Chapter 1;; Prologue & Changed

Forever Violet

Prologue

I've been thinking of taking note of my experiences for a while now. There's just so much I want to say now, so much I would like to do, my mind can't seem to keep note of it. I can relive some of these moments, and the others, well, I just can't bare. I thought perhaps writing my life down onto paper, it would stop bothering me as if I could throw it all away and burn the pieces. Just wondering if these words get to any other hand besides one, I don't know what will happen to me now, what hasn't already been done.. I'm not sure I'd like to put any other innocent person in the deep thoughts of my mind, but then again, maybe someone would want to know. I will just warn whoever is reading this beforehand, that I am... not your average creature. If there's one thing I left of my long life, it is that. People get used to it, and hopefully, you will too.

I think the best part of writing this on the computer and on paper in some parts is that you can't see me, therefore you're not distracted. I must as well warn you that this story you are about to read, if you are tempting to read it, does not have a happy ending. If you enjoy romances, turn back now. If you enjoy fairy princesses that ride off into sunsets with their prince charming and live happily ever after, until death do they part... Well, there may be a fair share of death, but in most cases, they never actually part. I believe the wedding vows don't specify how long after you're dead, that they part, or if they're even truly dead. Which is how and why I never got married. But anyway, I don't want you to turn around just yet because I'm actually speaking of death, and you're wondering why I speak of an afterlife.

You could think it's a sob story, love that could never, ever be. A story on my loss, punishment, and selfish longing. It will take up a lot of space in the small room I have here, the clutter of paper. I also thought of recording it, but nobody would want to listen. My voice is too much of a mask... not that paper is any better. You may also think I'm... dark. Well, it's understandable, I can see how you think of that, where you're coming from. But trust me, I'm not the worst there is. I just think if I could be able to tell my story to at least one other person besides my sister, I'm not insane after all.

My story begins, if you're already tired of my constant thoughts spewing out on paper, on a slightly morbid note. I want to keep track of my life for this one reason overall--to make sure I still am what I've been for a very long time because, at the moment, I'm not entirely sure who or what I am... metaphorically at least.

I begin in an unexpected time, 1815, to be exact. The year of my sixteenth birthday. Yes, that's a little strange, but please don't put down this paper just yet. I don't sound like a sixteen-year-old, but that's what I am, physically, at least. I'll give you some of some my basic information before I explain any more. I was born in Liverpool, England, just near the ocean in 1799. I was brought up as a good-natured young Catholic girl who charmed the many guests that would come to my mansion. With curly brown hair and brown eyes, often with a bonnet tied to my head and a big smile printed on my face as if it was completely natural. I went to mass every Sunday as was my duty, and was groomed by her mother, as any girl my age of fourteen, for a husband. My family later moved to the city of London because my father received a very large banking job that would cause my family to strive overwhelmingly. But, a very harsh disease that wasn't heard of in my time, and in most cases, incurable had struck my mother.

My mother was my only friend... I loved her so when she played with my hair, put it into pretty buns, and brought home beautifully designed dresses. She was the one to first think of giving me voice lessons when I was twelve. And since then, I was seduced with music, if it was the only thing I knew. My mother brought in vocal teachers from all over the opera world, that taught me many languages, and many accents in order to sing those languages. Most of all Italian and French, but French not used quite so much. Evidently English was too under-powered, and we can't sing French because it's too much of a “pure” language and English is not... but anyway... I learned how to play piano by thirteen and I dazzled my mother with the many pieces of music I would play for her.

And even in her death bed, I engaged her with my music, for it was my only passion. I sung a lullaby I learned from one of the many operas I sang. I remember that moment only faintly, when I brushed her hair with my fingers, and her face turned paler then it already was, when she suddenly took a deep breath, her last one, and kissed goodbye to the world. The lullaby ended there... I never let go of my mother until they had to peel me off. And the last image I ever had was her in the coffin, encased by satin, with a rose being held by her dead hand, all pretty, yet thorned. For some reason after then, roses have been my favorite flower, all else considering my name is Violet Hanson.

