Post by madascheese on Mar 18, 2007 10:58:47 GMT
Here is the latest chapter...enjoy!!
******************
Now feeling an acute sense of panic, she slowly crept up the stairs, hearing the beating of their hearts and their deep, slumbering breathing echoing into her ears. What the hell were they doing back so soon, for God's sake? They weren't supposed to be back for another four days, she thought despairingly, walking past their room and up the second flight of stairs. She could smell their blood intensely, fragrant and appetising against the falsely flowered, stale air freshener. She felt disgusted with herself – she may despise them, but surely that didn't mean that she didn't care about them; well, maybe that didn't apply to her stepfather.
She walked more quickly now, tearing herself away from any possible temptation and practically bolting up to her room. She hastily removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair against her desk, noticing a few small blood stains on the lapels. She sat on the bed in her dark bedroom and buried her head in her cold, pallid hands. What on Earth would she do? She couldn't tell them – they'd never believe her, obviously, the very idea was ridiculous. She would be able to go out at night, but what would she do in the daytime? Perhaps there was a way to elude them, to persuade them to leave her alone in the day so that she could escape at sunset – but then how would she protect herself from the sunlight if she ran away? This house provided the perfect cover, though she doubted her resilience against persistent temptation. Her mind seemed overcome with questions, scenarios, fear and loathing as she climbed into bed, lifting the quilt up over her head in case her parents inadvertently opened the blinds.
Downstairs, in the bedroom of the first floor, Jerry and Hilary Oldfield, tired from their travelling, were waking up and preparing for the day ahead. Jerry was carefully selecting from his row of designer suits, whilst his wife was walking around her large closet deciding what to wear for the day. Becoming tired of indecision, she dressed in some deliberately inelegant jeans and a casual blouse; she then walked into the bathroom to begin her morning ritual. She would brush her hair, then brush her teeth, wash her face and take her anti-depressants and codeine, swallowed with some cool water in a gold rimmed cup. She stopped once in a while to look at herself in the mirror, she constantly had to remind herself of her own existence; there was a time, she thought, when life was for living, not merely existing. Since the death of her first husband, John Vanderson, nothing had really seemed to work properly – she married Jerry on a whim, knowing that he would make her happy at least in the short-term; he would keep both her and Dillan safe, he could provide the security they needed. She watched her new husband busying himself in the bedroom, picking out the perfect tie to match his latest designer suit acquisition and wondered how things had gone so far downhill. Pushing that thought out of her head, she embraced the chemical sensations that were beginning to wash over her; and so began her day.
"Well honey," Jerry said distractedly, looking at his watch, "I have a meeting in forty-five minutes – a very important one at that. I'd better get going."
She nodded and smiled as usual, saying nothing. She watched him as he made his way over to her and quickly used the sink, washing his angular, masculine face and tidying his thinning hair with his comb. She felt alone, empty – they had hardly seen each other during the vacation; she was always wrapped in seaweed in some highbrow health spa, he would be out playing golf with his fellow executives who 'happened' to be in the area. Their romantic evening meals were peppered with 'important' phone calls – most of which, she could hear, where not actually from clients, but from his secretary. He was obviously happy with the set-up – why wasn't she?
"See you later sweetie," he said, smiling. You could see the wrinkles forming either side of his eyes when he smiled, the tiny creases of flesh that had been folded time and time again. She always thought it made him look even more sincere than usual, emphasising that businessman's sparkling glint in his eyes. He kissed her on her head and, without waiting from a goodbye from her, picked up the briefcase leaning against the door and left for work. She heard the front door close heavily behind him and, waiting until she heard the throaty roar of the engine in his Bentley, she wandered out of the room and into the hallway. Walking upstairs, her slippers scuffing on the white, fluffy carpet, she hoped that her daughter was still at home – the last time Dillan ran away it scared her half to death. Approaching the door, she pushed down the handle and walked into her daughter's darkened room.
