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papenathys · 3 days ago

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My friend made a similar post to this awhile ago but I think my problem with "cannibalism as obsessive love" or "blood drinking as shared eroticism" isn't the simple existence of the tropes so much as the fact that due to popular western culture, this ONE interpretation of vampirism and cannibalism has become the word of God interpretation.

Cannibalism is now allowed to mean nothing else except obsessive love, if one so much as dares to provide a different interpretation, it becomes far too bleak and disgusting to comprehend for a subsection of Western readers. Thinking of books primarily like Tender is the Flesh, Moon of the Crusted Snow, Walking Practice, even certain aspects of Hannibal NBC dare I say.

A slight digression into the NBC show; Hannibal cannibalizes humans not necessarily out of a twisted psychosexual need of intimacy, not always, not like Garrett Jacob Hobbs. More often than not, it's because he thinks they are "worse than pigs", his conversation with Dr. Gideon in the s3 flashbacks making it abundantly clear that to him, taking someone's bodily autonomy from them is okay if you're a "higher species/being". He cannibalizes people who irritate him, who instigate him, who happened to have been there. It's funny, it's petty, it's really darkly humorous, except when it's not, which is to say, when he takes the w***ig* form. I am not the biggest fan of Bryan Fuller's symbolism and his cherry picking from Indigenous cultures, but I am intrigued by how Hannibal is depicted in Will's semiconscious.

His mindset about his dehumanized victims too, is an interesting factor, when you consider how cannibalism has often been equated with the oppressor as a symbol of unsatiated greed in Indigenous horror; on a similar vein, one should see The Vegetarian by Han Kang for a gender aspect in Asian patriarchal society, where the heroine is brutalized for not allowing her body to consume flesh, or be consumed symbolically. Also, refer to the above linked article on Tender is the Flesh, which says, "You can’t call what’s going on here “cannibalism"....(it's) a literal Transition, from Taboo to Permitted", via the couching of it in livestock rearing terminology (or in Lecter's case, "ethical" hunting and fishing). Just as Bazterrica dehumanizes the "bred humans" as "head", Hannibal thinks little of the humans he eats, to him they are low hanging fruit or easy game; they deserved it, and because they could not resist the violence done unto them, unlike Will, who resisted, retaliated and became the perfect victim, they became breakfast. I would say he cannibalized Will without ever eating him. (I will also go into the psychological and erotic grooming aspect of Hannibal with ref to Will and Randall Tier in my essay...that too, is cannibalism).

Besides, as mentioned already, that show appropriates the image of Indigenous w***i** for its artsy aesthetic, when the creature is a monster specific to Indigenous, particularly, Algonquin mythos. Of course Indigenous horror looks at cannibalism in a different light: cannibal appetites and the monster itself is heavily connected to settler colonialism and greed. Not everything is about queer eroticism, Hannigram or Yellowjackets-style.

Note: Eat Your Young by Hozier, for example, definitely isn't about sexy times covered in blood, it's about capitalism and the military-industrial complex. You'll be surprised to know in what context that song is used online though.

Coming back to the topic of vampirism, which interests me much less in its current conceptualization, many readers slam dunked on House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson because the vampiric entity is a) not named, and b) tied to an almost blatant allegory of slavery and indentureship (see also: The Wicked and The Willing by Lianyu Tan). Idk what's more concerning, the fact that some did not "realise" that the vampires were a colonialism motif, or the fact that people regarded the queer relationships in these books to be merely primal, sexy, slightly "toxic" erotic devotion fantasies, rather than the sinister imbalanced powerplay of sexual coercion between racialized servant and white master–in a Victorian Gothic novel, that is one step away from styling itself as a historical antebellum allegory!

I have also seen people calling more nuanced understandings of these books "puritanical". Everybody is horny and nothing should ever be divorced from Freud, ever again. It reminds me of the complete forgoing of understandings of racial dynamics when it comes to watching Interview with The Vampire (particularly the Louis x Armand dynamic of s2, and the antiblackness of *many* IWTV fans) or reading a literary fiction novel about biracial identity and heritage like Woman, Eating by Claire Kohda, which I talked about here.