My father wasn't exactly my favorite person. He was against the music I made, but later found it as a way to get rid of me. By the age of fifteen I was in the opera, and singing as only background for half a year. It was until one of the conductors heard me singing in my dressing room, he was so awestruck he considered me for one of the new operas coming to the London Opera Company. Instead, I got understudy, but that was as good as anything. My father told me I could go and make my own living on music, and that he was going to go and travel to the new world instead of stay here and consider me as his. I soon found my own flat, being as clever as I've always been, and put it under my mother's maiden name, Felicity Smith. I used my father's money out of the bank to pay for it, and I lived alone with furniture from the mansion I recently lived in. Not to mention... I stole it from there, because they were about to put the exquisite furniture on the market. Again, that was my father's work... being his only child, I would have thought he would have gave me something when he's off to the new world. But also knowing who he really is, he would never care.

I didn't mind the cruel words he would say to me then... though I hardly remember them now. My father was always on the opposite world of me, I hardly even consider I had one. Though I wasn't the happiest girl in London, I was probably the brattiest girl in London. I had to have everything. And if I didn't have what I wanted, you could forget me ever being your star. Yes, my voice got me to that point... only because it was the only thing I had. I had only one friend, and her name was Marie and she was a brat as well, but we had something in common--loneliness. She was there at every dress rehearsal for me, whether she was in the chorus girls or not for that opera. She understood my passion for the stage, the passion for being in the lights and soaking every bit of adoration up like a sponge.

Even if I had everything I wanted... I always considered death as an alternative. I didn't have anything to live for except music, and to me that was pathetic. If my father found out I was dead, I knew he wouldn't come back to London for my funeral, so what was the point?

Everything changed one night...

It was the night of a premiere, my first time in the leading roll, not as an understudy, though. I was the star... and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wore the stage costume with pride, my pale skin illuminating me, making me so I was beautiful, with my long brown hair, no longer curly but straight, and odd for that time and age.

I guess my natural beauty was both good and bad for those times. I loved it because I could put it next to the pride in music, something else I could live for... but on the other part of my mind, I always wanted to be beautiful in my grave... just like my mom was. But it was horrible... because I never thought that my such neutral beauty could attract such danger, such horrible things like it has.

But it was that night that I met just one more thing to live for. And it came in a man that was tall, slim, deathly pale, and extremely handsome. That sounded stupid, right? You could probably guess that I took all chances... because he was staring right at me as I passed through the crowd backstage. I could tell he was aristocratic, his suit not but the finest in London, Parisian style and class. He walked with such grace, it was incredible. He attracted every female eye in the room, mainly because he was single, and the married woman were smacked away by their husbands because of their stares. I guess I was the stupid one-being so blind as to not see the message that every part of this astounding young man brought in every cell of his body, from his cold, black eyes, to his pale, smooth skin... the word danger screamed at me. But I refused to listen to it. I doubted he would even be interested in me, and it wasn't proper to have any sort of fancy with a man that's not your class. After all, I am a bratty opera singer, and he's a rich, fine, man... although I wasn't ever sure I could even call him a man. I wasn't sure why, though.

Yes, I was stupid back then. One small infatuation led to this, and it's bringing me back. You really never know when small mistakes can come back... and just bite you in the neck.

Chapter 1:

Changed

It wasn't until a month later that I found out the small glance he gave me the one premiere night wasn't meaningless. I had found a rose in my dressing room that was marked as being from this David Winters... and it had a note attached to it. It told me words of love, which is all I remember. I must remind you these memories are not very clear, I can only tell you the bases of them. They seemed to entrance me... leave me in a state of both shock and confusion. Because, at the end of the note, at the bottom, it said something about meeting him backstage after the next day's rehearsal, and I could finally meet him face-to-face.

I wasn't sure about it at first... who knows that rumors could spread around the Company so vastly that I would have time to catch up with them. I could tell you that these rumors are worse then what goes around a school. They could either make or break a person... For instance, meeting a strange man in the darkest corner of the theater at a selected time that was decided earlier, could easily lead up to false leadings that come to having an affair with an unauthorized person. Yet, when I finally arrived, an hour after rehearsal, there wasn't anyone there, and my worries came to a halt.