Dillan, lying in her deathly slumber, became aware of the delicious scent of blood wafting into her consciousness, rousing her as she detected an intruder. She stirred underneath her blankets, her mind obsessed with blood but tired, she felt much weaker than she had the previous night – if only she could have more, if only she could satisfy her needs. Seeing her daughter stir, Hilary walked over to the bed and, perching her slight, almost frail frame at the edge of the bed, rested a tanned, bony hand on her blanketed body.
"Hell Dill," she said softly. "Surprised we're home?"
Dillan lay perfectly still underneath her mother's kindly gaze, listening only to the tempting heartbeat thudding just inches above her. It seemed to reverberate deeply through her skin, aching through every half-empty, lifeless blood vessel in her vampiric body – but this is her mother, she thought desperately, the woman who nurtured her and raised her all of her life, even if she was now a shadow of her former self. Surely, even now, she meant more to her than this?
"Late night last night huh?" her mom continued, persisting for a response. She simply nodded, now feeling her fangs pressing against her bottom lip. Should she tell her? She didn't want to hurt her – perhaps that would be the only way to save her. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her pillow, staining it deep red.
"Well," Hilary said, leaning on her daughter's body as she stood up. "Maggie will be here soon, so breakfast will be ready in about an hour if you want any. Oh, and you'd better get yourself up and dressed – she'll be packing away the clothes that you so kindly left for her." The usual touch of venom poisoned her final words.
"Mom, I'm really tired," Dillan said, attempting to add a realistic croak to her voice. "I need to catch up on some sleep. Can't I pack them away myself? Just ask Maggie to bring the cases up for me."
"Okay", her mother sighed. A wave of relief flowed calmly through her body. "But she'll be coming in later on to tidy up in here." Dillan nodded as her mother walked out of the room. She was very, very tired and extremely agitated, which seemed to exemplify the discomfort caused by her insatiable thirst. She arose from her bed and began to pace the room nervously, contemplating what her next move would be. She needed to feed – there was never any doubt about that – but how would she do it? She would be tortured by the pulsating, warm blood around her all day as she pretended to be human. It was so easy to outwardly act as a human, she thought, yet so difficult to actually live as one. She looked over at her pillow, conscious of the smell of dried blood; what a monster she had become! Perhaps it was fitting that her sadness was painted by the blood of her victims, a constant reminder of the monstrosities she had committed.
There was a knock at the door. She quickly turned the pillow over, hiding the tell-tale bloodstains, and stood away from the door, wiping any remnants of blood from her cheeks. Satisfied that she looked as normal as possible, she called for the person to come in and Maggie, the housekeeper, walked into the room. She smelled of fresh laundry, pruned roses, summer and blood; the fragrances seemed so different, yet they were perfectly and inextricably linked. She licked her lips hungrily, subconsciously. The housekeeper, a plump, perpetually cheerful woman in her early fifties, smiled brightly at the girl she had practically raised.
"Hey sweetie!" she chirped. "How's my little red riding hood?" She began to wheel Dillan's large suitcases into her room.
"I'm okay thanks Mags," Dillan replied vaguely, distracted by the thudding heartbeat pounding in her ears. She shook her head, trying to break free of her desirous thoughts. "Did you have a good vacation?"
"It wasn't bad, thank you for asking honey." Her voice blossomed harmoniously into the room, filling it with the sunshine that couldn't hurt her, light that she desperately needed. She wanted to destroy it, to absorb the light and fill herself with the darkness and freedom that she craved. "Now what're you doing sat in the dark?" Maggie laughed. Her laughter echoed around the like bells in a church.
"I have a bad headache," Dillan murmured, sitting down on the bed and cradling her cold head in her hands. It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore her cravings now, her inner beast was clawing away at her insides and she needed peace. Desperately.
"Well then, I shall leave you to it," Maggie replied kindly. "I'll be up a little later on to clean up your room darlin', just pack your clothes away if you will and I'll leave you to get some rest."
