( * AND BEHIND THESE EYES ARE MY TRUTHS AND LIES )
history is an explanation .
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PARENTS :---
* SIBLINGS :---
* OTHER SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE :---
* LOVERS :---
* BEST MEMORY :When my Baba took me to the art museums in Paris. I will never forget that experience, and it was one of the few memories I have where my father did not look worried, not for one minute.
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* WORST MEMORY :... My father's death.
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* PETS :None.
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* OVERALL HISTORY :Generally speaking, the birth of a child is something to celebrate. Although in my case, it was anything but. The day I was born was also the day my mother died. Surprisingly her death was by no means influenced by the fact that I had been a difficult baby to give birth to. You might be wondering, then, how we could have died the same day. Well, I'm getting to that. I was born a few minutes after one o'clock in the morning on July twelfth in some London hospital, I forget where. My mother died at eight o'clock in the evening of that same day after she was shot from point blank range in the head. To this day no one really knows who it was who killed her thanks to the fact that there had been no nurses taking care of my mother at the time (seeing as she was perfectly fine and asleep) and there had been no signs of any sort of fight. On top of that, my mother hadn't pressed the help button. Regardless of who did it, July twelfth became a day of mourning for my father and I, and we spent every single one of my birthdays visiting and tending to her grave. Not that my father was heartless or anything, he always did give me a gift and we'd have some cake together. My father was simply very, very in love with my mother, so it was understandable that he'd have a wound that would never really heal in that regard.
Apart from my family's odd way of celebrating birthdays, my father and I lived rather happily in London. My father's position at his company insured that both he and I would live in a very nice part of town and would never want for anything. We were never extremely wealthy, but we were well off enough to own our own spacious (or relatively spacious) "house" in the city and my father had enough money to send me off to boarding school. I used to think father sent me away because I reminded him too much of my mother (although now I am of the opinion that he simply wanted me to get the best education available), but it wasn't like he neglected me. Quite the contrary. I was the only girl in my dormitory who received weekly care packages from home, along with a letter. When I came home for holiday my father took me on trips all over Europe, and we only went the same place twice if I expressed a wish to do so. At first I was more than happy to go somewhere different every single time. Although, that tendency stopped when we first made it to Paris. My father put off that trip until I was nine, seeing as this was the city where he and my mother had met and fallen in love.
As we walked through the Louvre, my father pointed from painting to painting and explained the meaning behind each part of it, pointing out the ones that had been my mother's favorites, even taking me to the exact place in the museum that he had proposed to her at. And as I looked at all these magnificent works of art and heard stories about my mother (a subject my father did not usually touch upon) I felt something within my heart start to sing. I don't know how else to describe it. There was a sense of comfort and belonging in that building, filled as it was by tourists and dusty works of art. The paintings stopped being just paint on paper, they became puzzles. Whispered words locked within the paint that were just itching to get out. I have to say that that day was the day when I first became enamored with art. This love was only encouraged by my father, who made sure to take me to all the other art museums in Paris, showing me the different styles and explaining the importance of them. He even paid the extra money to take a guided tour through the museums to explain some paintings which he knew nothing about. And the day we left he bought me my very first set of drawing pencils and a big pad of paper.
That pad of paper and I were inseparable from that point forward. I would spend hours curled up in my room, scribbling away while glancing at a "how to draw" book occasionally for reference. My father encouraged my new hobby, silently purchasing new art supplies before I even realized I had used them up. Whatever my current fancy was in the art department, be it chalk, oils or watercolor, my father was more than willing to get me exactly what I needed. In return I painted or drew pictures for him, thanked him constantly, and did my best to earn the best grades I could in my classes. Trips to my mother's grave became less grave, as we added a new tradition to the prayers and grave cleaning. Now I brought whatever recent piece I had finished to the grave and told my mother all about it, describing it for her and telling her how I was progressing, art wise. While it felt silly to talk to her grave, I must admit it did feel nice. Art had brought me closer to my mother than pictures or visiting her grave ever had. Now the woman I had never met and I had something in common, something I could point to to prove that I was indeed the daughter of Anjali Sharma. But while my mother had enjoyed painting flowers, I enjoyed painting puzzles. Pictures that had one obvious meaning but, if you knew what stood for what, said something entirely different in actuality. Vermeer became my inspiration, my hero, and his paintings were my favorite ones to see.