He bid me hello, I remember... the first time meeting David was one of the most distinct things of my human lifetime, for he was the forbidden, and like breaking the rules for the first time, they always remain stained in your memory.

“Hello, Violet. I've been waiting for you.” A voice, so strong and perfect, it rang in my ear when I approached the corner, my knees shaking, buckling under my skirts, not letting me go any further. I wish I had these instincts later, before he turned me mindless...

“You have?” I think I stuttered then. They were awkward, my own melodic voice seeming horrible under his perfect one.

“Yes.” He smiled, showing a full mouth of perfect teeth, something rare that you would see in London, even for a highly pampered aristocrat. “You seemed to catch my eye... you know... on the stage.” He laughed as if enjoying a private joke. Through the dim light, his eyes were penetrating... so very black and... well, they should be frightening. But there was another voice telling me they were beautiful.

“Oh really?” I smiled, a little more at ease, though, now when I look back on it, I don't see how I would have been.

“Very beautiful you are. You're voice... so perfect. It could catch any man's attention, and I'm surprised it hasn't already.” He seemed less dark now... but he was suddenly close to me, his cold breath down my neck. I should have found it frightening as well, but instead... it was... sexy. His perfectly built body was so close to mine, that I wished to run my hands over it. Though I had no experience in love before, only flirting with the lower-class every once in a while. But even they weren't fooled. I wasn't flirting with David, he was flirting with me. If you could call it flirting. Last time I checked, flirting wasn't built up with strong glances, and closeness, because for me, it was all smiles, and touches on the shoulder that builds up to fluttering of eyelashes.

“Thank you.” I only seemed to mutter, for his closeness was making it hard for me to breathe or even pay attention.

He laughed under his breath and looked down to me, straight in the eyes. I wasn't entirely sure if it was true because of the dim lighting in the theater, but his eyes might be a deep crimson. That doesn't sound right, or natural, but they were. That should have drove me away as well, but again, it didn't.

It was after a long, drawn-out conversation I had with him that I thought I was in love. Well, not true love, but serious infatuation. I felt... protected under his gaze, his cold arms over mine, as hard as stone, as we walked through the theater, exchanging facts upon life, how I came to the opera. Well, it was mostly about myself. Never once had I heard a word from him about family, what he does for a living, why he's interested in me. I couldn't ignore the constant stares that I was receiving from the many maids, the chorus girls, ballet rats, but he seemed to not mind. It was just right with him. As little as I knew the man, I thought I was actually caring for him. I smiled when he did, just so beautiful.

He followed me to my flat at the end of the day, and bid me goodnight, kissing the palm of my hand with his cold lips, and then he left. After he was gone, there was in no way how I could possibly forget him. I stayed up in my bed, eyes wide open, and thinking of him, how he laughed, how he talked, the way he walked, even. And then when I closed my eyes all I could see was his angelic face, his black hair, his pale skin, and those glorious eyes that tell an untold story. I was obsessed after one conversation with him. Even if I had no idea why he even decided to talk to me.

The next day, he greeted me in the morning at the opera, when I went in for rehearsal before the matinée. And the following day... and both times it was raining, and the sun hardly showed. But the next day, when there finally was some sun, and it was beautiful as it always is in the fall in London, I didn't see him. Suspicions arose quickly, finding it strange he wasn't there in the morning, but it he might just have a cold... after all his skin is always freezing, and there's always a purple shadow under his eyes. I shouldn't expect much.

It wasn't for another week after getting to know him... sort of, that he... well, he kissed me. On the lips, not just on the cheek. It was so... so wrong, and I hardly knew him. Just what the paper wants, too, another opera scandal. But they didn't have to find out. David said he'd make sure of it, I wasn't sure about how much I could trust him, either. He kissed me deeply, like a lover would kiss another lover. And he went up and down my neck, his cold, and unnaturally hard lips. Of course, I kissed him back, but not as deep as he did. It was wrong. But who was there to even care about what I do wrong or right? I had no father to nag, no mother to approve. I could die and he would be the only one to care, which makes our relationship even stronger.