"Thank you," Dillan croaked, hoping again that her fake hoarseness would add sincerity. She smiled weakly as Maggie left the room, leaving a trail of scent so strong that she could almost see it, blood red, against the darkness of the air.
She felt disgusted with herself – would she never see the beauty of life again? Every human she met was blood and nothing more; pulsing, delicious, dark blood - the fountain of eternal youth lay waiting for her in every mortal, and she had the means and power to drink from it. As she was packing away her clothes her mind wandered back to her hunt from the previous night, nameless, unknown and without consequence. In all of this feral killing, the lack of consequences were all part of the thoughtless enjoyment, but would she be able to enjoy killing someone she loved? Thankfully, she didn't have to consider that for the time being - though if Maggie had lingered any longer she may well have found the answer.
After finally packing away the last few items of clothing from her numerous suitcases, she changed into her black jeans and a plain, black tank top. The clean clothes felt soft and fresh against her ghostly skin, they smelled of artificial flowers, comforting and familiar. She climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets over her head, attempting to hide from the human world around her, a world in which she certainly did not now belong. She was trapped in this cage of temptation, attempting to deny her innate instincts and what for? If she was completely soulless and unfeeling as she had previously assumed, this wouldn't be a problem for her; she was beginning to understand herself less and less, it was becoming extremely frustrating. She was losing faith in her abstinence as her mind became obsessed with hot, fresh blood, she could feel the phantom liquid stroking her tongue like velvet, pouring down her throat, exacerbating her thirst. Closing her eyes, she tried her hardest to escape these corruptive thoughts, but her mind was filled with memories of the hunt and, more importantly, the kill. She remembered the immense power that had infused her body afterwards, how every single cell of her body felt ten times more animated than usual. She felt utterly lifeless, a constant reminder that she was not in fact alive, but undead.
There was, of course, only one thing she could do – she had to run away, but where to? She didn't want to go too far, not until she understood what she had become and how to survive. The last thing she wanted to do was be around anyone she knew, but she must stay where the territory is familiar, she decided. Wouldn't the academy be perfect? She could sleep in one of the empty rooms in the day and then sneak out at night to hunt as she liked, surely even the vampires wouldn't be there over summer. She hoped they had gone away – the last thing she wanted to be confronted with was other monsters of her own kind, but it was a risk that she would have to take, it was too perfect an opportunity to miss.
Feeling restless, but more hopeful now, she got out of bed and began to pack her black rucksack, aching for the cool night-time to descend on the world. Only two hours had passed since Maggie had wandered into the dangers of her lair, as it was now only 11am. Having hastily packed her rucksack in a restless fervour, she was now at a loss as to what to fill her day with. The irrepressible hunger rose in her again, growing from strength to strength, creeping through her very skin. She was beginning to doubt that she could last the entire day without spilling blood as she could feel herself slipping into her inner darkness, her mind consumed with nothing but a crimson river of life flowing through her body. It was going to be a very, very long day.
Meanwhile, Maggie was preparing lunch as Hilary sat on her clinically white leather couch, feet resting on an Italian footstool and drinking her fourth large glass of red wine with her eyes closed. She always seemed to look immensely tired, perpetually suffering, most likely due to the exhausting effects of the anti-depressants her doctor continued to prescribe her. She felt like all she did these days was lope around the house, like a bored teenager, drinking her vintage wine, trapped in her own little bubble of depression and self-pity. She felt alone, dissociated from everyone around her; friends, family, no-one seemed to understand her plight and the reasons for her now pitiful, meaningless existence. Nevertheless, perhaps it was necessary to live in such a way to guarantee not only safety and security, but also the finer things in life. She sighed deeply, listening to the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as her housekeeper made lunch; she had life easy in comparison to millions of others, so why did she find it so difficult? Her mind ambled drunkenly back to her daughter and how separated they had become since she married Jerry. Once upon a time, they were as close as can be, practically joined at the hip when John passed away; she had never liked Jerry – but why should she, a forty year old woman, allow them to be estranged from one another? The wine was making her feel strong, resilient, with that fake confidence that only alcohol can instil; in her disjointed, distorted thoughts and perceptions of reality, she decided that now would be an excellent time to rebuild her relationship with her daughter and, leaning on the supple leather arms of her chair for support, somehow managed to stand up and hobble awkwardly towards the stairs.