It's fascinating, if not particularly surprising how people pick and choose for dominant group narratives which taboo topic is sexy now, and which one is altogether too discomforting to be interpreted in a different light. Anyway, I will talk more about this in my essay about the oversimplification of taboo. My point is, these stories are all good, interesting (if flawed) "taboo" or dark fictional narratives. But isn't it boring to apply a single, overdone yet simultaneously undercooked interpretation to all discomforting stories, when sometimes, the canon itself is lending to other readings? Why can't there be more avenues of interpretation and discussion beyond the endless train of "cannibalism blood incest judas iscariot dog motif obsessive love"?

#mimiwrites #anti intellectualism #tropes #essays #film #books #horror #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #indigenous #indigenous books #tender is the flesh #anti capitalism #vampires #iwtv #amc iwtv #black authors #literature

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vampires-official · 2 days ago

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[ID: a metal flask with dried blood dripping down the opening. On top of the image is text reading "no alcohol in my flask this is human blood". The human blood portion is edited on by cross out the original text and writing over it./end ID]

official vampire post

Ahhh my favourite drink 🍷 the og post (Ig?)

#vampires #vampire image

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doumadono · 2 days ago

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IV - THE BUTCHER OF THE DEADLANDS

Summary: Shigaraki and All For One sought answers from the ruthless Overhaul, whose dark experiments and growing influence might threaten Sangreal’s reign, and might hold the key to unraveling the mysteries of the human girl Dabi spared as well. Meanwhile, Hawks, a Sangreal Hunter, suggested a deeper connection between you and Dabi’s potential plans, sparking a new wave of uncertainty within you

Warnings: mentions of blood & experiments, vampires, mentions of vampire Dabi, vampire Shigaraki, vampire AFO, vampire Overhaul, vampire Hawks, Shigaraki despises Overhaul and vice versa

WCT: circa 2.6k

𖥸 SANGREAL - previous chapter 𖥸 chapter V (to be added) 𖥸 SANGREAL - playlist 𖥸 MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The Deadlands stretched endlessly beyond the shattered ruins of Musutafu, a wasteland of ashen soil and skeletal remains, where the land itself had been scarred beyond repair. The last nuclear blasts had left this place twisted, grotesque, a place where the air was thick with the stench of decay and scorched metal.

The sky, choked by ash, hung low over the ruins, casting everything in an eerie sepia glow.

Nothing lived here. Nothing human, at least. What was left had been claimed by monsters. And some of those monsters built kingdoms in the dark.

Somewhere within this desolation, carved into the ruins of an abandoned research complex, was a place that Overhaul had carved out his dominion.

The facility was a fortress of steel and suffering, built deep into the husk of an old underground medical research center. The original structure had been swallowed by time, but Overhaul had repurposed it, expanding its depths, reinforcing its walls, and filling its corridors with horrors that should have never existed.

The moment AFO and Shigaraki arrived, the stench of sterilization chemicals, blood, and rotting flesh assaulted their senses.

Tomura’s nose curled. He already wanted to disintegrate this place to the ground. He hated this place. It stank of sterilized, unneeded cruelty, of rotting flesh and antiseptic, of Chisaki’s disgusting attempt at godhood.

The walls were lined with metal pipes, steam hissing through the cracks, condensation pooling beneath flickering overhead lights. The corridors were tight, clinical, but everything here felt wrong. A laboratory built on corpses.

The doors hissed open.

The man waiting for them stood perfectly still, flanked by two masked enforcers, his posture straight, pristine — calculated.

Chisaki Kai. Overhaul.

His golden eyes gleamed with clinical detachment as he stepped forward, his black gloves flexing against the sleeves of his meticulously kept coat. “Welcome,” he said smoothly, though there was no warmth in it. “I wasn’t expecting a personal visit.” His golden eyes flicked toward Shigaraki, lips curling slightly behind his plague mask. “Oh. And you brought your heir.”

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched violently — he already wanted to tear Overhaul’s face off.

Overhaul’s lips twitched slightly, but he ignored him, turning to AFO instead. “To what do I owe the honor, my lord?”

All For One sighed. “Must you always waste time with empty pleasantries, Chisaki?”