He whispered words of love in my ear, how much he adores me. How much he cares for me. And I whispered how much I wanted him, how much I had to have him. Every bit. But he shushed me, bringing a long finger to my lips, and saying we don't need to get into that just yet. His eyes were a brilliant red when he told me that, all the more beautiful. His skin was a bit more flushed and living, and his arms were warmer. His hand would rest on my chest, as if searching for something other then what the average man would. I didn't mind it.

I had no clue how far over my head I was, either.

The next few months were something I barely remember now, but we went even deeper in love. He would send my poems he wrote himself to my dressing room vanity, always with a rose whose thorns were never sanded off. I would be kissing him for a long time, until he had to pull away. It was never me who had pulled away though. I would want us to go further. It totally fascinated me, how I was brushing my fingers along the face of danger, and I could always sense it, and still ignore it.

It wasn't until one night about six months after I first met him until it all happened. I must note, no, I never lost my virginity then. Evidently David actually did want to keep something over those months even though I begged him to show some freedom. Somehow, our love was kept secret besides a few witnesses that were kind enough not to spread the word.

This is the second memory that stays with me. I mean, how can it not? Changing a life entirely, losing life, and becoming something else. That's very hard to forget.

I was late in the summer, the chill of fall just barely brushing the beautiful city. I had a new opera to be in, and at the time, I was a complete hit. I was the youngest prima donna ever to exist, and my name was already hitting record books of music. Even today, my name is in music history books. It was after the performance that I usually meet up with the subscribers, adoring audience members, and newspaper journalists that want to interview. And sometimes I meet up with counts, viscounts, and many big-named countesses. But one pair stuck out to me. Usually, the counts and countesses seem to be never together. Hardly in love, really, they only marry for the money in the opposite family, something that if my parents stuck around to care about my life, I would be definitely doing and David would never be there.

Anyways, the couple was beautiful. The man was tall and brooding, pale skin like David, yet he was older-looking and wiser. David was in his twenties, I knew, and this man looked as if he was in his later twenties just because of his strange beauty. He had long black hair, longer then David's, that was tied behind his neck, and his wife who had ebony hair, same skin as his. And their eyes... they were... strange. It was this peculiar gold, something not natural. It was strange, but less disturbing then David's red eyes. It was like they were some sort of other species. David was locked onto my arm as we walked past, and they looked as if they knew each other as well. I mean, this tall aristocrat could easily be his father just by the extremely pale skin tone, and their strange-colored eyes, as well as the woman who was very kindly, and you could easily walk up to her in a nice manner.

Their lovely faces were suddenly twisted when walking by my partner. They gave him this horrid stare out of hatred. The man seemed to look at me directly with these eyes that held so much distress in them, I couldn't stop staring at him back. David seemed to just shove me along, whispering in my ear, “pay no attention.”

Luckily, I found out later what that all meant in the corridor. And in a way that it was... painful.

David asked me if I would like to take a walk outside, giving me the excuse that I might want to see the full moon. Well, I knew it was actually a new moon currently, but shrugged it off, knowing we might just do something... naughty instead. Of course, I was all up for it, knowing the further I went, the faster this stress will disappear and remain silent. It was this single time that my entire conscience told me that I shouldn't go with him this one time, that it was dangerous. Just this once though. David's eyes were coal black, this sinister color that I no longer found beautiful. He was tense when he walked beside me, very impatient for the first few minutes as we started to walk toward the woods. There was a small river nearby as well, completely untouched by civilization, and beneath my heavy breathing, I could hear it babbling loudly.

“Come closer, Violet, it's very cold outside,” He said, very off-key to me. Something just didn't stay with me, either. I knew it wasn't cold, it was the end of summer. The leaves were just barely falling. And I had one of my capes wrapped around me to keep warm instead of the absence of David's body heat.

“W-w-what are w-we d-doing...?” I asked slowly, shaking, but not because I was cold... I was frightened out of my wits. There was something so wrong... very, very wrong. I should be starting to run now, but somehow I can't. I loved David, why would I run from him. There was something else that was inviting to him. He was just so very beautiful in the night air, his skin glowing, so smooth I wanted to touch it.