Dillan had taken to pacing her room again, feeling a keen sense of irritation with her confinement, especially since she couldn't sleep. Hearing footsteps faintly on the soft, carpeted stairs, she quickly sat down at her desk and picked up the first magazine on the pile that permanently resided there. She looked down at her copy of Teen magazine, which smiled dazzlingly back at her, reminding her of the life that was taken away. When she found the bastard responsible, she would certainly pay him back, she thought, wherever he was. She hoped that, despite what she thought would happen, whoever was trudging up the stairs would not interrupt her as she continued to wrestle with her cravings. How could she trust herself to abstain when she could feel herself slipping into darkness? She would have to put her faith in love – if love truly does conquer all, she would be okay, as would whichever of her loved ones crossed her path first.
Her mother rapped her bony knuckles on the door, signalling the beginning of Dillan's next trying test. She floated into the room, her waved blonde hair wafting behind her, leaving trails of gold in the air. She seemed ethereal, a separate entity who had wandered unknowingly into her dark world. The smell hit her like a ton of bricks, delicious and enticing, within reach; she felt desire course through her consciousness and echo through the vast, empty chambers in her soul. How badly she wanted to sink her teeth into the soft flesh of the throat and drain the life out of her, to feel powerful, satisfied, partially satiating her intense hunger. Hilary sat down on the bed and, without saying a word, beckoned drunkenly for her daughter to join her. Breathing deeply and forcing a kindly smile, she slowly walked over and sat alongside her.
Maggie left the salad in the fridge, immaculately presented in a wooden bowl, knowing that it probably wouldn't be eaten. Sighing, she glanced into the sitting room where Hilary had been, only to see the empty wine bottle at the foot of her chair. The sunlight spilled brilliantly into the room through the perfectly clear windows, warming the hard, oakwood floors. It was such a beautiful day; usually she and Dill would go out for lunch on a day like this, maybe taking a picnic and going to the riverbanks, escaping from the suffocating air of the house. She remembered the little talks they used to have when Dill was younger, all the little secrets that they used to share about boys, skipping classes, sneaking out of the house at night – all of which she had never revealed. Though she had grown wary of trusting adults, she could never be distrusting of reliable old Mags; when she refused to contact her parents on her arrival at the Mansbridge Academy, she still wrote back to Maggie. There were a lot of happy memories, she thought; furtive whispering, little white lies, but always peppered by the lies her parents told her.
“Everything's fine,” her mother used to say endlessly, dreamily, barely lucid. “Jerry's just away on business.” Dillan knew differently – she knew he had gone to some exotic country with the latest in a long-legged line of blonde, airbrushed secretaries, on that occasion she had overheard them talking on the phone. No matter how many times she told her mom, she simply would not listen to a word of what she was saying, swatting away her words like meaningless flies. It was completely fruitless, extremely frustrating, something that she would always talk to Mags about – the only person who could see and understand what she was going through. Her childhood seemed to be centred on a core of untamed desires, lies, deception and repression; she was sick of her parents' actions and how they seemed to have little concern for anyone but themselves. At least, Maggie thought, her time at boarding school would remove her from such an emotionally destructive environment. Glancing at the time on her leather strapped, black wriswatch, she committed to leaving her memories behind her for the time being as, picking up her yellow duster and can of furniture polish, she slowly climbed the stairs towards Dillan's room.