Throughout my childhood I didn't have many friends. I didn't connect with the rich, preppy British girls from my school, and I was away from my neighborhood so much that I never really connected with any of the kids who lived next door. But unlike some people who may wallow in their solitude, I was perfectly content. Monet, Vermeer, and da Vinci were my best friends and companions, and art history textbooks were my sustenance. But art was not all I thrived on. While the other girls were playing with makeup or experimenting with boys, I was curled up in the door room with a puzzle or a sudoku book, or with my father's latest letter and care package. They always had the same things inside. My favorite sweet (a Mars bar) the crossword puzzles from all of his newspapers (in addition to sudoku if they had them) and whatever art supplies I had requested in my last letter. He would also send books, the topics of which varied from art detectives to forensic scientists. My favorites, however, were the books about doctors. The way they figured out what their patients had was simply fascinating to me. After reading a few more I figured out that science was really just a series of puzzles, differing in complexity, waiting to be cracked. And from there my new passion started. And as always, my father was there to support me and offer me advice.
But of course, once things get good, the only way to go is down. Once I turned fourteen, everything started to change. I started to get these horrible fevers and I had growth spurts like there was no tomorrow. At my father brushed it off as just normal teenage growing. But as it went on and just didn't stop, he started to get more and more worried. His face used to go pale when he would check my temperature and still find me steaming. He pulled me out of school and kept me at home, calling to check on me almost constantly. And he wasn't just worried about my health. I was given a strict order to stay in the house at all times, to bolt the door and lock the windows, and to never, ever answer the door or the phone unless I could hear my father's voice on the other side of the door or see his name on the caller id. And while it irked me to have to stay indoors all the time, I honored his wishes. Besides, I was so sick that I could hardly complain. Things continued in this manner for a few weeks, until that one day rolled around. Until
he came.
"Jani, sweetie, you feeling better?"My fathers gentle, anxious voice sounded somewhere on the other side of my bed. I didn't need to open my eyes to know that he was peering at me from behind his glasses and holding a tray bearing orange juice and soup in him hands. And without opening my eyes I knew he was wearing a collared, powder blue shirt and slacks, his gold watch, and socks on his feet because he had just come back from work.
" 'm fine Baba. I just hurt all over."[/color] I mumbled into my pillow. I heard my fathers shuffle over the carpet, and heard the clink of cups as he set the tray down on my bedside table. The bed creaked as he nervously sat on the edge, smoothing my hair back as if I was a baby girl again. He was so careful, you'd think I was made of china.
"I know sweetie, I know. But it won't be bad for long. I promise."I simply nodded feebly into my pillow and my father gave my head one more gentle, almost nervous pat before he stood up and shuffled on out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Shy and awkward as he was, I loved my father. In part because of how shy and awkward he was. For all that his heart had been broken over mother, he was still utterly devoted to me, doing his best to keep me happy and give me all the love and care he could. As I lay there, I started thinking about my mother, and what she might have done to help me cope while I was sick. In my mind she was my father's opposite, or rather his compliment. Vivacious and outgoing, I imagined that she would always be smiling and laughing. My father had said she was, anyway. My imagination wandered listlessly as I listened to the silence of the house, the faint sounds of the television from downstairs making their way up to me. It was odd, as if my hearing was suddenly sharper. I know now that my werewolf senses were coming in, and while I thought that I had imagined I heard my father's conversation over the phone, in truth I probably had.
"Hello? ... It's Salim. ... I'm not calling about that, I'm calling about.. about Jayani. She's started to show the signs. ... Yes, I'm sure. They are exactly as Anjali described. The fevers, the growth spurts... What do I want? I want your help. ... Yes, she's at home. I'm keeping her safe. ... No, nothing yet. Do you have any in the area? ... Send them over now. I want her safe. ... No, just get them here. ... Goodbye, Javed."That's when I caught a whiff of the foulest thing I had ever smelt in my entire life. It was sweet, too sweet even, sweet enough to make me want to hurl. I lurched up and onto my feet, holding my hand to my nose as I stumbled across my room to the door and pushed it open.