“Don't be frightened...” He whispered, outstretching his hand to me. There was a sudden snap of a twig, but I let it pass as an animal, and my hand met with his. Very quickly, I was pulled toward him, so close, my body seemed to mold to his granite self. His cold breath breathing down my neck, so softly, so wonderful. His scent, it was better then any perfume in the world. But he was just so near, his lips on my neck, planting kisses. His hand holding my back, almost like cradling me into him. I was scared, my heart thudding against my chest rapidly, like a bird's wings just begging to take flight.

A moan escaped my lips, and I found his finger there. I was almost about to scream... his lips, and then his teeth, they were like knives just barely brushing against my skin. He came up just to say one more thing to me.

“I'm so sorry Violet to do this. I really hope you'll forgive me sometime.” He said. Another moan escaped my lips, this time more like a loud scream. He bent my neck over, revealing most of my neck to him. His lips moved to my jugular, slowly moving up and down, as if smelling it. I think I even heard him grumble some words about... how my blood smelled good to him. But I couldn't pay any attention.

Suddenly, I felt this stabbing pain in my neck, like someone was burning it alive suddenly. I began to scream, to thrash myself against him. He was biting my neck! Beneath all that, there was a sucking feeling, as if the life was slowly draining from the singular spot. And then there was fire! My entire head was burning and screaming wouldn't help... it only made it worse. He held me up by only my back, and kept me there as he bit into my wrist, my blood overflowing into it, but I couldn't watch. My eyes were shut, giving in slowly to death as life was slowly being lost. The burning still never stopped... and I thought death was blissful.

Soon, I was thrown onto the ground, but it wasn't as late as I expected to be. There was a loud crash against a tree, and loud hissing sounds. David wasn't on me any more, sucking my blood, leaving me to die. No... I was still probably going to die, but it was just going to be more gradual then simply sucking it out of me. I couldn't stop thrashing my legs out, my entire body flailing in pain, the fire seeming to come more into my arms, and all over my head. It wouldn't stop even after he was off of me! Will it ever! Will I die like this!? My entire body was instantly off the ground and I was... I was... flying! The burning still continued... but was I going to hell? Were these hell fires? No, I was still on earth, and evidently in a forest, weaving at an immaculate speed through the trees.

“I want to die!” I screamed at the invisible force. “Let me die! Let me die!” I screeched. The dark figure didn't even seem to mind my loud screeching, I could only barely feel his arms cringe at the power of my voice. I closed my eyes, hoping with all my love of God that he would just let me die, just let me how it should.

But if that happened... I wouldn't be here, now would I?

You wonder how I lived, I bet. Well, my source tells me I lost a lot of blood that night, about half my average capacity, and it's the devil's miracle my heart was still beating vicariously when it began to spread.

When I opened my eyes, after obtaining the pain for a while now, it seemed to worsen with every hour that passed. Actually, I wasn't even aware of time, I had been counting heartbeats. They were more numerable then ever, and I could hear it in detail as it beat in my ear. It was growing faster, I could tell, and the fire was now only in my chest, my arms and legs entirely numb... and were they just a tad bit... paler? Were they dead? I moved a leg up so I could see it, and it was a paper white. Paler then I already am, naturally as an English girl.

I couldn't stop rolling, as if it would extinguish the fire, and it didn't. As usual. But it seemed nobody would hear my screams, or at least I couldn't hear them. Tongues of fire eating me whole, my heart speeding up to an unbelievable rate. It seemed like eternity until I was acknowledged by something, an incredibly cold hand was placed on my head, making me stay back. Another two hands were holding down my legs, and the other hand from the head on my arm. Someone was shushing me, telling me to calm down, but I couldn't! How could death be this slow?! How could it last this long!? My heart accelerated even more, fluttering faster then a bird's wings, faster then it was before. It was deathly how my breathing was so quick, I couldn't think. I couldn't even see. It was as if I was blinded by the constant blood rushing through me.

Another screech escaped my lips as the pain became worse, biting into me, licking me to the death. Why wouldn't it stop!? I kept asking myself.

“LET ME DIE!” I screamed, unable to move anymore. Another extremely loud scream escaped my lips as it became even worse... my eyes closed shut, preparing for death.

My heart then... stopped. And I was still breathing.