******************
Now feeling an acute sense of panic, she slowly crept up the stairs, hearing the beating of their hearts and their deep, slumbering breathing echoing into her ears. What the hell were they doing back so soon, for God's sake? They weren't supposed to be back for another four days, she thought despairingly, walking past their room and up the second flight of stairs. She could smell their blood intensely, fragrant and appetising against the falsely flowered, stale air freshener. She felt disgusted with herself – she may despise them, but surely that didn't mean that she didn't care about them; well, maybe that didn't apply to her stepfather.
She walked more quickly now, tearing herself away from any possible temptation and practically bolting up to her room. She hastily removed her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair against her desk, noticing a few small blood stains on the lapels. She sat on the bed in her dark bedroom and buried her head in her cold, pallid hands. What on Earth would she do? She couldn't tell them – they'd never believe her, obviously, the very idea was ridiculous. She would be able to go out at night, but what would she do in the daytime? Perhaps there was a way to elude them, to persuade them to leave her alone in the day so that she could escape at sunset – but then how would she protect herself from the sunlight if she ran away? This house provided the perfect cover, though she doubted her resilience against persistent temptation. Her mind seemed overcome with questions, scenarios, fear and loathing as she climbed into bed, lifting the quilt up over her head in case her parents inadvertently opened the blinds.
Downstairs, in the bedroom of the first floor, Jerry and Hilary Oldfield, tired from their travelling, were waking up and preparing for the day ahead. Jerry was carefully selecting from his row of designer suits, whilst his wife was walking around her large closet deciding what to wear for the day. Becoming tired of indecision, she dressed in some deliberately inelegant jeans and a casual blouse; she then walked into the bathroom to begin her morning ritual. She would brush her hair, then brush her teeth, wash her face and take her anti-depressants and codeine, swallowed with some cool water in a gold rimmed cup. She stopped once in a while to look at herself in the mirror, she constantly had to remind herself of her own existence; there was a time, she thought, when life was for living, not merely existing. Since the death of her first husband, John Vanderson, nothing had really seemed to work properly – she married Jerry on a whim, knowing that he would make her happy at least in the short-term; he would keep both her and Dillan safe, he could provide the security they needed. She watched her new husband busying himself in the bedroom, picking out the perfect tie to match his latest designer suit acquisition and wondered how things had gone so far downhill. Pushing that thought out of her head, she embraced the chemical sensations that were beginning to wash over her; and so began her day.
"Well honey," Jerry said distractedly, looking at his watch, "I have a meeting in forty-five minutes – a very important one at that. I'd better get going."
She nodded and smiled as usual, saying nothing. She watched him as he made his way over to her and quickly used the sink, washing his angular, masculine face and tidying his thinning hair with his comb. She felt alone, empty – they had hardly seen each other during the vacation; she was always wrapped in seaweed in some highbrow health spa, he would be out playing golf with his fellow executives who 'happened' to be in the area. Their romantic evening meals were peppered with 'important' phone calls – most of which, she could hear, where not actually from clients, but from his secretary. He was obviously happy with the set-up – why wasn't she?
"See you later sweetie," he said, smiling. You could see the wrinkles forming either side of his eyes when he smiled, the tiny creases of flesh that had been folded time and time again. She always thought it made him look even more sincere than usual, emphasising that businessman's sparkling glint in his eyes. He kissed her on her head and, without waiting from a goodbye from her, picked up the briefcase leaning against the door and left for work. She heard the front door close heavily behind him and, waiting until she heard the throaty roar of the engine in his Bentley, she wandered out of the room and into the hallway. Walking upstairs, her slippers scuffing on the white, fluffy carpet, she hoped that her daughter was still at home – the last time Dillan ran away it scared her half to death. Approaching the door, she pushed down the handle and walked into her daughter's darkened room.