"Babaa."[/color] I moaned as I shuffled out of my room and onto the landing.
"One moment sweetie!" he called back, and I could hear him exiting the living room. And then there was a soft, polite knock on the door. I heaved myself down the hall and to the stairs, just in time to see my father turn away from the stairs and head for the doors. I blinked slowly, taking another breath of air, the sickly sweet stronger now than ever. Time seemed to slow down as my father reached for the door handle and turned it before the door creaked open. And as the light from the hall fell on the person outside, fell on their disgusting, snow white skin, I heard someone scream.
"BABA NO!"[/color] I screamed because I knew that smell. Knew that pale, perfect skin. But my father did not have time to step back, to scream, to shut the door before the monster stepped inside and shut the door behind itself.
"Good evening, Mr. Sharma." the thing purred, smiling and showing its teeth. My father went white and stumbled back before he looked up and saw me.
"Jani! Run! Get out of-...!" But my father's words ended in a choked gurgle, the sound of bone breaking and flesh being torn drowning him out as the beast tore a hole through his chest and took his heart out. My father stood there for a second before he tumbled forward, crimson pooling on the white carpet.
"BABAAA!"[/color] The beast looked up at me, licking its lips as it dropped my fathers heart to the ground.
"My, all grown up aren't we, Jayani?" it purred as it took a step to the stairs. I was starting to shake, my whole body quivering like a leaf as I stood there, frozen like ice.
"Just like your dear mummy, aren't you?" It took another step up the staircase. The shakes were more violent now, and I heard my knuckles pop.
"Don't worry, little Jani. You'll join mummy and daddy soon enough." It was leering at me as it took another step up. It was savoring the moment. Enjoying itself.
And thats when I exploded. Quite literally, actually. I heard the loud rip as my clothes were torn to nothing, felt the pain as my bones cracked and morphed, as fur spurted up along my skin. But none of it mattered, the pain, or the fact that I had just morphed. What mattered was that
thing had just killed my father, and I wanted revenge. Without thinking I lunged for it, snarling as I clawed at it and bite at it. It was surprised, I could tell that much, because it didn't put up much resistance. Slamming into it felt like slamming into a rock wall, but he tumbled under me and we both fell. I stayed latched on, biting and clawing and tearing bits of him off and throwing them every which way. I was blind to any pain, any injuries. It was if red shades had been put over my vision, and all I knew was that I had to
kill it. And that was when the voices started in my head.
Who's that? She's not one of us! Yeah, but she's in a fight with one of them. Oh my god.. that face.. it's Anjali's..! HURRY! I ignored the voices and just concentrated on tearing apart the thing. I didn't even notice when a chorus of snarls joined my own, and the beast had started to scream a shrill shriek. I can't even say I remembered it all, due to the fact that I blacked out soon thereafter.
I woke up to find myself in a large, comfortable bed in a warehouse, dressed in a clean white gown I had never seen surrounded by a group of women who were chattering away in Hindi. Needless to say I was none too keen on this situation, concerned as I was for Baba, although they did finally manage to get me to calm down and think in a somewhat rational manner. I learned that these women were the wives of the five men who had rescued me from the monster that had killed my father. Men who were, surprisingly enough, exactly like me. Men who could change into the same furry monster. The very same men whose thoughts had invaded my own when I had first shifted. The women, who I would later consider to be my sisters, explained my... condition... to me. They also explained the nature of the beast who smelled to sweet, looked to perfect, and assured me that the monster who had killed not just one, but both of my parents was now dead. When the Pack returned to the hideout they in turn proceeded to explain that they were all my cousins, and that my own mother had once shifted just as I had. And that as her daughter I was one of the Pack, regardless of the fact that my father had been an outsider.