Every single thing in my body, I just felt it stop. It was as if it just gave up on me. But, alas, I was still in this heavy body. And I felt... well, I felt dead. Was I?

My eyes fluttered open instantly to reveal two pale faces staring intently at me, as if they were enjoying the entire show. Well, one of them seemed that way, his face as interested in me as he would be watching a show, and the female face was just horrified. But they were perfectly sketched in my vision, I could see every bit of color that came off them in the firelight. In fact, I could see... everything. The dust that floated gracefully past my face, every single color in the white light, the entire spectrum, I could see just perfectly. My eyes widened, becoming larger, exposing much more of the world besides the two expressions that never left my gaze.

I was dazzling myself with the detail... every flake of ash in the fire, every string in the carpet below me. And it was absolutely extravagant! I felt myself smiling largely while still laying down on the couch that just recently imprisoned me, but I couldn't remember how it got that way, how I just happened to be here, or why I was screaming. This enhanced world made me forget all of that.

“...Violet?” A low male voice asked. It was like he was singing that... was it a name? Was it mine? I was confused. But, he was staring at me, and I was staring at him. An archangel's face... as if perfectly sculpted, his pale skin seeming to glow. And same with the female's... Have I seen them before?

“Violet, can you hear me?” The voice sung to me again. I wanted to listen to more. I was about to beg him to sing me more... were they words?

“Answer, please.” He begged, seeming amused by my confused expression. “Breathe!” He commanded, starting to laugh whole-heartedly. Breathe... Oh!

I inhaled air, and was astounded once more. For now, I smelt every single thing in this room. The ash, it smelt wonderful the dust could be better, the carpet had something distinct. I smelled this flowery, and wonderfully light vapor radiating everywhere in the room. Even the couple before me smelled... well, better then everything in this room! I then noticed I hadn't blinked at all, nor have I breathed, or have I moved.

“Am I dead?” A voice asked aloud. But... I asked that. The voice, it was like an angel's, like something that had been perfected over and over again. It sang those words like the wind ringing through my ear, so light and soft, but yet very strong. Strange combination, but all the more lavish. It was all mine! A smile of domination came upon my lips.

“No, you're not dead.” Answered the male.

“Who are you then?” My voice asked, I didn't even seem to think of it before.

“Sit up, Violet,” he instructed, placing a hand under my back and helping me to rise. I sat up to face them both at eye height. I didn't even think of moving, either, I just did. “I am Alexander Sharpe, and this is my wife, my mate, Victoria Sharpe. And you are Violet Hanson, the opera star.” He smiled charmingly.

“That's my name then...” I replied stupidly, nodding like a two-year-old finding out about Christmas. “...There's something wrong with me.” I noted, again very child-like. My voice seemed to be even higher then it was before.

“No, you have just died and became reborn. You're heart has stopped and yet you are still living, you don't need to breathe, you don't need to move, you are just there. And you are no longer human, my darling, either. You were before, and you must always remember that no matter how cloudy those memories are for you.” He explained calmly to me, both of us seeming to take notes with each other's actions.

“So... I'm dead. But I'm not. What am I?” I asked, jerking my head to the side, quicker then expected once more.

“You are... one of us. One of the undead, like us. Do not fear, child, you must live with it, and you will learn to because we will teach you. You will crave something you have never before, but you must learn to love it.” The words craving something seemed to light a candle in my head. I perked up, noticing my throat was so dry and burning up as it was before. It ached... as if someone just lit a match there and only there. I felt thirsty, but water wasn't exactly on my mind.

“... It hurts! Make it stop!” I hissed, taking my hand to my throat as if massaging it would do any good. My hand was hard, as was my throat. “What do I need? Give it to me!” I greedily roared, thrashing myself up the couch faster then I could blink. Alexander turned his head to smile at Victoria who gave worried eyes to me. But later they turned into a smile, somehow knowing what he was about to say.

“You will need blood.” Alexander said naturally. i blinked at him, no such feeling coming forth, only that it was natural just as he thought so.

 

Author's Note

I personally love this story... I've been writing and rewriting it for over the past year, trying to perfect it and I would like some really good reviews that would be extremely helpful

Reviews

[Gone]

I like the ending, it creates a feeling of suspense.