Overhaul gave a shallow bow. “Only with those who deserve it.”

Tomura bristled immediately, but All For One raised a hand. Not yet.

They were led inside, deeper into the labyrinthine halls, past observation rooms filled with creatures that barely resembled vampires anymore.

Tomura’s fingers itched to decay the place.

As they moved through the corridors, the creatures imprisoned behind tanks made of glass convulsed, their twisted forms a nightmarish patchwork of flesh — warped, stitched together as if Overhaul had played god with whatever shattered remnants he could salvage. Mutated limbs sprouted where they didn’t belong, some grotesquely fused, others jutting at unnatural angles. Jagged bones pierced through their skin like cruel, organic armor.

No wonder they call him the Butcher of the Deadlands, Tomura thought to himself.

Overhaul walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back. “I take it you’re here for something important.”

“You tell me,” All For One said.

Overhaul paused, turning slightly. His golden eyes were calculating. “I assume this is about the incident in Musutafu.”

Shigaraki clicked his tongue. “Tsk. You mean the mess Dabi left behind?”

Overhaul arched a brow, amused. “A traitor burning some street filth? That’s hardly news.”

Overhaul’s minions pushed a massive iron door open, and Kai shifted aside to let his master and his heir into the chamber.

Tomura stepped through the massive iron doors with utter disdain, heavy boots clicking against the bloodstained floor. All For One, his father, walked beside him.

Overhaul stood at the far end of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, his golden irises gleaming dully in the dim light.

Shigaraki clicked his tongue, stepping forward with a lazy, slouched stride, his claws dragging over the rusted railing of an abandoned operating table.

“Dabi spared a human female,” All For One stated. “Have you heard of this?”

“Well,” Overhaul mused, “that is interesting.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Spare us the dramatics.”

Overhaul ignored him. “A former Sangreal Hunter saves a human?” He exhaled, tilting his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d assume he was making a pet out of her, but Dabi?” His voice dipped in something almost thoughtful. “That’s not his style.”

“Do you think she’s of value?” All For One asked. "I had hoped you'd tell me she was one of your little projects — one that somehow defied the odds, slipping through your grasp before you had the chance to tear her apart."

Overhaul exhaled slowly, tilting his head as if considering the possibility. "Sadly, she’s not one of mine," he admitted, his tone laced with a quiet disappointment. "It’s been quite some time since I last had the luxury of a human subject in my laboratory. But I think it would be wise to retrieve her,” Overhaul continued, stepping closer. “If she was spared by Dabi, then there must be a reason. She must be an anomaly,” Overhaul continued, golden eyes gleaming. “And anomalies are meant to be studied.” He straightened, his confidence absolute. “I need that girl. I’ll find out why she was spared.”

Shigaraki didn’t miss the way Overhaul’s fingers flexed slightly, as if anticipation was curling through him like a drug. Tomura bristled. He knew what that meant. Stripped down. Drained. Torn apart. Kai's research didn’t birth miracles — it gave rise to abominations that could one day become a devastating threat to Sangreal.

“This facility has grown,” All For One noted, his voice smooth as silk, yet laced with quiet menace.

“Indeed,” Kai replied, bowing his head slightly.

“You’re making an army,” Shigaraki muttered, voice low, dark.

“Let’s say I’m preparing for the unexpected future.”

Shigaraki scoffed. “The future?” His fingers twitched. “You mean the one where you stab us all in the back and play king?”

AFO, however, remained neutral. “I do not tolerate insubordination, Kai,” the vampire king reminded.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my Lord.”

Shigaraki hated him. He hated the calm, collected way Overhaul spoke, as if he wasn’t standing in a mausoleum of his own twisted creations. “Careful,” Shigaraki sneered, voice thick with mockery. “Wouldn’t want you to choke on all that self-importance.”

Kai gave Tomura a brief glance, scoffing under his breath.

AFO was unmoved. “So, what do you propose, Chisaki?”

Overhaul’s voice remained calm. “I’ve been working on a new batch of enhanced hunters. They are stronger, faster, and unshackled by the limitations of lower-class filth.” He gestured to the cages lining the walls. “I will send them into the Dregs. They will retrieve her. Alive.”