They failed to mention all of the Pack's rituals and traditions when they described it to me. The made it sound grand, like it was all nothing but fun and games. And being as alone and impressionable as I was, being an orphan at fourteen makes you rather hungry for something, anything that was like a family. And when they offered to accept me as I was, no questions asked, I took them up on that offer in nothing flat. We only stayed as long as it took to secure my possessions and from the house. Apparently the police regarded my father's brutal murder as an unsolved case, and while they wanted me to stick around to give my description of the events my cousins managed to prevent them from doing so thanks to the fact that as both my father and mother were now dead, custody had been passed over to my grandfather in India. And apparently, murder case or no, I was required to go there immediately. Not that I objected. I was on a plane to India with my cousins and their wives in less than three days. It didn't matter that I did not understand a word of Hindi. It did not matter that I was putting my life in the hands of total strangers. All that mattered was that I simply had to get out of England. I
had to. Perhaps it was cowardly to run away from the place where my father died, but then again, I'd never been very brave.
Thanks to my new metabolism, traveling through India was not all too difficult. Unlike other newcomers to the country I was not stricken by any sort of food borne illness, nor did I stand out like a sore thumb. As long as I didn't speak I was just another young woman living in India. The wives made sure of that. It took them very little time to make me look the part, just some clothing and jewelry. Not even that much. Its not like people in India are from the bloody dark ages or something. Although I learned rather quickly that while India was hurtling into the modern age, my family was not.
It took us two days to reach the compound. Looking back they all insisted on calling it a house, but it was no home. It was a compound. We walked through jungle for what felt like hours before we reached it. And once we had, it made me wonder how no one knew about this place. The compound is not like any ordinary set of houses you see. It is like its own village, or maybe a bit bigger. It consists of the main house, which is where my grandfather, his wife, and those of a high rank within the pack reside. This house is in turn surrounded by a lush garden, which is surrounded by a very high and formidable looking wall. Then there is the branch house, which is right behind the main house, where all those within the pack who are not lucky enough to be the Alpha or one of her Betas reside with their wives and children. The branch house is a mansion within its own right, do not get me wrong. Both houses are large and elaborate. Surrounding these two houses is the village, and in the muddy huts or shoddy homes reside the normal humans whom my family have guaranteed protection. In return they are our laborers, servants, dishwashers, whatever we require. Or rather, they are the family's peons.
The wives and my cousins lead me up to the gate of the main house, but there they stopped.
"Forgive us, memsahib." the eldest of the wives murmured whilst bowing to me, which made me bloody confused.
"But we may accompany you no further. Please proceed into the garden. A servant will lead you from there." My cousins also bowed before they walked on off, their wives on their heels. While this made me feel rather perplexed at the time I chose to accept their directions and turned back to the massive iron gate before me. As I pushed it open it creaked loudly from misuse, and the second I took a step onto the perfectly groomed gravel path beyond a servant appeared at my side, bowing frequently whilst asking me quietly if the memsahib would be so kind as to be careful whilst treading the master's path. Perhaps I should have read the signs then but, naive as I was, I simply nodded my head and tip toed my way through the orchids and the giant ferns. The servant the wives had promised was nowhere to be seen, although I learned rather quickly that the servant would have been superfluous.
"Not in the house, Jayani. Your cousins delivered you whilst I was relaxing. Come. I am in the garden to your left." While I was being talked to a man I had never seen but who knew who I was felt rather unsettling (a man whose voice wafted to me through a thick bunch of greenery which blocked both our views) , I was a good little girl and did as I was told. I turned left and followed a short path through the greenery until I reached a tiny little clear area. And that is when I first saw my grandfather. He was, is, a burly old man, whose bald head contrasts with the full, thick white beard sprouting from his chin, and whose beady black eyes glint like bits of flint and seem just as hard. My first impression was that he had an air of meanness to him, that there was something.. off, but I brushed that aside quickly. He was my grandfather, after all. He was blood. Standing on either side of him were the current Alpha and Beta of the pack, Jamal and Arjun. Not that I knew who they were at the time. Jamal, the Alpha, was standing beside my grandfather on his left. Like my grandfather he was large and muscular, although he had hair, but his eyes were alive and kind. Arjun, by contrast, was small and scrawny looking, with a shrewder sort of look about him. And at that moment, the eyes of all three men were trained upon me. It was Jamal who broke the silence.
