The alarm begins blaring, the sound merging with my fading dream as I open my eyes, the smell of my own sweat creeping up into my nose.
My dog is cuddled up next to me.
As I look at him, I feel a deep warmth for life.
As I pet my dog—Connor—I smell the aroma of pancakes seeping through the air.
I roll to turn off my alarm, falling out of bed.
I lay there for a second as my dog sniffs my face and gives me one good lick.
I giggle from the tickles.
"Okay, okay, Connor. I'll get up."
The bathroom is dimly lit—lavender-painted walls, ivory curtains. Steam from the hot shower creeps across the mirror, hiding the demon staring back at me.
Her curly black wolf cut hangs low, shrouding crimson red eyes and olive skin.
"There I am," I think to myself.
Every day, I stare into the mirror—not out of admiration, but to distract myself from the thought of being hideous.
It's not that I'm ugly, but... I just forget.
Why do I kid myself?"
I enter the dining room of the estate.
I feel the vast expanse between me and my father.
My heart sinks at my mother's empty chair.
I glanced at my younger brother, Antonio.
He looks up at me, bright-eyed.
"Chiara, how are you this morning?"
I smile softly, ruffling his jet-black hair.
"Good."
"Good morning, daughter."
My heart flinches at the word.
"Daughter."
Cold. Distant. Impartial.
Yet suffocating.
"Have a good day at school. Remember, you have your initiation into the Order… tonight."
He slides money across the table.
"Here's some money for lunch. You forgot to do the dishes last night. Take the trash out. And your room needs to be cleaned by the end of the week."
He pauses, almost playfully.
"And if you do meet anyone interesting, be sure to bring them over."
He smiles softly.
I force a hollow smile
"Yes, Father."
I stood at the At the bus stop
The humid air suffocated me as a light drizzle patterned against the pavement.
Something in it moved the stillness of my heart.
The Past Should Stay Dead played through my headphones.
And within it… I found a voice.
A voice the expectations of my father had denied me.
I'm shaken out of my trance by a soft tap on my shoulder.
I turn around and find a boy.
He looks stunned—like the sight of me has frozen something inside him.
His eyes cradle my face, wide and sunken, searching.
He pauses before speaking.
"I just had to say... Your voice is beautiful.
A pensive smile hung in his face
I freeze like dear in headlights,when met with his bronze skin, auburn almost asiatic eyes that narrowed into a squint his voice was measured and steady but not impassive
I'm Kahlil."
"I'm Chiara," I respond, a little thrown.
"Are you Italian?" he asks.
"What a weird question," I say, my face scrunching up with a soft smile.
"Yeah, I'm Italian."
'Do you like pizza.?"
"Occasionally"
"I learned that italians like pizza" he stated a grin stretched across his face
"You're….not one of those people who think race determines personality, are you?"
"I am, actually," he says, dead serious.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Well, if that's the case—what are you?"
"Persian." he says bluntly
"Sooo… what does being Italian mean, then?"
He shrugs. "In my eyes, they're the only really civilized ones among whites. They've got a kind of nobility, An aristocratic air." He follows with his own smug smile
I look at him for a second, then grin.
"Just wait till the ravens come knocking on your window. Let's see how long you can keep this up."
I giggle uncontrollably.
He smiles softly,
but he sees Latin runes that stretched across my body under my clothes, peeking out from under my shirt.
His gaze hardens.
"Your tattoos… I lied about the reason I approached you. It wasn't just because of your voice."
"I don't know how else to say this… but I know what you are."
My gaze sharpens.
"And what is that?"
"You're a vampire."
The silence hung in the air.
"And you chose to talk to me anyways?"
"Yes… yes, I did.
It's only fair, but I come from a long lineage of sultans, priests, and… scholars.
I wanted to know what you know, and maybe I can teach you what I know.
And also… you're pretty. Like, very pretty.
And funny—
which I never thought I'd use to describe a girl."
A mischievous grin stretched across his face
The engine of the bus faded into my senses as I stood there, dumbstruck.
"You're sitting next to me on the bus.
You're sitting with me at lunch.
And you're meeting me after school."
He blinks.
"Were you supposed to say that out loud?"
He gestures to the bus door.
"After you."
…Later on in the day, I had long awaited the lunch bell. All I could think of was… him.
The bell rings, and my heart skips a beat.
I'm walking through the cafeteria with my tray when I see a crowd gathered around. I hear a girl berating someone.