Shigaraki exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he turned his gaze toward AFO. “This is a bad idea,” he stated, his tone edged with frustration. “Dabi shall be our main priority now. He’s unpredictable, and he’s had too much time to get comfortable. He should have been eliminated already.” His crimson eyes cut toward Overhaul, filled with disgust. “Going after the girl first gives him leverage — it gives him time. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that he thrives when he's backed into a corner.”

“The difference between you and me, Tomura,” he said smoothly, “is that I think strategically. I plan every move, carefully considering the outcome before I act.”

Tomura grinned, sharp and jagged. “The difference between us, Chisaki,” he murmured, stepping closer, “is that I don’t need to play god to be dangerous.”

AFO simply raised a hand, silencing them both. “Do what you must,” he looked at Overhaul, his voice final. “And do not fail me.”

Overhaul bowed his head. “I won’t, my lord.”

Two days passed before the results arrived.

Aizawa sat with Recovery Girl in one of the makeshift med-bays, fingers tapping against the surface of the old desk.

The results lay before them.

The girl’s blood was unlike anything they had ever seen. Quirk-carrying. Pure. Unchanged.

And, most importantly — it resisted the infection.

A cure. Possibly.

The Recovery Girl sighed, setting the document down. “Her blood is unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s resisting the virus.”

Aizawa exhaled, rubbing his temples. “We need to keep her safe.”

“Further testing could lead to a cure.” The Recovery Girl nodded. “If Sangreal finds out…”

Aizawa didn’t need to say what would happen.

Because if they had figured this out — sooner or later — so would Sangreal.

The rebellion’s safe zone was a hollowed-out metro station, its tunnels stretching deep beneath the ruins, carved into a labyrinth of survival. Makeshift shacks, supply stations, and dimly lit corridors breathed with life, filled with refugees, fighters, and those who had nowhere else to go. The air smelled of damp stone, of rusted metal and burning oil, of too many bodies packed into too small a space.

You wandered the tunnels of the rebellion’s hideout.

You weren’t supposed to leave the infirmary. But you needed to walk to clear your mind. And you needed answers.

That was when you saw him.

And every instinct screamed at you to run.

The scent reached you first. That faint, unmistakable trace of death. It wasn’t the overwhelming, suffocating stench of low-class vampires — or feral ones who reeked of rotting flesh, dried blood, and decay. No, this was something different. Fainter. Sharper. Cleaner.

But unmistakably, it was a vampire’s scent.

You had learned to recognize it. The knowledge had saved you more than once.

Your body locked up, muscles winding tight, your heartbeat kicking against your ribs. Your gaze snapped to the winged man lounging lazily against a stack of crates.

He was handsome. Too handsome. But not in the way that made people comfortable. His features were sharp, lined with an unnatural, effortless beauty that felt almost designed to be disarming. His golden eyes, half-lidded in amusement, glinted like a predator watching its prey.

But it was the details that gave him away.

The massive red wings shifting lazily behind him. The long, clawed fingers, tapping idly against the hilt of a sword that was one of his large, red feathers. And when he smirked — pristine white fangs, sharp and gleaming, flashed on the people that were passing him by.

A vampire. Undoubtedly. One of them.

And yet — no one reacted. The rebels passing by didn’t scream, didn’t run, didn’t even flinch. Some even greeted him. One woman tossed him an orange — the most luxurious of all goods, which he caught without looking, flashing her a cocky grin.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, stomach twisting in confusion.

What the hell was a vampire doing here?

More importantly — why wasn’t anyone afraid?

His golden gaze slid toward you. And he grinned. “Well, well.” His voice was smooth, light, laced with amusement as he raised his tone to make sure you could hear him. “Look who finally decided to crawl out of hiding. You’re the girl Aizawa took care of?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to step forward, even though every instinct begged you to stay the hell away. “You’re a vampire,” you pointed out flatly, not bothering to mask your suspicion as you skipped replying to his question.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I am.” He tilted his head slightly, flashing his fangs in a mocking little show. “But don’t worry — I don’t drink human blood. Anymore.”

That didn’t make you feel any better.

Your fingers clenched at your sides. “You must have been a Hunter. What are you even doing here?”