Dillan, lying in her deathly slumber, became aware of the delicious scent of blood wafting into her consciousness, rousing her as she detected an intruder. She stirred underneath her blankets, her mind obsessed with blood but tired, she felt much weaker than she had the previous night – if only she could have more, if only she could satisfy her needs. Seeing her daughter stir, Hilary walked over to the bed and, perching her slight, almost frail frame at the edge of the bed, rested a tanned, bony hand on her blanketed body.
"Hell Dill," she said softly. "Surprised we're home?"
Dillan lay perfectly still underneath her mother's kindly gaze, listening only to the tempting heartbeat thudding just inches above her. It seemed to reverberate deeply through her skin, aching through every half-empty, lifeless blood vessel in her vampiric body – but this is her mother, she thought desperately, the woman who nurtured her and raised her all of her life, even if she was now a shadow of her former self. Surely, even now, she meant more to her than this?
"Late night last night huh?" her mom continued, persisting for a response. She simply nodded, now feeling her fangs pressing against her bottom lip. Should she tell her? She didn't want to hurt her – perhaps that would be the only way to save her. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her pillow, staining it deep red.
"Well," Hilary said, leaning on her daughter's body as she stood up. "Maggie will be here soon, so breakfast will be ready in about an hour if you want any. Oh, and you'd better get yourself up and dressed – she'll be packing away the clothes that you so kindly left for her." The usual touch of venom poisoned her final words.
"Mom, I'm really tired," Dillan said, attempting to add a realistic croak to her voice. "I need to catch up on some sleep. Can't I pack them away myself? Just ask Maggie to bring the cases up for me."
"Okay", her mother sighed. A wave of relief flowed calmly through her body. "But she'll be coming in later on to tidy up in here." Dillan nodded as her mother walked out of the room. She was very, very tired and extremely agitated, which seemed to exemplify the discomfort caused by her insatiable thirst. She arose from her bed and began to pace the room nervously, contemplating what her next move would be. She needed to feed – there was never any doubt about that – but how would she do it? She would be tortured by the pulsating, warm blood around her all day as she pretended to be human. It was so easy to outwardly act as a human, she thought, yet so difficult to actually live as one. She looked over at her pillow, conscious of the smell of dried blood; what a monster she had become! Perhaps it was fitting that her sadness was painted by the blood of her victims, a constant reminder of the monstrosities she had committed.
There was a knock at the door. She quickly turned the pillow over, hiding the tell-tale bloodstains, and stood away from the door, wiping any remnants of blood from her cheeks. Satisfied that she looked as normal as possible, she called for the person to come in and Maggie, the housekeeper, walked into the room. She smelled of fresh laundry, pruned roses, summer and blood; the fragrances seemed so different, yet they were perfectly and inextricably linked. She licked her lips hungrily, subconsciously. The housekeeper, a plump, perpetually cheerful woman in her early fifties, smiled brightly at the girl she had practically raised.
"Hey sweetie!" she chirped. "How's my little red riding hood?" She began to wheel Dillan's large suitcases into her room.
"I'm okay thanks Mags," Dillan replied vaguely, distracted by the thudding heartbeat pounding in her ears. She shook her head, trying to break free of her desirous thoughts. "Did you have a good vacation?"
"It wasn't bad, thank you for asking honey." Her voice blossomed harmoniously into the room, filling it with the sunshine that couldn't hurt her, light that she desperately needed. She wanted to destroy it, to absorb the light and fill herself with the darkness and freedom that she craved. "Now what're you doing sat in the dark?" Maggie laughed. Her laughter echoed around the like bells in a church.
"I have a bad headache," Dillan murmured, sitting down on the bed and cradling her cold head in her hands. It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore her cravings now, her inner beast was clawing away at her insides and she needed peace. Desperately.
"Well then, I shall leave you to it," Maggie replied kindly. "I'll be up a little later on to clean up your room darlin', just pack your clothes away if you will and I'll leave you to get some rest."