"You piece of shit. This is why your sister killed herself, and why your father ran off. You piece of shit. I hate you. Look at him—how could you not hate him? He's pathetic."
The girls gathered around her laugh.
Kahlil clenches his teeth. His fists.
That—I cannot stand.
I dump the food off my lunch tray, the sterile metal resting in my grip as I storm up beside the girl.
I tap her on the shoulder.
She turns around.
"And what do you want, bitch?"
"Blood," I reply.
Before she can respond, I feel the tray collide with the side of her head. I toss it to the ground and begin pummeling her until I'm pulled off.
As they drag me away, I smile softly—looking at Kahlil.
And he smiles softly in appreciation.
"Father... I'm sorry. I didn't want to shame you. I never wanted to shame you," I say, avoiding his gaze.
He sits there in silence, contemplating briefly.
"Well," he begins, "we can't understand what without why. And so I'm asking you—why?"
"This girl was bullying my friend."
"Friendships require faith in the other person's judgment or character—even if you don't understand it, even if you can't see it. You should assume, on the basis of the relationship, that they would not implicate you any more than they had to.
I trust that you would not shame me any more than you had to—to restore dignity wrongly taken.
And if it's right... is there really any shame?"
I am shocked as my father pulls me in close, hugging me. I rest my head against his chest as I begin sobbing. I hold him tighter and tighter.
"You need to do this more," I say, my voice muffled.
… i …see your mother's eyes in you …its ….
The principal invites us into the office, interrupting the moment.
The drive home is silent, and I sit in the front seat next to my father.
"I'd like to meet the young man who caused you to go through such great lengths to defend his sovereignty," he says. "Reminds me of Penelope, from The Odyssey… except, well—"
(He glances at me as I look down at my bloody knuckles.)
"—you."
We drive past the bus stop, and I see Kahlil waiting there.
I tell my father, "Stop the car. Please, stop the car."
I step out, looking Kahlil up and down.
"Well, are you gonna stand there like a lost puppy, or are you gonna get in?"
He smiles softly.
My father looks at me. "Not bad," he murmurs.
I punch him softly in the shoulder, and he chuckles.
Kahlil gets in the back seat. He looks around the car, eyes wide.
"Holy shit... this is a Jaguar."
He pauses, glancing at me.
"If you've got money like that... why are you taking the bus? Why are you even going to public school?"
A beat.
"Sorry. That was rude of me," he adds quickly.
My father responds, his voice calm, thoughtful.
"I feared that growing up in a private school would negatively impact her development—as it did mine."
He keeps his eyes on the road.
"In my younger years, I carried an arrogance... an entitlement. It robbed me of the chance to experience genuine human connection throughout most of my life, and eventually cost the life of Chiara's mother."
I turn to look at him. My voice is quiet.
"Father... I never knew you thought about me that deeply."
He doesn't respond immediately. He simply smiles softly, still looking ahead.
But I can see it—the way he's turning my words over in his mind.
Processing them.
Kahlil sees the cross hanging from the mirror.
"Y'all are Catholic?"
"Yes," I say.
"Our… family has been around since before the fall of Rome, believe it or not."
I gesture to the ceiling of the car, revealing an engraving.
It was a man dragging down an angel.
He climbed upon a mound of his own dead corpses, dragging the divine out of the heavens itself.
Kahlil's voice drops to a whisper. "That's you?"
"That's… all of us," I reply.
"I've never heard of any Christians believing that."
"We're a forgotten sect—or maybe a completely different church of Christianity before it was warped and defiled by the greed of beasts that walked like men."
I scowl, but it only masked the existential pain I felt.
"We worship no prophet but the Logos Primordialis—the original thought or divine reason."
My voice falters, uncontrollably, almost a plea for him to let me see more of him.
"What about you?" I ask. "You're Persian, so you must be Muslim."
He pauses for a second, as if contemplating whether I'll hurt him in the future. But he feels the weight of my sincerity. He has to.
"Well... my family was chased out of Persia long ago. We are, for lack of better terms, pagans."
Relief washes over me.
"We found our grounding once again, after centuries of persecution—in 1800s New York," he continues.
"By blood, I am that. But for the most part, I'm American through and through.
My family hates that I see things that way... but they still love me."
He chuckles, obviously imagining his family in his head.
"I have family in New York... we don't really get along," I sigh.
"Let me think," he replies. "Italian. Lots of money. Old money, in fact. And New York. What could it possibly be?"
"Well, if you were going to say anything other than mafia, I would have kicked you out of the car," I reply, my facial muscles twitching into an uncontrollable smirk.