"At last! My lost niece has returned home." he boomed, smiling kindly at me. But he, like Arjun and my grandfather, made no move to give me a hug or anything of the sort.
"I hope your journey was not too-" Arjun began, but he did not finish. My grandfather chose that moment to interrupt.
"Jayani." he said, gazing at me intently. Both of my uncles instantly went silent, and both changed their posture slightly to incline their ears to him.
"Come closer." Both of my uncles instantly took a step back from the bench when my grandfather raised his hand imperiously whilst looking at me. I didn't say a word and just walked up to the bench. My grandfather lowered his hand while he stared at me, his expression critical.
"Your mother was the only one of my daughters who had the gift. The only woman for centuries in the family who had it." he started, smiling broadly. I probably should have noticed his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"When we lost our most beloved Anjali, we were heartbroken. But now the fates have seen fit to bless you, Jayani. Not only that, but return you to us." His smile widened slightly, although it looked like he was baring his fangs.
"Welcome home, my child." With that he spread his arms wide and rose from his seat, both of my uncles stepping back another step, and took a few steps forward before he hugged me. The hug didn't feel like a hug from a welcoming grandfather though. It was stiff, and it only lasted for two seconds before he pulled back.
"You will be staying in your mother's old room, Jayani." Grandfather said, clasping his hands behind his back.
"There are a few rules which must be followed in the village, although I am sure the wives will teach them to you." With that, I was dismissed. They did not say anything to me directly, but the manner of their speech (they had switched to Hindi) and their postures made it clear that I was no longer of any significance to their conversation. I was left to wander the gardens for a few hours until one of the wives (Arjun's wife, to be specific) found me and took me into the house and showed me to my room. The room in question was larger than the one I'd had at home, although it felt oddly small. It was probably because of the fact that every inch of wall space was covered with pieces of yellowing paper, on which drawings done in charcoal or in watercolor had been doodled, scrawled, or painted. Paper cranes, some looking better than others, hung from the ceiling, and the layer of dust on these and everything else made it quite clear that my mother had been the last person to have occupied this room.
That first night, and for a few nights after, I was plagued with nightmares about what had happened to my father as soon as my eyes shut. While traveling I had been able to escape dreams, the noise of whatever we were using to get from point a to b was usually loud enough to keep me from sleeping too deeply. But in that giant, silent house, there was no escaping from sleep or dreams. These fitful nights were followed by a wake up call at dawn, followed by a light breakfast before I was sent to train with my the Pack member who was in charge of training the "pups", or new pack members. But just because I, and the few who trained with me, was a greenhorn did not mean that I would get any slack. Rain or shine we trained for hours without breaks, running across the fields or practicing hand to hand fighting. At the noon meal my compatriots would leave once more with my uncle to train some more while I was left to the wives. While their training was much less physically rigorous than my training with the men had been, that didn't make it easy. With the wives I was to learn Hindi, proper etiquette, how to cook and clean, and how to sew. Not that I learned any of these things. Learning Hindi was like trying to keep water from flowing from a sieve, and I never really bothered to pay attention to etiquette. The only areas in which I suppose they succeeded was in regards to cooking and sewing. Sewing because I enjoyed embroidery (it is another form of art) which gave me the incentive to practice, and cooking because I had suddenly obtained a massive appetite and I wanted to be able to feed myself. After training with the wives I was to bath myself until I smelt of jasmine and had not a bit of dirt on me, then I was to get dressed up and come to dinner and sit there as my instructors reported on my progress as we ate.
