Young Writers Society

*This is part one of a series I made. Gacha Club character designs are on my wall. Enjoy!*

Once, in the year 1867, in a town called Cherryville, there was a young girl, aged sixteen, named Fiona Grace Angelica. Fiona was a kind, well-loved individual.

But she failed to know when something was up.

For her older sister Lisa’s twentieth birthday, her family held an extravagant ball, straight from a storybook. Adorned on marble walls were white silk sashes. Swaying on the polished oak floor were the skirts of fine noblewomen being held lovingly by their men. In gloved hands were the delicate glasses of the sweetest champagne. The room was aflutter with the tinkling of the piano and the controlled, rhythmic chatter of many.

It was supposed to be a birthday, not a nightmare.

Fiona had an unwanted guest with her. A man with skin as white as bone, hair as black as death, eyes as crimson as wine. He wore clothes of rouge and charcoal. He stood at an elegant height. His nails were long, graceful claws. His smile seemed to have the smallest hint of evil.

He was Azrail. Azrail Sage Williams.

Fiona had met him in a forest with barren trees and creeping blue mist years ago. She only heard the sound of his voice, but that was enough for her to run into the forest whenever she could. She never saw him, only heard his voice, until this one day.

She snuck him into her home, against the wishes of her family. They didn’t yet know of his existence, but when she was still young, they warned her against bringing anything from the forest into their home. They said that it was cursed, that it was riddled with evil.

Yet still, she brought him in.

And while everyone was whisking away into the joys of life, Fiona was whisking Azrail away into her room, the only place where they could be alone.

……………………………………………………

“Fiona?” He asked, stroking her hair. The two of them were lying on her bed, tired of walking and running. She snuggled close into his chest.

“Yes?”

“You know what I am…don’t you?”

What a strange question.

“You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.” Fiona said earnestly. She did not feel as free and sure as when she met him. When she met him, all made sense. All mattered. All had meaning and purpose.

So it perplexed her to hear Azrail laugh without humor at her words.

“All this time, you thought that I loved you? That I cared for you?” He asked, tipping her face up towards his.

“You don’t?” Fiona asked, heart breaking. He seemed like someone who cared for her, someone who loved her.

Azrail’s red eyes glistened with tears , but nothing came out.

“I do, Fiona. And that’s the problem. People like me can’t love. They just can’t. Sooner or later, the inevitable will happen.”

“What are you saying?”

Azrail sighed heavily. He seemed like magic and poise when she first met him, but now? Now, he was just a tired man.

“I’m a vampire.”

He brought Fiona closer to him, making sure his lips were in contact with her neck.

“Don’t cry. Don’t scream. I’ll hold you. It will be done so fast, it won’t hurt at all.”

He drank her blood discreetly and as gently as he could. He could hear her crying softly, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He had to continue. He had to drink. He had-

He couldn’t feel anything.

Everything was a hazy, strange blur.

“Keep your lecherous mouth away from my sister.”

So this was to be his end? A fading dream? A vague void?

His end?

……………………………………………………

It was now 2017. Melanie Angelica, aged sixteen, stared out the window, watching the houses go by. Her parents wanted to move to Cherryville because there were “better jobs”. Her little sister, Angie Angelica, aged fourteen, didn’t care much that they were moving.

Melanie was excited for a different reason. She heard that their ancestors lived in a mansion in Cherryville years ago and something like that was boiling with inspiration, which Melanie desperately needed. She wanted to become a writer some day, but whenever she posted a story online, she always got negative comments claiming that what she wrote had already been written by several teen girls. That she couldn’t write if her life depended on it. That the only thing original in her stories were the names of her characters and even then the character names were unremarkable.

Was Melanie crushed? Yes. Would she give up? No.

As the car pulled into the driveway, Melanie smiled to herself.

Maybe this time she could write something good.

……………………………………………………

Melanie lay on the soft canopy bed, staring at the blinking line in her notes app. She was in her old family manor that was surrounded by weeping willow trees. The house itself, including the furniture, hadn’t been changed since the 1860s, and yet her mind was still blank.

Melanie sighed. What was the point of writing a story if she didn’t know what to write? She might as well just call her friend, Skylar.

She went to her contact list and clicked on the phone icon on Skylar’s profile.

Nothing…nothing…nothing…

"Hey, what's up?" Skylar asked.

"Remember how excited I was to come here? To finally get inspiration?” Melanie asked.

"Yes. You really were excited.”

"Guess what? I don’t have any inspiration. I’ve got nothing.”

Skylar sighed. She seemed to think that Melanie’s dreams of being a writer would never come true. She was a good friend, but she was just like her parents, her guidance counselor, her teachers, and Twilight.

Melanie shuddered. Twilight was back at school, in her old town. Twilight was just a girl who was jealous of her. Twilight was far away now. Twilight’s words couldn’t hurt her now.

"I know how much this means to you, but do you ever think of taking a break? Going out? Having fun?”