His grin widened. Too sharp. Too knowing. “Still am,” he corrected lazily. "Let’s just say I’m deeply loyal to Aizawa so I am helping around from time to time, and that’s all you need to know for now.”

You swallowed hard. His name clicked in your head. “You're Hawks.”

The vampire gave a slow, mocking bow. “In the flesh.”

A thousand stories surfaced in your mind.

Sangreal’s fastest, deadliest Hunter. The one who could track anything, anywhere. A shadow with wings, a death with golden eyes, as survivors used to call him.

And now, he was standing in front of you, alive, laughing like this was all some kind of joke.

You had no desire to prolong this conversation — exhaustion weighed heavy on you, and the last thing you wanted was to linger in the presence of a vampire who, under different circumstances, wouldn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into your throat. But he was the only one who might have answers you desperately sought. The only one who could tell you about the vampire who had saved you.

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. “What do you know about Dabi?”

The shift in Hawks was immediate.

The amusement in his gaze didn’t fade, but something changed beneath it. A flicker of something deeper.

There was a long pause. Then, a slow chuckle came.

“I know he’s not who he used to be,” Hawks uttered. “But I don’t think even he knows who he is anymore.”

Your brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Hawks exhaled, tilting his head as if debating how much he wanted to say. “He was the most dangerous of all Sangreal’s Hunters,” he began, his voice low and steady. “Every order from All For One was carried out swiftly, with no room for hesitation or mercy. He was promising. Whispers among the vampires suggested he could one day take the lead of the Court of Obsidian, overthrowing Kurogiri, who had held the position for years. But then, he started to defy Sangreal’s rules. To question their orders.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he studied you. “You heard what he did?” He let the silence hang for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a quiet hiss. “He left Sangreal.”

You shook your head, disbelief tightening around your throat. That was impossible.

“And you need to understand that’s like a death sentence.”

A cold dread slithered through your veins, sinking deep into your bones.

Hawks leaned back, stretching with a casual ease, a yawn escaping his lips as his wings shifted behind him, the feathers rustling faintly. “It happened nearly twenty years ago, before the sky was permanently smothered by clouds after the Night of Ash,” he stated, his voice smooth yet cold. “Sangreal passed the death sentence on him. They wanted to make an example of him, to show the other vampires the price of disloyalty. They executed their plan, tying him down on the rooftop of the highest skyscraper in Tokyo, leaving him there to burn under the sun. And yet,” the winged vampire continued, a sly amusement creeping into his tone, “he’s still alive, somehow. Still out there. Stirring up mayhem whenever it suits him. Thumbing his nose at the Sangreal regime like he’s untouchable.”

Your breath hitched. “You think he has a plan?”

A slow smirk crossed Takami’s face. “I think he’s waiting.”

“For what?”

Another pause.

"No idea. But I start to think—" Hawks flicked his feather sword into the air, the blade spinning, catching the dim light as it tumbled effortlessly before landing back in his grip, snug and sure. His fingers curled around the hilt with unnerving ease, his smirk lazy, his eyes anything but. "—that you might be exactly what he’s been waiting for all this time, girl."

The weight of his words didn’t just settle— it sank, deep and leaden, pressing against your ribs, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

And for the first time since waking in the rebellion’s safe zone, a familiar, icy grip of fear coiled in your gut — sharp, cold, and undeniable.

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oliversrarebooks · 2 days ago

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The Rare Bookseller Part 89: Vivian's Inevitability

Previous > Masterlist tw: mind control, dehumanization

October 1925

Vivian's eyes fluttered open slowly. She felt wonderful, incredibly relaxed, reluctant to wake. It was so rare that she got to sleep as much as she wanted, hunting during the night and rehabilitating thralls during the day, grabbing fits of sleep when she could. She couldn't recall such a restful sleep with no nightmares, no tossing and turning. She was so light, as if a massive burden had been lifted from her, as if she had no responsibilities, no worries, and no fears.

As her eyes opened further, she realized that she was somewhere unfamiliar, reclining in a plush leather chair. There was a shaded electric light overhead, and she had certainly never lived in a place new or posh enough to have electricity.