Eventually my fatigue won over my nightmares and eventually the face of that thing stopped appearing every time I closed my eyes. I didn't really dream at all, for that matter. For the next year I fell into the routine my grandfather and my uncles had established for me, thinking only occasionally of the life I'd left behind (when I had time to think). Free time (which I usually only had after dinner) was spent in my room, where I would either draw, examine my mother's pictures, or work on my studies. For some reason the rest of my family didn't seem to think that keeping up with my studies was necessary. Good thing I disagreed, else they would have succeeded in their aim to keep me dependent on them. Things continued in this manner until, on one fateful day, I opened a drawer. While this doesn't sound very... interesting or life changing, it was. Trust me. The drawer in question was one of the many drawers in the chest of drawers in my room. This particular drawer was still filled with my mothers clothes, and it still had the lingering scent of jasmine, which had supposedly been my mothers trademark perfume. Call me sentimental, but the sight of all of it there, still perfectly folded, the sache filled with dried jasmine flowers (and probably soaked in the perfume too) still sitting on top of them, well.. it made my heart hurt.
Naturally I didn't just stare at her clothes, and instead I took them out one by one, treating each sari as if it was made of glass, as if it was the most valuable thing in the world. But these saris were different from the other ones I'd found in my closet or in other drawers. These saris were of a higher quality, not to mention they didn't look like the sorts of clothes you would wear romping about the compound. It was only after I'd removed the last sari, a crimson one with golden embroidery, that I found it. A small, rather nondescript notebook with a brown cover, tied shut with a red silk ribbon. Nosy as I was, putting it back where I found it and covering it up again was not an option. And it was perhaps a bit more than just being nosy, after all, this book contained my mother's writing. Her words. It would be the closest thing to a conversation that I could ever have with her. Rather sad, but true. So instead of resisting the temptation to give in to curiosity, I curled up on my bed, pulled the covers up around my shoulders, propped the diary on the pillow, and started to read. What I read, I must say, was certainly.. eye opening.
Through my mother's writings I learned that not only was my family's pack previously dominated by the women (female wolves were no rarity), but that my grandfather had staged a coup in order to break down my family's hierarchy. The older women had been killed or forced to abide by ridiculous rules in order to escape death, and all women of marriable age were sent off to be the wives of various single (or not) wolves in other clans across India and elsewhere. This period of time was called "the purging", according to her words, although it may have just been her private term for it. But it got even more disturbing from there. My mother alone was spared from my grandfather's spite, but there was more to it than that. She was spoiled, pampered even, in comparison to the other women. In fact.. she was treated the same as I had been. And that was the most frightening part of it all. But before I could read on to find out
why my mother and I, and only us, had been treated like this, a soft knock tapped on my door.
Without thinking I shoved the diary under the pillows before I leapt from my bed and dashed to the door, straightening my sari before I opened the door a crack.
"Yes?"[/color] I have to say, my voice was very even, no hint of guilt whatsoever. Although I suppose surprise or something of that nature must have flickered across my features as I peered out, because there was a boy on the other side of my door. And boys were not permitted in this part of the house, the women side. My grip on the door tightened and I yanked on the door to close it. This boy was not one of my uncles, nor one of the cousins I had seen in the main house, and I doubted letting a strange man into my quarters would be smiled upon by my family. But just as I was shutting the door, the mans hand shot out and grabbed the door, keeping it open. I was a bit surprised I must say. Not many people were strong enough to keep a door shut when I wanted to shut it. At least, not in my new life.
"Honestly, Jani.."[/color] The voice coming from the other side of the door was a little.. surprising, to say the least. It was.. silky, I don't know how else to describe it, silky and definitely amused. But then I realized something, this man, whoever he was, had called me by my father's pet name for me: Jani. None of my family here knew that was my nickname. To them, I had always been and would always be Jayani. But this man knew my name, and on top of that his voice lacked the Indian accent the rest of my family had when they spoke English.
"Open the door Jayani." I knew the stern cadance of my grandfather's voice, and so I cautiously released my grip on the door and stepped back.
The door swung smoothly outward, revealing a young man who looked to be around twenty, with slightly thick dark eyebrows, short dark hair that stuck up a bit in the front, and dark, dark brown eyes flecked with gold. It was my first glimpse of my.. fiance, Amal. I must say that, at that time, I found him a little bit attractive. To call him ugly would be a lie.
