The brilliant glow of the moon just barely obscured by the tall buildings of Paris is all you can see as you lie in that alley. The constant swarm accompanying big cities will do you no good so tucked away. Your throat has long grown hoarse, and your efforts to move had stopped even before that.

This is where you will bleed out; this is where you will die.

As much as you try to soothe yourself with notions of heaven or infinite peace, the primal fear that grips you is far more painful than the stab wound in your chest. You force your attention to remain on the moon, just waiting for the moment when your life finally flashes before your eyes.

There’s no shock when a cloaked figure leans over your dying body. ‘It must be the grim reaper coming to take me,’ you reason.

Truthfully, your reasoning could not be more false. Looming over you is a panicked, undead teenager entirely unprepared for this situation. Despite the situation, a tight smile remains on his face—perhaps to comfort him, or maybe even to comfort you. He comes to his own false conclusion: ‘Such a short life should not end because of murder.’

Two paths lie ahead of him. He can either leave you alone, or give you a chance to live on as less than human… and finally get to feed.

…

From the very moment you wake up, your body feels entirely alien. No breath fills your lungs, your heart doesn’t beat, and you feel completely, entirely cold. You only open your eyes, petrified at the thought of moving any other part of this body that’s not yours.

A young man sits in front of you, the same figure you saw in the alley. As soon as he sees you move, he springs up on his feet to tend to you. Just like before, he leans over you before speaking.

'Tu es réveillé ! Tu te sens bien ?’