"Thank you," Dillan croaked, hoping again that her fake hoarseness would add sincerity. She smiled weakly as Maggie left the room, leaving a trail of scent so strong that she could almost see it, blood red, against the darkness of the air.
She felt disgusted with herself – would she never see the beauty of life again? Every human she met was blood and nothing more; pulsing, delicious, dark blood - the fountain of eternal youth lay waiting for her in every mortal, and she had the means and power to drink from it. As she was packing away her clothes her mind wandered back to her hunt from the previous night, nameless, unknown and without consequence. In all of this feral killing, the lack of consequences were all part of the thoughtless enjoyment, but would she be able to enjoy killing someone she loved? Thankfully, she didn't have to consider that for the time being - though if Maggie had lingered any longer she may well have found the answer.
After finally packing away the last few items of clothing from her numerous suitcases, she changed into her black jeans and a plain, black tank top. The clean clothes felt soft and fresh against her ghostly skin, they smelled of artificial flowers, comforting and familiar. She climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets over her head, attempting to hide from the human world around her, a world in which she certainly did not now belong. She was trapped in this cage of temptation, attempting to deny her innate instincts and what for? If she was completely soulless and unfeeling as she had previously assumed, this wouldn't be a problem for her; she was beginning to understand herself less and less, it was becoming extremely frustrating. She was losing faith in her abstinence as her mind became obsessed with hot, fresh blood, she could feel the phantom liquid stroking her tongue like velvet, pouring down her throat, exacerbating her thirst. Closing her eyes, she tried her hardest to escape these corruptive thoughts, but her mind was filled with memories of the hunt and, more importantly, the kill. She remembered the immense power that had infused her body afterwards, how every single cell of her body felt ten times more animated than usual. She felt utterly lifeless, a constant reminder that she was not in fact alive, but undead.
There was, of course, only one thing she could do – she had to run away, but where to? She didn't want to go too far, not until she understood what she had become and how to survive. The last thing she wanted to do was be around anyone she knew, but she must stay where the territory is familiar, she decided. Wouldn't the academy be perfect? She could sleep in one of the empty rooms in the day and then sneak out at night to hunt as she liked, surely even the vampires wouldn't be there over summer. She hoped they had gone away – the last thing she wanted to be confronted with was other monsters of her own kind, but it was a risk that she would have to take, it was too perfect an opportunity to miss.
Feeling restless, but more hopeful now, she got out of bed and began to pack her black rucksack, aching for the cool night-time to descend on the world. Only two hours had passed since Maggie had wandered into the dangers of her lair, as it was now only 11am. Having hastily packed her rucksack in a restless fervour, she was now at a loss as to what to fill her day with. The irrepressible hunger rose in her again, growing from strength to strength, creeping through her very skin. She was beginning to doubt that she could last the entire day without spilling blood as she could feel herself slipping into her inner darkness, her mind consumed with nothing but a crimson river of life flowing through her body. It was going to be a very, very long day.
Meanwhile, Maggie was preparing lunch as Hilary sat on her clinically white leather couch, feet resting on an Italian footstool and drinking her fourth large glass of red wine with her eyes closed. She always seemed to look immensely tired, perpetually suffering, most likely due to the exhausting effects of the anti-depressants her doctor continued to prescribe her. She felt like all she did these days was lope around the house, like a bored teenager, drinking her vintage wine, trapped in her own little bubble of depression and self-pity. She felt alone, dissociated from everyone around her; friends, family, no-one seemed to understand her plight and the reasons for her now pitiful, meaningless existence. Nevertheless, perhaps it was necessary to live in such a way to guarantee not only safety and security, but also the finer things in life. She sighed deeply, listening to the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as her housekeeper made lunch; she had life easy in comparison to millions of others, so why did she find it so difficult? Her mind ambled drunkenly back to her daughter and how separated they had become since she married Jerry. Once upon a time, they were as close as can be, practically joined at the hip when John passed away; she had never liked Jerry – but why should she, a forty year old woman, allow them to be estranged from one another? The wine was making her feel strong, resilient, with that fake confidence that only alcohol can instil; in her disjointed, distorted thoughts and perceptions of reality, she decided that now would be an excellent time to rebuild her relationship with her daughter and, leaning on the supple leather arms of her chair for support, somehow managed to stand up and hobble awkwardly towards the stairs.