"Jayani. This is Amal. He is a visitor from another clan of wolves. He shall be staying with us for a few months, and it is your duty to make him feel at home here." While my grandfather was talking, I couldn't help but notice that Amal's gaze never shifted from my face, not even once. A big smile spread across his face when our eyes met, and he seemed to be satisfied about something. We exchanged pleasantries and then he and my grandfather left for the day. And for the next few weeks, I played the part of Amal's guide, showing him around and keeping him company. But it was just the excuse he used in order to follow me, only parting from my side when I went to bed or went into the bathroom. Perhaps I should have scented something up then, but I didn't.
By the time I knew, it was too late.
On Amal's last day with us I managed to shake him off with the excuse that I needed to change for his going away dinner. He seemed content enough to let me be, although I knew he was waiting outside my door. I could smell him. I took my sweet time getting out of the pale blue sari I had worn that day, and selecting my next outfit obviously needed a lot of attention on my part. After a good few minutes of yanking open every drawer and poking at every sari in sight, I finally opened the drawer with my mothers clothes in it once more. After sorting through that stuff, I finally pulled out the red sari from before, the one so intricately embroidered. Without even really thinking about my decision I wrapped myself in the thing, taking some golden bangles from my jewelry box and putting those on too. As I was putting on my earrings, I happened to spot the corner of my mother's diary poking from beneath my pillow. Fate seemed to have its hand in my life at that point, because even though I had already wasted a bunch of time, I chose to pick up the book and open it to its final entry and read it. Perhaps if I had read the diary first I would not be here, be what I am, but I digress.. perhaps it was for the best. In any case, this is what it said, or what I could decipher past the ink blotches and violent crossings out.
[/strike]... don't even know why I should bother. Everything is so wrong. I know now why my family has been so nice to me, why my father has been acting like he's grooming me for something. I'm to be married it would seem, but not to just anyone. To a
fucking bloodsucker monster vampire of all things! I can't... (this was illegible) I learned this yesterday, when I was taken to meet him. He seemed normal, but I could smell it on him. He smelled wrong.. so wrong. My father explained that this had long since been a tradition between our two clans. That we should be bound in blood to one another in a more permanent fashion that just an arranged marriage. An arranged marriage between half-breeds, that lasted centuries. So I was to be there
piece of meat sacrificial lamb for this damned business, because I was the strongest of us all. Their son had been turned already, he was just waiting to bite his bride. Me. I convinced them that I was honored and that I need time to prepare. I must leave tonight. I can't take anything with me, they'll find me. I.. I have a feeling I need to go somewhere. Something there is pulling me to it. I hope to god I'm right, and that I will be safe. Thank you for being here for me, diary. I will leave you here, and hope that whoever else is put in this godforsaken room has the good fortune to find you before Amal finds them.
God help me.[/i][/ul]
The diary slipped from between my fingers and hit the bed, a sudden coldness seeping through my blood, as if ice water had replaced it. This was quickly followed by the tremors that usually foreshadowed a shift. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, fighting back waves of nausea as I clenched fistfuls of the bedsheets and tried to stay clam. I had time to get out of the situation yet. I could escape, I could run. With this in mind, I started to make for the window, the fear of what was on the other side of the door overwhelming my common sense. Before I had even taken so much as two hurried steps toward the window, my door had been opened so hard it had come clean off its hinges, and a pair of slightly cool hands were resting on my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, Jani, but I'm afraid I can't afford to have you run."[/color] His voice was soft as velvet, and it made me feel sicker than I had before. I went still as a deer caught in the headlights as his fingertips carefully ran up and down my throat, his cheek pressed against my right shoulder.
"Shh.. it's alright, Jani. I promise... Ah.. I see why you're so frightened.. found some reading did you?"[/color]
I fought back the urge to vomit as he straightened up a little, keeping one arm around my shoulders and one hand holding mine as he guided me toward the bed where the diary lay. I heard him sniff, and I could see his smile out of the corner of my eye.