She was…

That's right, she had been captured by vampires. She'd been taken by the vampires' notorious conditioning expert to be put under enthrallment. That thought should be terrifying to her, but it just wasn't.

"Vivian, dear, how are you feeling?"

"Really great, calm and relaxed, sir," Vivian answered automatically. "Wait, you're -- you're -- "

Lily, the conditioning expert, was seated next to her, a disarming smile on her face, dressed in a stylish floral housecoat and looking like any ordinary young woman. She was the vampire that Vivian had feared more than any other, the one who effortlessly stole away humans' minds and their futures. And face to face with her worst enemy, Vivian felt so…

Safe. So utterly and completely warm and safe, as though Miss Lily was her oldest friend, someone she could trust completely.

"What did you do to me, sir?" she said curiously.

"I helped you work through all of your troublesome anxieties, my dear. Don't you feel so much better now?"

"I… do, sir," said Vivian. "You put me under your spell. I'm under right now, aren't I?"

"Yes, that's right. How does it feel to finally be enthralled?"

Vivian had seen it in her nightmares so many times -- vampires erasing her memories and forcing her to submit while she writhed and struggled fruitlessly against the mental invasion. It was especially fearsome because of its near-inevitability. Hunters rarely retired -- fight vampires long enough, and it was inevitable you'd have a bad day, or a slip-up, or face a foe that you weren't prepared for. Hunters ended up dead if they were lucky or enthralled if they weren't.

She knew that her witch's lineage made her blood extremely desirable to vampires, and yet she constantly gambled with their mental powers, counting on her protection to keep her safe. Her fate was sealed from the moment she became a hunter, and everything she did was just buying time. She'd dreaded it more than anything, the night when she'd be forced to give up her autonomy and become a servant to a blood-sucking monster.

And now that that night was here, she felt…

"I feel at peace, sir," she said in surprise. "I feel as though I belong here, and that everything will be okay."

"That's wonderful!" said Miss Lily. "You've been doing excellently."

A shudder ran through Vivian at the praise. It was strangely difficult for her to focus, her mind wanting to drift and laze. "You must have made me feel this way, sir. You made me accept being enthralled. I never would have been okay with this."

"You were very eager to accept being enthralled, actually. You've spent your whole life fighting vampires, and you've been terrified of our powers this whole time, haven't you? Isn't it a relief to learn that enthrallment isn't scary at all?"

"It is, sir." Many thralls -- especially those prone to relapse -- told the hunters that enthrallment was blissful and pleasant. She'd always privately thought they were weak-willed, but now that it was upon her, she could see that they were right. "Am I weak-willed, sir?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" Miss Lily's laugh was like bells. "Not in the slightest. You put up exemplary resistance. You're very lucky, really. It's often the case that the most resistant tend to fall the hardest and the sweetest." She stroked Vivian's cheek fondly. "I think you feared this because you always knew deep down this is what you needed. You were so exhausted, so tired of fighting and struggling. Some part of you knew that you wanted this, and it scared you. Now there's nothing for you to fear. All is well."

"All is well," she repeated, but despite the assurance, there was something nagging at her. "Then what happens to me now, sir? Do I truly belong to you… or are you going to put me up for auction?" The horrible thought cut through her calm. She could picture herself dolled up and led to an auction block for vampires to bid on, helpless to affect her fate.

"Yes, my dear, you truly belong to me. I have no intention of selling you. You're far too precious a treasure."

"I am, sir?" she said, once again feeling flushed.

"Yes, of course you are. I have an eye for quality," said Miss Lily. "And I found that we have a lot in common. We both work very hard, and we both care a lot about the well-being of thralls. You were just a little misguided."

"Misguided, sir?"

"Yes, misguided. You thought that thralls needed to be rescued, when what they really needed was to be hypnotized and matched with a fitting owner. You had the right idea, and you were trying to help, but you just didn't understand how very important it is for humans like you to be mesmerized into serving vampires. You're so much happier and more fulfilled this way, and it enriches the vampires' lives as well, so that we can live in harmony. Do you see that now?"

Vivian hesitated. There was something bothering her about this, but with Miss Lily smiling at her so sweetly, all of her arguments were slipping from her head. "That… makes sense, sir."

