Vampire Rites: Death (and Undeath)

It was as if Ylrios was watching a play of his own death unfold before his very eyes.

There must've been pain, but that was before he was caught. He remembered being toyed with, running, stumbling, a feeble struggle, a cut-off scream. The enjoyment was one-sided but made itself known, pleasure echoing in the halls, dripping blood barely visible on the plush red carpet. He must've tried moving until he couldn't, and he thought it would've been poetic if the last thing he could see was the stage, but it was the high ceiling, mimicking a starless night.

No audience was here to applaud him, not this time.

An intermission:

–Have you seen Ylrios?

–No one was answering the door.

–He's not the type to be late.

–Maybe he finally got a life, haha.

–You'll be taking over his role, then.

The show must go on.

When Ylrios took in his first breath, he felt as if his lungs were burning. Everything felt dry and stiff, like pulling his limbs out of glue. An indefinite amount of time passed before he could get his thoughts in working order, lining up the memories he had left until they made sense. The ceiling that he was staring at was not the theater's - it was much closer and smaller and very much unfamiliar. Panic bubbled from his chest as he pooled whatever energy he could muster into sitting up, and it was only then that he registered that he was on a bed. A thoughtful consideration, in hindsight, but not in the moment.

Groaning, the next step would be to get out of bed, which was much easier said than done. Besides the overall heaviness, there was also a painful gnawing in his stomach, as if he hadn't eaten for days. After what felt like an eternity, he felt his hooves hit the wooden floor, and with his body fully upright, he tried to get a better look of his surroundings, though there was not much to look at.

The room was plain and not lived in. Nothing hung on the walls, but they were at least clean and nothing was peeling off. There was no window either; the area was kept lit by hidden lights that sat in a gap between wall and ceiling. The overall effect, however, was that the place was rather dim, and Ylrios was given no indication on whether it was day or night.

Somehow, if he should've felt fear at this moment, he didn't. Perhaps it was the hunger or the frustration, or simply the desire to be anywhere else but this strange dull room, but the only thing that was holding him back from opening the door to his right was physical weakness. Such circumstance he could overcome with sheer willpower; he was not going to let this be his final resting place.

Thankfully, it was not locked.

A hallway opened up before his eyes, looking more well-cared for than the room he was in. Gold accent trimmings stretched before him. The corridor was long and littered with doors placed neatly, so Ylrios assumed this must be some kind of guest area. He hoped he was a guest…well, what else would he be?

There was no one else, as far as he could see.

Left led to a dead end (no window, just a painting of an unfamiliar face, pale as a ghost) so turned right, past the identical doors and quiet surroundings. Curiosity was barely containing the growing thirst for something he didn't want to put into words. The feelings were alien and not his, he reasoned, hallucinations that were part of the dream (no, he knew that he wasn't dreaming, but maybe he could still hope?)

The hallway ended with a large room, the back of a grand staircase. It was not odd to find that this place turned out to be a mansion, but whether it was inhabited still remained–

"Oh." the voice was faint from the distance, but still heard.

Ylrios froze, a Freign caught in the jacklight, when he heard another voice and then saw their gaze directed at him. It was not the same as what he experienced in the theater, but oddly similar; a presence that forebode death.

No sentences were exchanged between them, for the stranger, not hostile at the moment, walked towards him and grabbed him by the hoof, leading him to another hallway. He was surprised to find himself without any willpower to fight, or perhaps he was weaker than he initially thought. He would try to protest, but their pace was fast, and he would often only have enough energy to keep moving.

They would eventually find themselves in a plush receiving room, where a bun was lounging on one of the soft couches with a glass of deep red wine. It took a few moments for Ylrios to realize that this was the subject of the painting he saw earlier, but the art could not capture her presence completely.

She took one look at them, mostly uninterested, before waving off the bun that brought him here. Once they were alone, she took a sip of the liquid in her cup before speaking. "How much do you know?"

Ylrios narrowed his eyes, unsure of what kind of answer she wanted. "Nothing, I'm afraid."

She grinned, and in effect showed her sharp fangs. They were like what he saw that fateful evening, and a piece of memory resurfaced. He had been bitten, hadn't he? By whoever that came to him in the night. Unconsciously he reached for his neck area, wondering if he would find what remained of that wound.

"Good." she swirled the liquid in her glass. Something in his mind made him doubt if it was actually wine. "That is how it should be. My dear, it does not pain me to say this, but you are one of us now."

Ylrios' fur prickled. He wanted to leave, but he had suspicions that he couldn't. "And who is 'us'?"

"Why, vampires, of course."