Halos Designed to be Smashed. Wings Designed to be Broken.

It was early evening in my favourite month of the year. November. A cold, blustery month filled with dark mornings and black nights. I loved the way the wind would whip my face and blow my hair up into a frenzy. I loved the way the rain would cry down my cheeks like gentle, ice tears. I loved the comfortable coolness of it all.

It was a Saturday and a hectic shopping trip was drawing to a close. My friends and I had scurried through the town like insects. Topshop, Debenham’s, Miss Selfridge, the shops had become a blur.  None of the shops, of course, were suited to my somewhat ‘Vampiric’ tastes in clothing. Nowhere sold long, flowing, velvet dresses or beautiful hugging bodices. But finally, after all my boredom, I had my own turn.

I led my friends into the gloomy, dirty shopping mall that housed a small shop, set back from all of the others.

“We’re not going in that stupid Goth shop again.” Kirsty, my friend, groaned as we stepped closer, “I’m sure that last time there was a man in there that wanted to eat me.”

My other two friends guffawed at her stupid remark.

“I very much doubt it, Kirsty, I don’t think you’d be very tasty.” I retorted.

This, of course made the other two laugh even more. No doubt they were laughing at me, rather than with me.

However, despite the annoying remarks, they followed me into the shop.

The entrance had made me feel instantly at ease. It was a grey, stone effect, with two fake lanterns burning on either side of the huge archway. In the centre was the name. The Coven. This shop felt like home to me, the eerie Goth-rock blasting from the stereo, the unusual outfits, and the beautiful jewellery, it made me feel normal.

I rushed inside and began instantly looking through the long, sweeping dresses.

“This place is creepy.” My friend, Helen, commented as she wrapped her white coat more tightly around her. It would have been quite fair to say that she looked totally out of place and utterly petrified.

“Yeah, I don’t see why we had to come in here.” Melissa replied as she linked her arm with Helen’s.

I was about to turn around and give her a lecture about how I’d had to cope with hundred’s of their boring shops, but I decided better of it and busied myself looking for the perfect outfit.

I could hear them, whispering behind me, but I tried my best to ignore them.

Then I found it, truly the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was long and its long sleeves were ragged and hung about a foot below the arms. It was a deep, erotic red covered with a black mesh.

I picked it up and held it against me, facing the mirror. It looked brilliant with my jet-black hair and brown, made up eyes. It made my pale skin gleam eerily. I squealed with delight and turned around to ask my friends’ opinion.

My face fell as I saw them striding towards the exit. I wanted to chase them, stop them, yell at them, but I didn’t. I stayed totally still and watched them leave the shop.

I could feel tears stinging the back of my eyes like tiny pinpricks, but I was determined not to show my sadness. Instead, I took the dress to the changing room and drew the curtain.

As I gazed at myself in the mirror, a smile adorned my pale face once more. I looked excellent. Of course, my self-confidence was quite low and I needed a second opinion. I decided to open the curtain. Surely by the reaction of other people in the shop, I would know how I looked.

Nervously, I pulled the curtain back, and there I saw him.

He was the beauty of all beauties. He was tall and his hair was a dark blonde. He was dressed in black, leather trousers and a tight, black t-shirt. On top, he wore a long, flowing black coat.

“You look beautiful.” He commented, after he had looked me up and down.

I felt slightly embarrassed, but muttered a quick ‘ thank you’ and changed back into my own clothes.

I emerged from the cubicle and instantly bought the dress. I turned around to leave the shop and saw him still stood, watching me. After a few moments, he approached. I didn’t actually see him move, but he must have done so because he was suddenly standing very close to me.

“I saw what your friends did,” He said. I could detect a French accent as he spoke, “It was most cruel.”

I instantly felt defensive. The last time a conversation had started like that, it had ended with a crowd of people laughing at me.

“Yeah, well, the world is cruel.” I replied huffily, turning my back.

He looked down for a moment before slowly moving his gaze back to me.

“That is only too true, ma chère, only too true.” He mused.

At this, I turned back round to face him. As I gazed upon his pale face, he looked suddenly quite sad. I could see in his eyes the loneliness that mirrored my eyes perfectly.

He must have sensed this.

“Would you care to join me for a drink?” He asked, the words rolling sensually off his tongue.

He said it in a way that was so different to how men would usually make a suggestion. Not that anyone had ever asked me out for a drink before, I only knew from watching my friends. He asked the question in a way that made it sound sexy and almost scandalous all in one instant.

I opened my mouth to say ‘No,’ after all, it was never a good idea to accept an offer from a stranger, but almost unconsciously, I found myself saying,  “Yes please.”