"Very good, my dear. I just knew you would understand." Miss Lily handed her a tumbler full of water. "You've been asleep for a while. You should drink."

She took the water, only realizing how parched she was as she sipped. It gave her a moment to think, her situation really sinking in. She was a thrall now. She belonged to a vampire.

This… wasn't right…

It was difficult to even force the thought through her mind, like wading through molasses, and the effort made her head hurt. She could clearly remember being a hunter, hating vampires, dreading this fate. She knew those had been her feelings, and that what she was feeling now was just because she'd been hypnotized. And yet…

"Is everything all right, dear?" Miss Lily tucked a piece of Vivian's hair behind her ear.

And yet she was so sleepy, so relaxed. It was completely okay for her to be hypnotized. In fact, it was good for her, which was why she succumbed so easily and completely. All of her dread and hatred of vampires had been misplaced. Miss Lily, her new madam, somehow had known exactly what was best for her.

Vivian looked over at Miss Lily. She really was lovely, and made Vivian feel so safe. How had she ever been so scared?

"I just have a lot on my mind, sir, even after you've put me under your spell."

"That's all right. I expect it will take time to get used to this. It's a big change. But don't worry, I can be very patient." Miss Lily stroked the top of her head lovingly. "You're very precious, and I want to make sure I'm taking good care of you."

"Thank you, sir." She did feel cared for, and -- something else. She frowned, trying to think with her sleepy, sludgy mind. There was something still nagging at her, something important. She looked to Miss Lily for guidance, gazing right into those beautiful brown eyes, eyes that were so easy to get lost in, and she remembered.

Vivian climbed out of her chair and knelt before her new madam, bowing her head. "I want to serve you, sir."

"So obedient! You're such a good girl! I just knew you would be," said Lily, her praise making Vivian feel warm. "There is actually an important way you can serve me. It will make me so happy." She tilted Vivian's head up to hold her gaze.

"What is it, sir?"

"You had other thralls you rescued. At least one from Evelyn, one from Edgar, and one from Jessica. I'm terribly worried about them, you see. They could be in danger, all by themselves. Won't you help me find them?"

That was right -- Vivian had been worried about them too. Emily had her mind generally intact, but Bobby was hardly lucid, and Jenny still had her blackout moments. "I gave them money for train tickets and sent them away, sir. Emily had talked before about heading north, to the seacoast, but I'm not sure where exactly she had in mind."

"I see! That's very helpful. I'll have to check with my contacts in other towns to make sure they keep an eye out for the poor things. Don't worry, I'll make sure they're safe."

Vivian sighed in relief, nuzzling into Miss Lily's hand.

"You've been so good, Vivian dear. I'm very happy with you. Why don't I show you around your new home? We can start in the kitchen if you're hungry."

Just as she hadn't realized she was thirsty until Miss Lily had given her water, she hadn't realized how hungry she was. "I would like that, sir."

Miss Lily held out her hand and helped Vivian from her kneeling position, not letting go as she led Vivian into the other room. The house was bright and cheerful compared to many vampire homes that Vivian had raided, with frilly knick-knacks and doilies everywhere, and the extravagance of electric lighting.

The kitchen was also surprisingly modern, with new and clean electric appliances and a large icebox and pantry. The fussy decor continued, with ruffled, flowery curtains framing the shuttered windows and decorative towels adorning the walls. Miss Lily went to the icebox and began to pull out ingredients. "I can make you a sandwich, if you'd like."

"There's no need, sir. If you show me where things are, I can make it myself."

"I don't mind feeding you tonight. Generally I will expect you to cook for yourself, but you've had a rough time and it's best if you relax," said Miss Lily, slicing a salami. "You'll be sharing the kitchen with my other three thralls -- mostly my precious Miriam. My other thralls, Nellie and Gale, are too old to drink from and mostly stay in their rooms, so it would be wonderful if you could help Miriam with their meals sometimes. Won't you?"

"I can help, sir."

"Very good." Miss Lily sighed. "I'll have to introduce you to poor Miriam. My sire… got to her. Brainwashed her with the most awful ideas. She isn't entirely there now, I'm afraid."