"What for?"
"Because I hate stupid people."
"You would have come back."
"Yeah."
My father breaks the tension with a whistle and an uncertain expression, pursing his lips.
"We're here," he says.
"You… weren't kidding. You really are from an ancient bloodline that predates the fall of Rome," Kahlil says, his face pale as he looks at the estate.
"Who would've thought—smack dab in San Francisco, California."
We sit across from my father as he stands before us, the ivory curtains contrasting against the wooden floor and magenta rug, the hearth flickering behind him.
"I guess it's time we had that conversation, Chiara."
He looks to Kahlil.
"I expect you to be a responsible man—and that includes her heart. Even if you two are only friends… or more, if she allows it."
Then he looks at me.
"I don't believe in fighting the inevitable. So I will not deny you your womanhood—and that includes completing a missing part of you, one you'll only be able to see through a man's eyes."
He turns back to Kahlil.
"That being said, Kahlil—if you hurt her, there will be consequences. That's all. Now, enjoy the estate. I'm sure my daughter has shown you her... video games."
"Father!" I shout, flustered.
He chuckles, then adds, a little softer:
"I just had to make sure my daughter was being responsible with herself. That she was honoring her heart... and presenting herself in a truthful manner."
He pauses, then speaks as if sealing something sacred:
"Never, ever be embarrassed or ashamed of who you are—what you represent. Be yourself, and the world will separate itself accordingly."
Kahlil swallows, shifting in his seat.
"Is this... how families are supposed to operate? Are fathers just supposed to hand their daughters over?" he asks, spooked, his foot tapping from nerves.
My father doesn't flinch.
"I don't want to," he says. "But if I kicked you out or threatened you... I'd rob my daughter of her agency."
And my late wife would haunt me
He nods to a faded text mounted above the hearth.
"Sis cor eius, et ipse erit fortitudo tua. Ubi duo in altero refugium invenerint, ibi invenitur amor aeternus — non carnis, sed spiritus."
"What does it say?" Kahlil asks.
My father answers without looking away from the fire.
"Be his heart, and he will be your strength. Where the two find refuge in one another, there is a love eternal — not of the body, but of the spirit."
My fathe rbegins to exit the room
Khalil panics your not actually about to leave us here i have to be somewhere i had to leave something important because my daughter broke the rules to restore you honor
Im guessin g you approached her first
So honor her honor her heart
I realize what I want from the situation.
The room becomes hotter and hotter as my father closes the door.
I sit there in silence.
Kahlil looks dumbfounded.
I sneak glances at him.
My stomach curls in on itself.
"Come on, Kahlil… be a fucking man," he whispers to himself in frustration.
Then he grabs me—pulls me tight.
And where our bodies meet, there is relief.
And for once, I truly understand that I am loved.
I am cared for.
I am beautiful.
I am desired.
I am cherished.
And for once, I don't question it.
I am worthy of myself.
We lay in my bed, in my room—him cradling me in his arms.
He's my whole world, reflected in his auburn eyes, hooded behind his squinted gaze. He smiles.
"What's up, Chi Chi?"
I scrunch up my face in a smile. "Is this what we're doing now?" I headbutt him lightly.
"How... how do you feel?" I ask.
"I can't explain it in words," he says. "One sec." He grabs his jeans from the side of the bed and pulls out an iPod with headphones.
"Don't think. Don't question. Just listen."
I close my eyes.
My heart flutters...
"What's the name of the song?" I ask.
"'Best Friend' by 50 Cent."
I pinch his nose. "You are not about that life."
"Oh, me?" He points to himself. "I'm a critter. I come from the gutters of Compton."
I blush at his corniness as a smile works its way across my face.
But then his expression fades to melancholy.
"I don't want this to ever end... and it won't for me. I'm human. But you'll outlive me. And you'll never know the joy of heaven. You're forever married to the Earth."
I giggle.
"That's a misunderstanding. But if you wanted another round, that's all you had to say."
"No, no—I do. But... no."
"I want to know what you are."
"A vampire, duh."
"But what exactly is a vampire?"
"Well, do you want an answer—or do you already have one?"
"I want an answer."
"Then an answer you'll get. But you have to be silent... and just listen."
"But before that—" I lower my head down to his waist. I see his face relax.
—
I wake up to the smell of blood. It arouses my senses to full alert.
Kahlil wakes next to me. "What's wrong? It's dinner time."
"Shit," he says. "My mom's gonna kill me."
"I'll drive you home."