We set off into the street, arm-in-arm. It was pitch black outside by that point and the dim streetlights were the only thing that was keeping me from loosing my way. The man held me tightly and led me to an old, dimly lit bar on one of the back streets of the town.

He bought the drinks and sunk down onto the soft seat beside me.

“You know, a man cannot truly appreciate the beauty of a flower until he knows its name.” He said softly.

It took a while for me to understand what he had meant. I wasn’t used to anyone who talked in such a way. I was used to straight talking, open people, but he seemed to speak in riddles.

I would have expected such a way of speaking to be frustrating, but there was something about the way he did it that I found almost sexy.

“My name’s Mary.” I answered.

He smiled and gazed at me for a moment before gently reaching forward and brushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I shuddered at his touch. He was ice cold and the gentle, sweeping motion seemed to arouse me.

“Of course, everyone at my school knows me as ‘Scary Mary’ just because of the way I look.” I added sadly. The words had tumbled out my mouth before I had chance to stop them. Why had I said it? He would be sure to think that I was a loser.

But luckily, he looked sympathetic.

“Jealousy is a monstrous thing.” He softly replied, his hand reaching for mine.

He rested his hand over mine and gently stroked the back of it with his thumb. His touch sent electricity through my body and I prayed that this wouldn’t turn out to be all some cruel dream.

“Tell me about yourself.” He said, suddenly, as he continued to caress my hand.

I took a moment or two to gather my thoughts. I always found it very hard to tell people about myself.

I took a deep breath, but no matter how hard I tried, I had nothing to say.

I admitted this to my companion and he smiled, understandingly.

“Why don’t you tell me about your favourite things?” He suggested kindly, gazing deep into my eyes.

His blue eyes were like deep, hypnotic pools.

“Well, I suppose my main passion is writing.” I replied.

He looked genuinely interested and my heart leapt with delight.

“What do you write?” He asked simply.

He phrased the question in the way that a child would have spoken, it seemed that he had ceased the need for riddles.

“Romance stories.” I answered, “I love the idea of the perfect romance. Two strangers meeting in an unlikely place and feeling an overpowering, burning lust which pours from their souls grain by grain. I love that moment where two lovers’ eyes meet and the world seems to stop. I love how a touch can spark electricity, which courses through each body before bursting like a firework within the heart. I love how a first kiss can feel as though the waves have crashed, the stars have fallen and trumpets are serenading you from the heavens all in one instant. I suppose I just love the fantasy.”

The man smiled and nodded to each thing I said, gradually moving to close the gap between us.

“Romance causes the world to rotate. It is what we all truly live for.” He agreed softly.

Despite my difficulty speaking at first, I began to feel more at ease. There were hundreds of things I could think of to say and my brain had difficulty processing each separate thought at a time.

“That’s why I like Vampire novels,” I said, “They’re always so romantic and sensual.”

His eyes seemed to light up with a red flame of desire.

“So Vampires are sexy.” He muttered, as if to himself, “Tell me, ma chère, do you have a favourite author?”

I smiled. Of course I had a favourite author. The author whose books had cast my mind into a world of fantasy and excitement that was missing from the world to date.

“Anne Rice.” I replied simply.

A half smile seemed to crawl its way across his lips.

“I suppose you’ve heard the stories,” He commented, “there’s talk that maybe Anne Rice doesn’t exist. That maybe vampires all around the world have used her as a penname to disguise the fact that they aren’t as much of a fantasy as the world thinks.”

I couldn’t help but grin. The way he talked was as though he shared the same passion for the books that I did.

“So,” He continued, “What do you think? Do you really believe there are creatures out there with a dark gift?”

As he asked the question I watched his mouth glide beautifully over each word and said ‘dark gift’ in a way that caused goose bumps to break out on my skin. I couldn’t help but wonder how those soft lips would feel gliding over mine. I was sure he would taste amazing.

I snapped back to reality when I saw him watching me, waiting for an answer. I tried hard not blush as I wondered whether he had noticed me staring at his lips.

“I thought about this a while ago and I decided that there is no reason why Vampires couldn’t exist. In fact, I’d quite like them to.” I answered, “And I love the thought that maybe the stories I love to read are true.”

He nodded understandingly and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

He leaned closer to me, so close that I cold feel his breath on my soft skin. He leant closer still, until his lips were almost in contact with my ear.

“Would it surprise you if I told you my name is Lestat?” He whispered.

I felt myself physically shiver with excitement as I heard those words. There was a long pause, but they continued to echo through my mind like the sweetest of melodies. The words danced erotically through my brain, before bursting in my heart as what could only be described as an emotional orgasm.