Dear Diary,
It’s me. Luminita… you know, the outcast of the most “prestigious” vampire family. It’s Tuesday, November 15th, 2308, and what a bizarre time to be still undead. You’d think that being the only daughter of the Dimineata clan would make me the most envied, most potent young vampire around. But no. I am not. Not even close.
You see, I’m not like the others. My so-called friends laugh at me and sneer behind my back. What is their problem? Do they have bat excrement attached to the three brain cells they share? I don’t know... and honestly I don’t give one DracuLord Damn... Oh...oh my...I am so sorry... oops...there I go again...please pardon me, dear father of all vampires, DracuLord, for taking one’s name in vain and showing such selfish behavior when you have blessed all of us in my family with such vampire privilege! Ok...I will likely need to visit my local Nocturnal Sanctum to discuss my horrible transgressions with my personal Noctis Reverent, whom my father hired to help me become meaner and more ruthless… Anyways, where was I ...oh yes ....my peers!...I don’t care what they think... I suspect they are envious of me! After all, I have the privilege of being amongst the most elite vampire families next to only the Draculas. And...so..what good is this privilege when you feel like an outcast from your own beings?
Then... there’s her - Anin Tamarescu, the newly appointed school bully... anointed by a secretive club of girls who took “The Vow,” a solemn pledge you make at The Eternal Nocturnal House to our FATHER, DracuLord, to stay unbitten and never bite until you unite with another in an eternal blood bond. On each new moon, they gather in a secretive location to vote on who will be their latest victim to terrorize. They feel it is their duty as blood virgins to weed out those they consider to be threats to their “pure” way of life...
And...what do you know...since they took “The Vow,” I am the chosen one. Anin is more than just a bully. She’s a nightmare with fangs. The worst I’ve ever faced. The other day, she hired a pack of goblins (rich girl privilege; her family practically bathes in blood) to follow me around school. And what was their grand plan? Mirrors. Dozens of them. They wanted to see if I’d reflect—to prove that I’m not even a real vampire. Just a fraud from a family unworthy of the noble titles we hold. Pathetic.
Her family, the Tamarescus, have been at odds with mine for centuries, locked in a blood feud over who truly belongs on DracuLord’s noble prophet council. Her grandfather resigned as a Superior Judge from The DracuLord Holy Nocturnal Scriptures Grand Court, and somehow, Anin believes that makes her more… pure. A vampire puritan, parading through the halls of King Dracula Prep like she’s the second coming of darkness as if her family’s wealth and prestige give her the right to decide who among us is “worthy.”
And then there’s her shadow, Seraphina Drăculea, her devoted sidekick. She and her family control who gets invited to exclusive vampire gatherings. Although she is only an associate member (on probation because of an unproven allegation of biting her ex-boyfriend) of the Nocturnal Blood Bonds, many speculate that she is the group’s most powerful member. They live in that garish green mansion on the hill, always glowing at night like it’s pulsing with life—or death. The Spider House, they call it, because her father founded the Spider Salad Bars franchise. It is like a little empire built on webs and venom. Ironically, her family comes from Banat, a region known for sheltering misfits, exiles, and those who fled the Great Vampire Awakening of the 22nd century. Maybe she’s scared of her roots. Perhaps she’s overcompensating. And this may explain why the girls are a bit suspicious of her...
She hates me because I’m different—too pale, too quiet, and my fangs are too small to fit the vampire ideal. My skin is practically ghostlike from growing up in the Carpathian Mountains, where the sun never rises enough to leave a mark. I don’t have that coveted moon tan that vampires from the Moldavian plains get, the ones who bathe under the summer stars and soak up moonlight like it’s nectar.
And yes, I work at Spider Salads, of all places. I, the daughter of the Dimineata family, serve spiders to bored, wealthy vampires who think dining on arachnids is the peak of sophistication. I’m the VIP co-captain, which means I get the honor of greeting our “elite” guests as they arrive to sample the finest exotic spider dishes. I must wear this absurd vampire “costume” daily—layers of leather, lace, and ridiculously oversized fangs. Every time I put it on, it feels like a dagger twisting in my heart. The tears dry before they even fall—just like every flicker of hope in this life I never wanted.
The VIPs don’t care. They come from all over, picking spiders as if they were choosing rare wines, paying in pints of blood to stroll through our web chambers. I stand there pretending to be interested while quietly seething. The only exciting moment was when a werewolf—probably from the Curcubeu pack—strolled in. Please don’t ask me how I know, but I’ve hacked enough vampire filters to uncover dangerous secrets. The government’s censorship of all things werewolf is laughable. They claim it’s to prevent an inter-species war, but honestly? I call it batshit. Werewolves are harmless. They want back the land our kind stole from them—and the mortals—long ago.
Ah, mortals… a dying breed. A few still cling to existence like cobwebs in forgotten corners. Along with werewolves, dhampirs, and other creatures that once roamed the Balkans, mortals used to live in some peace—until we turned their world upside down. Nobody knows where they wound up. Our province of Transylvania is supposed to be “mortal-free,” but there have been unconfirmed sightings near Tampa Mountain here in Brasov. Furthermore, it is a known fact that several packs of werewolves remain on the mountain despite their near extinction in Brasov. The area is heavily guarded and nearly impossible to even get within several kilometers.
Then there’s Xhoanna—my only real friend. Or at least, she was. Lately, she’s changed. She came from such humble roots, a family of vampires who fled Transylvania centuries ago and established a community of exiled Ecliptisian (an ancient religion established before the appearance of our FATHER DracuLord) vampires in Vermosh, Albania. However, he suddenly changed ... .becoming a strict DracuLordian. Once he visited The Eternal Nocturnal House and was bloodied (the ceremony where one professes their faith to THE FATHER by swimming in the blood of mortals), he sent his only daughter, Xhoanna, to DracuLord Prep. At first, she was open-minded but then joined the Junior Coffin-Bound Patriots, a radical group obsessed with restoring Transylvania to its pure vampire roots. She grows more extreme each day, and now she’s fixated on becoming the first Albanian vampire supermodel while also being a high priestess in the Eternal Nocturnal House. She used to dream big. Now… I hardly recognize her. All she can discuss is DracuLord and her study of The Nocturnal Scriptures.
And me? I’m trapped. My father—the great executioner—expects me to follow in his footsteps, but I don’t fit the vampire mold, and I don’t dare tell him. He’s so strict, so relentless, wielding the golden scythe with pride. He’s carried out executions since before Transylvania’s independence, and now he’s ready to pass the mantle to me. But the very thought chills me to the core, leaving me hollow. Emptier. Even deader than I already am.
He’s had his moments—violent ones. Once, he lost himself to rage so completely that flames erupted from his body, blacking out the entire county. We were forced to leave Prahova County, a relatively liberal place of mixed beings and resettle in Brasov, where my father studied to become a master executioner. He blames the werewolves for our banishment, but I think it was something else. Something darker lurking in the shadows.
I miss Prahova. I miss my teacher, Domnule Lupin. He believed in me when no one else did. He saw something in me—something bright and brilliant—something I feel slipping away, little by little, as I sink deeper into a life I never wanted.
Sigh... Well, the light shift awaits. I pray to DracuLord, our nocturnal savior, that the goblins won’t appear tonight. Because if they do… Let’s say those werewolves up on Tampa Mountain might not be running alone for long.
Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that. But more on that later.
La revedere!
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