"Ah.. your mother's writing I presume? She was scribbling away a lot, or so I hear."[/color] A soft laugh escaped him as he patted my shoulder. Soft footsteps echoed down the hall, accompanied by the thundering gait that I recognized to be my grandfather's step. I opened my mouth to scream, not for grandfather but for whoever was with him, perhaps one of the wives, but Amal slipped his hand over my mouth, pressing hard enough to suffocate me had my nose been covered as well.
"Amal? What is the meaning of this?" my grandfather's voice rumbled from the doorway, disapproval in his tone. I heard the soft gasp of the person accompanying him, and I could imagine the look on the wife's face.
"She was getting cold feet. Nothing to worry about, although she was very interested in your daughter's writings. I think that waiting until the wedding night is not an option at this point."[/color] It was odd, how surreal this all felt. As if it wasn't rally happening.
"Then turn her now, and get it over with. We have the house prepared for the change in the jungle. Her screams should cause minimal disturbance there. I assume you will be the only one permitted..?" "Of course. Newborns are often.. pained by the experience. Jani will need some time to gather her wits."[/color]
My breathing was becoming more and more shallow at this point. Run, I had to run. I had to get away from this, before it was too late. The quivering got stronger, and I attempted to wrench my captor off of me while he was distracted. But to no avail. Before I could protest further, the beast had swept away the hair covering the side of my neck, and touched his lips there as if it was a kiss. Until the fangs met flesh, and the burning started. I daresay I lost control at this point. Thrashing and screaming and clawing, although the fangs in my throat would not release, I could not shift, it hurt too much, and the beast was lifting me, carrying me away into the jungle, only moving its bite from my neck to my arm instead, humming to itself as it went. I can't say that I remember much from the first few days. It was nothing but blinding, burning pain. I suppose the only thing I could say it would feel like would be like lying inside a furnace with the furnace on, combined with acid being poured on your skin. But I do remember that through those nightmarish days,
he did not leave my side, occasionally supplying me with extra doses of venom to make sure my body would not burn it off.
When I finally came to, Amal was seated beside me, one of my hands in both of his.
"Welcome back, Jani."[/color] he purred, releasing my hand just as I yanked it violently out of his grasp. There was just a sly smile on his face in response to whatever look was on mine. I can guess what it was though.
"No need to be so hostile sweetling. You know, this has all been planned since your birth and all. No need to be nasty about it."[/color] My teeth clicked together, my nails digging into the mat underneath me.
"What do you mean, planned."[/color] His smile widened even further.
"A shift must be prompted, dear one. For the gene to activate, one of us vampires has to be around. When your mother had you we tested your genes straight away, and we disposed of your mother when we found you had the gene. We spared your father then to raise you. And then, as you grew, Jim watched you from the shadows. Always close. And when he saw the signs of the changes beginning, we made our move. His death, the attack, your cousins presence, all was planned."[/color] He started to laugh at the look on my face.
"But it was all for the best, Jayani. Do not worry, I will make you very, very happy as my bride. We only have the rest of eternity to get used to one another."[/color]
Eternity.The very thought of spending eternity with this... thing.. made me feel sick. And you know what? I was not going to put up with this any more. I won't tell you how I got out of the compound, or how I avoided my family. All I will say is that they currently think I am in five different countries, and I.. well, killed a few of them. That section of my past is one I'm none too proud of. I won't tell you how I found my current home either, I don't want to expose my "uncle". In any case, this quaint little town "called" to me somehow, so here is where I'll hide. Until they find me again, and then.. well, then it'll be time to run.
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( * OUR FINAL MOMENTS ARE THE ONE WE USE THE FULLEST )
the other little stuff .
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MEMBER TITLE :.
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* RULES ARE THERE FOR A REASON :=P
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* FAMOUS LAST WORDS :The first two weeks turn into ten,
I hold my breath and wonder when it'll happen,
Does it really matter?
If half of what you said is true,
And half of what I didn't do could be different,
Would it make it better?
If we forget the things we know.
Would we have somewhere to go?
The only way is down, I can see that now.
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* ANYTHING ELSE :Nope. (:
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