"You had a car this whole time?"
"It's my mother's. But I don't like using it. It... hurts to sit in it."
He exhales. "Guess I'm spending the night."
"You never had a choice, Kahlil," I sneer.
"I can't go anymore. So... what do you want to do? Well, you said you'd tell me what vampires were an hour ago."
"Well... long ago, on the brink of the Roman Empire's collapse, we prophesied—pulled from the Tower of Babel story and the Vasiros texts—that there was something coming. A psychological boiling point. A moment where our social frameworks outpace our evolutionary capacity. The tool outgrows the user."
Kahlil lays there, processing.
He nods.
"So we gathered the greatest seers and shamans. They sang and danced and interlocked their wills with the Divine Logos—to lock one of its aspects into a state of superposition."
"They slayed this creature. Extracted its DNA. Used alchemy to graft it onto a virus. And altered the DNA of an aristocratic family—noble in character, wise in study, proven in practice. That was the first generation."
"But even then... they couldn't comprehend enough. Channel enough. Understand enough of the Divine to fight what you people call angels—what we understand to be demons."
"Around the 1700s, we were chased out of Europe. Our family was hunted."
"What did you do that was so bad they had to persecute you?"
"We've had our hands in a lot of things, historically. We helped Isaac Newton with his physics. Helped Nikola Tesla. Helped Einstein. We've always been there. But the fire that once burned with our family's noble character? It's dimmed in recent times. My father and I were exiled from the clan—or dynasty, if you want to call it that."
"Why?"
"Because we contested them. And now we're in San Francisco... working with the Knights Templar. Or what's left of them."
I kiss him.
"Tonight's the last night I get to be normal. The last day my life is my own."
"So what's with all the myths of vampires drinking blood?"
"'Cause we do, silly."
"Have you ever killed a human?"
"No. I haven't."
"But we have. In the past. When there was nothing else to eat."
"Why?"
"Because you killed all the animals we would've gotten blood from. And then we're punished... for surviving."
"You're nobility… typically, nobility protects us commoners from something," he says to me teasingly.
"There is something," I say.
I pause for a second.
"Three hundred and seventy-six years ago, there was an eclipse in Spain—where my family resided at the time, or at least our branch of the family. Where the Lord's benevolent gaze fell upon the earth, no demon could walk... lest they face His wrath, swiftly and justly."
"Where the night coalesced with the day, and the divine divorced itself from the earth... unspeakable horrors emerged from the sea, from the abyss where mankind's nightmares are born into flesh."
I feel my breathing grow shallow. My hands begin to shake.
"The devil is coming... for all of us."
"You don't understand the hatred in his heart for you—humans. There is no bargain. No negotiation to be made."
"So many people are going to die," I whimper.
"I have to meet my family."
"I can help," Kahlil states.
"My family remembers that event. I was told stories... but I never believed them. I pale in comparison to the Magi of old, but I'm no slouch. Just comes with the era."
"What can you do?"
"A lot of things. I can call upon spirits that allow me to interface with the astral plane—through song."
"Why song?"
"It's the language of resonance."
He sings a tune in Arabic.
A language I found beautiful.
Suddenly, I begin to hyperventilate—as if something is being forced out of me. It burns me from the inside out. Then I hear a whisper from a part of me that isn't me:
"Please stop."
But he's in a trance.
I hear a humming. The air begins to vibrate. My mind collapses in on itself as I hear trumpets in my heart. I feel there is no room for me in the world he's about to expose me to.
I reflexively cover his mouth—just as a ball of fire erupts into existence above my bed.
"Al-Nār al-Muqaddasah," he says to me.
"Holy flame."
I feel something writhing inside of me, but I ignore it.
A voice—primal and instinctual—is uttered from my lips:
"Sophia… your warmth will burn me."
"What about you?" he asks.
"Well, you know... the obvious things—hypnosis, strength, and enhanced cognition. But I can use magic."
"Can you now?"
"I can't invoke the literal flame of God...
But all laws that are married to the earth—I can control, to an extent."
"I'll teach you to wield the flame."
"I'm not worthy. I can't."
"My family... they've long abandoned their post. They just hoard their knowledge," he says, his brow furrowing.
"We're supposed to be holy men, and yet we've given men nothing.
Yet your family... gave them everything. And still continues to give."
"And I see your entire legacy echoed in your speech, your compassion—even your fury. You're good people."
"Well..." I say with a smirk, "I guess we should get dressed.
It was dinner time an hour ago, and it smells like sweat in here."