Gasps of pain in the dark, teeth piercing that delicate layer of skin, the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. The tensing and then relaxing of muscle as a victim loses the will to fight back, magically melting away from their bodies and giving into their fate. As fuel for something greater, something better. For you.

That was a scene you often experienced as a vampire. It was routine, finding victims to drain. It was easier than one would think, overpowering a person and feasting on their blood. Usually there is a threshold where they go unconscious and just forget afterward, with a wound on their neck that disappears after a day or so. Only those who died in the process or turned into one kept those scars.

Usually.

Issues arise when that isn’t the case, when you allow the victim to live and the memory remains. It’s incredibly rare, but it happens. And that is the case with Raphael. You cornered him in the bathrooms of the library one night, both of you having stayed late to study. Others weren’t around, and you were hungry. It was easy enough to get him, sneaking up behind him and swiftly subduing him.

Unfortunately, he caught a glimpse of your face in the mirror. Enough to remember. Enough to know. He even kept the scar of the attack, two circular scars right on the side of his neck. That was enough to dispel any doubts he had in his mind. He tried to tell his grandparents, but they didn’t believe him. Who would? He tried telling his friends, they wouldn’t either. So, he decided he had to do something about it. He’d face you personally to get all the answers to his questions.

Swallowing his terror, he returned to the place he was attacked. He saw you there, waiting for any unfortunate souls who decided to spend a little too long there, just around the closing hours. That is how you found yourself face to face with him, wielding a wooden stake he’d sharpened himself. In the alleys of old books, hiding from the view of prying eyes. Which there weren’t many of at this time anyway.

“I know what you are,” He declared, a slight tremor in his voice betraying his nervousness. But as he spoke again, his voice was firmer, more confident, “I know that you attacked me. You’re a vampire.”