"Why?" Vivian's calm receded. "If he's your sire, why would he harm your thrall? Will he do that to me?"

"I don't want that to happen." Miss Lily placed the sandwich in front of Vivian. "I want to protect you. That's why Lex and I are going to help you kill him, just like you've always wanted."

Vivian nodded, tucking into the sandwich. Yes, they had a common enemy.

"You'll get your revenge, and if he still has your mother as a thrall, then I'll do my best to heal her and take good care of her," said Miss Lily. "And then we can all live so comfortably. I can start running my business the way I'd prefer. You can help the thralls adjust to their new lives, because you're so good at that."

"Mmm." Vivian beamed with pride, her mouth stuffed with sandwich.

"We can travel, buy fine clothing, patronize the arts. I can easily find work wherever I go, and you'll want for nothing ever again."

It was such an enticing vision. No more late nights fighting vampires. No more wrangling thralls who didn't even want to be rescued. No more patching up her own wounds and scrubbing blood from her clothes. She'd never thought a peaceful life could be hers, assuming she would either die in her quest for revenge, or be enthralled and used by the worst of vampires. How fortunate she was to belong to Miss Lily instead!

"If you're finished with your food, I should show you around the rest of the house," said Miss Lily.

Vivian followed her into a sitting room, the florid decorations no longer surprising. There were bookcases built into the walls and a violin sitting dusty in a stand.

"Feel free to make use of the sitting room. You may read the books, and there are some amusements in the drawers. But don't touch the violin."

She led Vivian to another, much larger and fancier sitting room, with enough chairs and couches to seat a dozen or more. "This front area is largely where I conduct my business, so please stay away when I'm on the job, as there will be vampires you don't know, who could potentially make you uncomfortable. The conditioning room is here -- you're very familiar with it now, I'm sure. I keep it as comfortable and serene as possible to put my dear thralls at ease. And this parlor is used as a waiting room."

Vivian felt a pang of unease. This was where Miss Lily conducted her business, her business of hypnotizing innocent people and selling them to vampires. That was why… that was why she'd…

"Does this upset you?" asked Miss Lily. "You don't need to think about it now. Just relax and follow me upstairs."

And just like that, Vivian's thoughts evaporated again. She walked up the stairs, where Lily showed her a washroom, one much nicer and more elaborate than she'd ever had. "You'll be sharing this bathroom with Miriam. I hope you don't mind."

"No, sir."

"And let's introduce you to Miriam…" Miss Lily knocked on a door. "Miriam, dear, are you awake?"

"Yes, madam!" came the voice from inside.

Miss Lily opened the door to reveal a room decorated in autumn colors. Shelves lined the walls, with many glass and ceramic birds and flowers, and a cloud-like overstuffed bed dominated the floor. There was a young woman sitting in a rocking chair with a blanket over her legs, working on embroidery. As she looked up, Vivian could see that her eyes were dazed and glassy, and even from across the room, the scars on her neck were unmistakable. Vivian's own hand went to her neck, wondering if she had similar scars already.

"Miriam, dearest, I want you to meet my new thrall, Vivian. I hope you get along."

"New thrall…" Miriam shied away, hiding behind her sewing project, clearly wary. "But madam…"

"Oh, Miriam, you have nothing at all to worry about!" Miss Lily indulgently threw her arms around Miriam. "I love you very much, and you'll always be very important from me, and I'll continue to drink from you often. I hope you and Vivian can be friends."

The attention of her madam seemed to dissolve whatever fear and animosity Miriam had, a dazed smile appearing on her face. "I will, madam!"

"I hope that you can help Miriam, actually," said Miss Lily, as they left the room. "You know how to lift some layers of hypnosis from thralls, don't you? There are certain things that I've had a hard time lifting or working around. If your techniques could undo some of what my sire's put in her head, then I could hypnotize her properly and she'd be much happier and healthier. I know you're so good at helping thralls recover."

"I can certainly try, sir," said Vivian, pleased that she could help. Her mind was already whirling with how to approach the situation, so that Miriam ended up more functional than Bobby. She didn't want to repeat her past mistakes. She wanted to do better.

Previous > Masterlist

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this self-indulgence. Next week: Vivian learns more about her new role in life.

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