‘da…’ You mean father?”
“Of a kind. Not the one you were born with, obviously, but the one you need, certainly. So...”
(He removes his hand)
“Shall you learn, young one? Or shall I leave you to the sun?”
(At the mention of the sun, she feels a chill race down her spine. She’s certain that what she knows about his kind is far from the concrete truth…but the sun? That part is definitely true. She knows in her bones that to step out during the day now would be nothing short of a death sentence.)
“I…I will learn.”
(He grins, and moves toward her. She flinches away, but he takes her into his embrace despite it. His arms encircle her, and the contact heartens her. She is afraid. She is tired… she is thirsty…but somehow, she knows all of these things to be minor issues, for another time. For now, she returns his embrace)
“Welcome then, my Childe, my Daughter... Welcome to our World of Darkness…”