Dear Diary,
It’s me, Luminita—the misfit of the Dimineata clan. November 15th, 2308. What a strange time to still be undead. You’d think that being the only daughter of one of Transylvania’s most powerful vampire families would make me untouchable. Envied. Admired. But no. Not even close.
I grew up in Sinaia, Prahova County, just outside Transylvania—where creatures of all kinds lived in harmony, at least for a while—giants, werewolves, and forest fairies—all students at Prahova Blood Academy. My mother enrolled me there because she believed in diversity, hoping I’d grow up valuing creatures beyond the vampire world. Back then, we were free to make friends, explore, and express ourselves without fear.
But everything changed when my father, German Dimineata, accepted his promotion to Head Executioner of Transylvania. King Dracula summoned him personally, offering him not only the position but also the role of Deputy Advisor on Werewolf Resistance. My father’s hatred of werewolves only deepened with his new responsibilities. He believed they were responsible for everything wrong in the world. If he ever discovered my fascination with them… well, I don’t want to think about what he’d do.
So, we left our home in Sinaia and moved to Brasov, a city steeped in tradition, where creatures like werewolves and dhampirs weren’t welcome, and diversity was seen as a threat. I still miss those days in Greater Wallachia before the Werewolf Republic Army overran it. Life in Brasov is nothing like the freedom I had in Sinaia. Here, you either fit the vampire mould or get left behind.
My father spent most of his days away, lost in his duties, leaving me to be raised by my mother, a dhampir—half-human, half-vampire. Because she wasn’t a pureblood, I’ve always existed on the fringes without an official designation as a dhampir or vampire. Unlike my classmates, I wasn’t raised to follow DracuLord, the ancient one who created our race. My mother believed in a hybrid faith—a mix of Dhampirian beliefs and Draculordism, which left me feeling even more disconnected from both worlds.
At Prahova Blood Academy, I had friends from everywhere—the ancient lands of Serbia, Croatia, and even the Goblin colonies beneath the now-flooded Lake Bled. Every 21st full moon, we came together for Cryptozoology class, taught by a werewolf named Domnule Lupin. Oh, my DracuLord, I was smitten. He wore plaid shirts every day, and I’d greet him with, “Bună, ce faci?” (“Hey, what’s up?”), hoping he’d notice me. I adored him more than I should have.
But those days ended abruptly when my father’s job took us to Brasov. There, I enrolled at King Dracula Prep, where life was more cutthroat. Anin Tamarescu, the school’s queen bee, decided I was her next target. She’s more than just a bully—she’s a nightmare. Her family, the Tamarescus, have been feuding with mine for centuries, arguing over who belongs on DracuLord’s noble prophet council. She acts like the second coming of darkness, with her shadow, Aramat Gri, always trailing behind her. Together, they make life miserable for anyone who crosses them.
Then there’s Xhoanna—my best friend. Or at least, she used to be. Xhoanna’s family fled Transylvania centuries ago, escaping persecution. They settled in Vermosh, Albania, forming a small community of exiled Ecliptisian vampires—followers of an ancient religion long before DracuLord. Her family avoided mainstream vampire society for years, clinging to their old beliefs. But everything changed when her father converted to Draculordism.
After his pilgrimage to The Eternal Nocturnal House, where he participated in the Blooding Ceremony—a ritual where one professes faith by swimming in mortal blood—he sent Xhoanna to King Dracula Prep, hoping she’d embrace her new path. At first, she was open-minded, still holding on to dreams of changing the world. But soon, she became obsessed with DracuLord and joined the Junior Coffin-Bound Patriots, a radical group fixated on restoring Transylvania to its pure vampire roots. Every day, she drifts further into extremism, now determined to become both the first Albanian vampire supermodel and a high priestess in the Eternal Nocturnal House.
She used to dream big—of making a real difference. Now, I hardly recognize her. All she talks about are The Nocturnal Scriptures and her devotion to DracuLord. Meanwhile, I’m stuck watching her slip away, deeper into a world I’ll never belong to.
And as for me? I’m trapped. My father expects me to take up his mantle as Head Executioner, wielding the golden scythe with pride. He’s been doing it for decades; now it’s my turn. But the thought of it chills me to the core. I feel more dead inside with every passing day.
My father has moments—dangerous ones. Once, his rage was so intense that flames erupted from his body, blacking out the entire county. We had to flee Prahova after that and start over in Brasov. He blames the werewolves for our exile, but I think it’s something darker, something lurking deep inside him.
Working at Spider Salads only makes things worse. I serve spiders to bored, wealthy vampires who think dining on arachnids is the height of sophistication. I wear this ridiculous uniform—layers of lace, leather, and oversized fangs—daily. The VIPs come in, picking out spiders like fine wines, paying in pints of blood to walk the web chambers. I pretend to care, but inside, I seethe.
The only exciting moment was when a werewolf from the Curcubeu pack strolled in. The government censors everything about werewolves, saying it’s to prevent war. But I know the truth—they want to keep the vampires in power. The werewolves aren’t the monsters they make them out to be. They want back what we stole from them—and the mortals—long ago.
Rumours say some mortals still survive near Tampa Mountain, hiding alongside the last werewolf packs. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live among them, free from the expectations of vampire society. That obsession with werewolves nearly destroyed me.
I joined a cult that promised salvation through lycanthropy—a way to shed my vampire identity and become something more. Something better. Xhoanna tried to stop me. “Luminita, this is madness! Werewolves are our enemies!” she warned. But I didn’t care. I needed something—anything—to believe in.
As I prepare to attend Vlad Impaler Vampire Academy, I wonder where this path will take me. The shadows of my past still cling to me, but a new era beckons. I may be a vampire by blood, but my heart belongs to the wolves.
If my father ever finds out… not even DracuLord could save me.
Sigh. It's time for another shift at Spider Salads. I pray Anin’s goblins won’t show up tonight. But if they do… those werewolves on Tampa Mountain might not be running alone for long.
Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that.
More on that later.
La revedere, Diary.
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