Wild Night

Your head swims when you sit, and your whole body feels filled with swirling oil instead of meat. Your vision blurs, then focuses, then blurs, then focuses. Your mouth is dry, and it seems difficult to work up the saliva to moisten it again. Your limbs feel like dead meat.

The woman, now that you can see her full-on, is a thin, pale creature, who looks goth, or dead, or both. Though she wears no makeup and has no visible jewelry, piericngs, or tattoos, only her face, hands, neck and a sliver of ankle are visible, white-gray-beige against her dark clothing and dark background. Her eyes are a strange silver-and-gold color, and her lips have a natural blush to them, more color than the rest of her has. She sits down by you - you notice you were lying on a table, warm wood - and you can see that, standing, she'd be just a little taller than you.

You ask about Jake. She smirks. "Don't worry about him," she says, "He won't bug you, or anyone, anymore. He took a risk and you are the result. Let's hope that you're more tactical, or less stupid, than he was."

"First off," she says, "I'll inform you of what happened. Last night was not your imagination. You went to a bar, got picked up by a quiet, thinking man who took you to a park, and then attacked you. He bit your neck, drained your blood, and you blacked out. That's when I found you, and transported you here where you could rest."

She pauses, just a second, to let it sink in. There is a secret left unspoken, and she breaks it with her next words. "Sophie, Jake was not alive when he did that. You did not survive that encounter with him." There is a twinge of horror in your stomach that is not allowed to develop; she speaks too fast. "He was, and you are, a vampire."