Turning, Dream (Elena)

The darkness seems endless, yet somehow comforting, like the embrace of an old friend. I dream of the battle, the fierce mage woman, the pale man, giant treants, my friends. The man holds me tight until I fall unconscious. Next thing I know, I'm in a tree, and the woman is there, staring into me, straight into my soul. I can't look away. There is nothing, no one, save her and me. “My loyal servant has claimed you,” she says, reaching toward me. She says something else I don't understand, and then there is pain. I scream in a rage and somehow gain enough control to get to my weapon and attack her. The bolt thuds home, right in her heart, if she has one. The pain intensifies, dropping me to my knees as I watch her skin crack. She is talking again, I think, but not to me, and I can't hear her over the pounding in my skull. She cracks apart and shatters into dust. I hear a distant howl and my druid friend runs over and falls to his knees near his sister's remains; a cloud of shadow envelops him, but he doesn't seem to notice, and I can't muster the strength to speak. Someone shoves a potion into my hand, makes me drink; it looks like a healing potion, but it tastes horrible and I gag at the bile rising in my throat. The pain intensifies. I scream and collapse, writhing, into someone's arms. It's unbearable, consuming, burning, boiling in my blood. My world is fire. I must be dying.

After what seems like an eternity, the pain begins to subside. Slowly, my senses return, sound first. I hear voices, my friends, and animals chattering in the surrounding woods. My throat is raw. I cough and sit up, with some help. Finally, I open my eyes, blinking. It seems brighter, less gloomy. The clouds have started to clear. I rub my face. I'm exhausted, almost unable to resist the urge to sleep. But I force through it and the next hour or so—I'm not sure how long—goes by in a haze. We make camp in a nearby clearing, surround by the treants, and while the druid is telling a story, I curl up next to him and fall asleep.

Within the dream, I wake with a start, hearing an echo of the woman's voice. I remember the pale man holding me, kissing me? No, not kissing. Biting.

A soft breeze blows through our camp, carrying with it a delicious scent, heady and alluring. I look around to find the source and my eyes lock on the monk, sleeping soundly, skin exposed above her blanket. Before I know it I'm kneeling over her, instinct taking over, almost as if I'm watching through my own eyes as someone—or something—else controls my body. I lean over her, mouth opening, and bite into the tender flesh of her neck. Blood fills my mouth, sweet and warm, and this is bliss. I come to my senses, and a small part of me is horrified at what I've become, but mostly I wonder how I could have gone my whole life without this. I can't go back to how I was before. I don't want to go back.

The monk is struggling now, but I hold her tighter, rubbing her back in what I hope is a soothing manner. She relaxes, goes limp. Her blood is flowing slower now, and it's thicker, less sweet. Lifeblood. I release her, not wanting to kill her, but she's lost too much blood. I have to do something. I drag my palm across one of my fangs, easily slicing the skin, and press the wound to her mouth. She stirs and groans, swallowing hard, then curls up away from me, not waking. I sit and watch her for a bit before realizing I am being watched.

It's the dwarf, ever vigilant. He must have seen the whole thing. Something in me panics, and I rush to do the same to him. He puts up more of a fight at first, but gives in when he realizes his efforts are in vain. This time is messier, his blood smeared on my face from the struggle. I tell him to sleep, then clean myself up and go to sit back down on my patch of ground next to my druid friend. He smiles at me as I lay down and snuggle up to him. I reach for his hand, and it's cold, so cold.

I jolt upright, shaking the sleep from my senses. The dream was so real, so vivid...but it was only a dream. I feel the hand in mine, like ice. I drop it quickly and look over at the man laying next to me. He is pale and doesn't respond when I shake him. The others are awake by now and coming over to see what's going on, and I show them he's dead, he must have died in the night, but how? Suddenly, he opens his eyes, looks around wildly, and backs away from us. I notice a necklace slip out of his shirt: an ornate glass vial filled with a viscous black liquid. The same one his sister wore. Then he's an eagle, flying away.

I look around at my friends and realize maybe the dream wasn't so much a dream as it was a premonition. I know what I must do. I stand up and turn to face the monk, grinning.