Jacyn's Journey 

It hadn't taken me very long to realize that there was nothing special about the night for my kind. It was all just a distorted falsehood, another element of the nightmarish tales of cursed men and women. It was one more myth for me to discover and discard, and I left the night feeling no more at peace than I had started it. I only felt more alone and more inclined to maintain my tacit distance from others. I felt as though the hurt would never end, but only get worse.

I glanced around the park again and took another drag from the cigarette, and after I let the smoke escape from my lips and nostrils, I suddenly felt an odd presence, and quickly spun on my left heel, my right foot landing about a foot-and-a-half behind my left. My legs were bent slightly and most of my weight rested back on my right leg, my left arm was in front of me and bent with my fist at waist height, my right fist was pulled close to my ribs. The unexpected and fast shift in my posture had been enough to startle the presence I had spun to face, and she quickly stepped back away from me while squeaking out her alarm.

“WHOA!” she screeched, her hands quickly coming up before her in fear. “I didn’t mean to startle you, vampire-man.”

She was anything but threatening, and I quickly felt stupid for reacting as I had, but she had indeed startled me. With my senses as heightened as they were, I thought it was impossible for anyone to sneak up on me as she had, but when she had moved close enough to me by bringing herself within about six feet, I simply knew that she was there.

“What did you just call me?” I queried, relaxing from my stance and drawing another drag from the cigarette that was still squeezed between my lips. I was still trying to figure out how she had gotten so close without me noticing, but I was distracted by something else about her that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. For a moment, I could have sworn I heard her heart beating.

Before me stood what could easily have been a teen beauty pageant winner, a prom queen, or a professional model. She was none of those things, through no fault of her own. She stood five-and-a-half feet tall, with a lithe, slender form that did not lack in femininity at all. Her complexion was an alabaster crème and unblemished, and her hair, which was straight and long enough to cover the small of her back, was naturally a dark brunette, though she had bleached it to a very pale blond. Her breasts were ample but not large, and her backside was firm, tight, and perfectly rounded. Her legs were long and toned, though a pair of thigh-high black leather boots occluded most of them from view. Her face was the image of girlish innocence; a small, pert nose, full, pouty lips, and bright, beautiful eyes, which were a deep brown, contrasting brilliantly against her pale skin and even paler hair. She wore a studded black leather jacket over a red-and-black lace corset top and a layered lace skirt that didn’t quite cover the upper halves of her thighs.

“Don’t be alarmed, Nosferatu of Kung-Fu,” she giggled out. “I know who you are and what you are. You don’t have to hide it from me. I’m one, too. My name is Brooklynn -- Brooklynn Marie Downey.” She flashed a bright smile at me, and even in the dimmer moonlight, I could clearly see her smaller fangs.