Dillan had taken to pacing her room again, feeling a keen sense of irritation with her confinement, especially since she couldn't sleep. Hearing footsteps faintly on the soft, carpeted stairs, she quickly sat down at her desk and picked up the first magazine on the pile that permanently resided there. She looked down at her copy of Teen magazine, which smiled dazzlingly back at her, reminding her of the life that was taken away. When she found the bastard responsible, she would certainly pay him back, she thought, wherever he was. She hoped that, despite what she thought would happen, whoever was trudging up the stairs would not interrupt her as she continued to wrestle with her cravings. How could she trust herself to abstain when she could feel herself slipping into darkness? She would have to put her faith in love – if love truly does conquer all, she would be okay, as would whichever of her loved ones crossed her path first.
Her mother rapped her bony knuckles on the door, signalling the beginning of Dillan's next trying test. She floated into the room, her waved blonde hair wafting behind her, leaving trails of gold in the air. She seemed ethereal, a separate entity who had wandered unknowingly into her dark world. The smell hit her like a ton of bricks, delicious and enticing, within reach; she felt desire course through her consciousness and echo through the vast, empty chambers in her soul. How badly she wanted to sink her teeth into the soft flesh of the throat and drain the life out of her, to feel powerful, satisfied, partially satiating her intense hunger. Hilary sat down on the bed and, without saying a word, beckoned drunkenly for her daughter to join her. Breathing deeply and forcing a kindly smile, she slowly walked over and sat alongside her.
Maggie left the salad in the fridge, immaculately presented in a wooden bowl, knowing that it probably wouldn't be eaten. Sighing, she glanced into the sitting room where Hilary had been, only to see the empty wine bottle at the foot of her chair. The sunlight spilled brilliantly into the room through the perfectly clear windows, warming the hard, oakwood floors. It was such a beautiful day; usually she and Dill would go out for lunch on a day like this, maybe taking a picnic and going to the riverbanks, escaping from the suffocating air of the house. She remembered the little talks they used to have when Dill was younger, all the little secrets that they used to share about boys, skipping classes, sneaking out of the house at night – all of which she had never revealed. Though she had grown wary of trusting adults, she could never be distrusting of reliable old Mags; when she refused to contact her parents on her arrival at the Mansbridge Academy, she still wrote back to Maggie. There were a lot of happy memories, she thought; furtive whispering, little white lies, but always peppered by the lies her parents told her.
“Everything's fine,” her mother used to say endlessly, dreamily, barely lucid. “Jerry's just away on business.” Dillan knew differently – she knew he had gone to some exotic country with the latest in a long-legged line of blonde, airbrushed secretaries, on that occasion she had overheard them talking on the phone. No matter how many times she told her mom, she simply would not listen to a word of what she was saying, swatting away her words like meaningless flies. It was completely fruitless, extremely frustrating, something that she would always talk to Mags about – the only person who could see and understand what she was going through. Her childhood seemed to be centred on a core of untamed desires, lies, deception and repression; she was sick of her parents' actions and how they seemed to have little concern for anyone but themselves. At least, Maggie thought, her time at boarding school would remove her from such an emotionally destructive environment. Glancing at the time on her leather strapped, black wriswatch, she committed to leaving her memories behind her for the time being as, picking up her yellow duster and can of furniture polish, she slowly climbed the stairs towards Dillan's room.
Mad, I've said it before and I'll say it again. Your writing is pure genius, hunny!! 
which would mean that it will probably be posted on Monday. 
though I find that Boo's (that is his *human* name