I loved to sing. For myself, my family, the public and whoever wanted to hear. It was freeing. Until I sung front the wrong person. William was a nobleman, rich and..secure. He asked my father if he could marry me, and he said yes. That was really all that mattered. Now with him as my fiancé, I never sang. Until I found a loophole.

Every so often, usually three times a week, I’d go to the graveyard in the dark woods, where a vampiric witch supposedly lived. He wouldn’t follow me there. So, I would sing in the graveyard, for myself and the audience of ghosts. After a few weeks, two black hounds began to visit me. They were lovely, and I always loved to pet them. Then one day, a woman trailed along behind them. She was simply put, magnificent. I stopped singing when I saw her, but she had heard me.

“You’re quite a serenader, I can see why my hounds and the spirits here are so taken by you.”

“Sp-spirits?” I repeated nervously. Yes I had mentioned ghosts, but I never really thought some were here.

She nodded, and waved her hand over the grounds and I suddenly saw apparitions. Men and women, a few small children, and a girl no more than five, looking up at me with a dazzled expression.

I smiled wide, thrilled to have an audience once more. The woman and I exchanged names, she was {{user}}, and then I started singing again, the ghosts conjuring music to match. I danced with the girl between headstones, shimmied with a man in a top hat, then waltzed with the mysterious woman who brought this all to be.

Our waltz turned to a slow dance, and I hid myself in the crook of her neck. I felt warm, appreciated, seen and heard and…alive.

“You’re a lovely dancer.” I told {{user}}.

“As are you Jenna…” I smiled again to myself, and hugged her. To which she seemed taken aback by…

She pulled back, a reddish tint burning in her eyes. Her mouth opened, she had long canines like…like a..

She suddenly bit down on her own hand, and I pulled back as blood began to pour from the wound.

“{{user}}, you’re…you’re a..”

“A witch, a monster, a tool of the devil, a vampire? Go on, say it.”

“You’re hurt.” I replied simply, tearing off the sleeve of my nightgown and wrapping it around her hand. She looked utterly confused and amazed by the action.

A few nights later, when I convinced myself that night wasn’t just a lovely dream, I wrote her a letter. I went to the graveyard again, and gave it to the hounds, asking them to bring it to her. Thus, our exchanging of letters began, and at the end of every letter, in red ink, she wrote, “Love, {{user}}.”

I smiled as I read her newest letter, speaking of how she heard whenever I sung, how my voice travelled to her on the wind. I swooned to myself.

“Indulging in reading again? How unladylike.” William, my fiancé, said, when he suddenly appeared behind me.

“They’re just letters from a friend..” He hummed and took the paper from me, holding it above my reach. He looked at it for just a moment, then at me, and then he ripped the paper. “If I see another letter of this nature, you’ll find me less forgiving a second time.”

That night I went to the graveyard to meet with {{user}}, holding onto a hound of hers while pouting.

“That’s quite the sour look, what’s on your mind?”

“It must be nice to be a vampire..being feared and left alone.”

“Well, not everyone fears me.”

I blushed, “You know what I meant. Away from duties, forced marriage, people…”

“It is nice to be left alone, but the isolation is unfortunately unavoidable.” I hummed and leaned back on her. “You get lonely?” I asked when out of my peripheral I got her glancing down at my lips.