“Take a break? Take a break? A break turns into a vacation, and a vacation turns into GIVING UP!”

Melanie didn’t want to lose interest in her writing. She didn’t want to fall into the trap of forgetting and never doing it, leaving her imagination to rot and die.

“Alright, alright, calm down. I was just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry, Skylar. I’m just so nervous that I’m going to give up one day.”

“If you love writing that much, you won’t give up. Now I’ve got to go, my Mom needs me for something. Bye.”

Melanie threw herself back on the bed. For a moment, she had someone to talk to, but now, she was alone.

Well…creepy old houses always had attics, so why not search for an attic?

……………………………………………………

Melanie opened the door, one hand with crossed fingers behind her back. She only got sitting rooms, ballrooms, and bathrooms. Maybe this would be the attic.

The room was covered in years of dust, there were unlit melting candles, a variety of ancient, decaying dolls, and a plethora of rotting journals.

Only an attic would look like this.

Melanie skipped inside, thinking of all the things she could write about. There was so much interesting trinkets. Things she’d only seen in movies and read about in stories. Things she’d only dream of. Things-

On a writing desk, there was a pale purple book. It was fading a bit, but there was still color. The other books were either brown, gray, or black, but not this one.

Melanie stopped dancing around and picked up the book.

It was small and slender, while the others were thick and bulky.

She could hear Angie’s dog, Scotty, barking outside, followed by Angie coaxing: “Get the stick!” Their parents let her bring the dog.

Their parents were still busy unpacking stuff, too.

She had time to read the book.

She sat on the ground, for although there were roomy armchairs, she didn’t want to take a chance sitting on them.

Who knew what kind of bugs were lurking within?

……………………………………………………

The book that Melanie held had journal entries that were signed “Fiona” at the bottom of the page. Melanie heard from her Grandmother once that they had an ancestor named Fiona had died so young and so tragically. How she died remained a mystery, but Melanie always speculated on possibilities.

Things had seemed normal in entries, until the first one from 1865:

January 1st, 1865

Today I have gone into the forest with blue mist and clawing trees. There was nothing except the cawing birds and the dying leaves.

Then I heard him. His sweet voice. He spoke such kind words, kinder than that my own kin has spoken.

Though I know not his name nor his face, I shall return to hear him again.

-Fiona

He? he? Who was he?

Melanie skimmed through the pages, each entry getting more uncanny than the last, and stopped at one from 1866:

February 2nd, 1866

I still don’t know his name, but his gentle nature never changes. The forest makes me feel weak, like I am in Death’s cold grip, but his words give me strength.

One day he’ll ask for my hand and I will be ready.

-Fiona

Fiona seemed so sure of “him”, just like Melanie and her writing. She didn’t have a single doubt in the world.

Melanie leafed through the rest of the entries, which documented the same things, until the one dated June 13th, 1867.

The one where “he” was finally revealed.

June 13th, 1867

Today he showed me his pale face. His eyes are red, his hair is black. He’s an angel in my eyes, but would be a demon in the eyes of my family.

His name is Azrail.

He tells me to never come back. He tells me to run.

But I will not run. I will never run. I

But that was it. She didn't finish writing the entry for some reason.

Melanie searched through the other pages, but found nothing. It was blank. That was the last entry.

Melanie put the book on the ground studied the attic’s floorboards. Reading the journal was fun while it lasted, but she didn’t want to leave the attic yet. She wanted to take her time, remember every detail…

There was an eye peeking out from the floor. A large, red eye.

Melanie sat on her knees and stared at the eye. The eye didn’t blink or look away. It was staring right at her.

She winced as she pulled out the floorboards. They were falling apart, but still heavy to hold.

She didn’t want to run. She wanted to see what was inside.

It wasn’t every day that she saw an eye in the floor.

……………………………………………………

Melanie wiped her sweaty forehead, backing up from the damage. The floorboards may have been weak, but they were still a lot of work to pull apart. She was lucky that everyone was too busy to hear her upstairs.

Underneath the floor was a pale man with soft, black hair in dark clothes, staring up at her with gaping red eyes. He didn’t breathe. He didn’t speak.

He slightly twitched. It was small and slight, but movement, nonetheless.

Or maybe it was her imagination.

The man then sat up from the ground, shallow breaths escaping his chapped lips. His eyes were blazing with shock and confusion. His hand shook as he pointed at her and asked:

“You…who are you? What happened? What…”

He sighed, defeated, and took down his accusing hand. He seemed so frail and pathetic, she almost forgot that he was a man under her floorboards.

Melanie wanted to cradle him in her arms, but stayed where she was. She had just met him, after all.

“My name is Melanie. I found you here, in the attic floor.”

“Attic? But this…this was her room…” He panted, eyes seeming to glisten with tears.

“If I may ask, whose room was this?” Melanie asked softly. She didn’t know if it was a sore subject, but she was curious.

She had never gotten far in most conversations.

“Fiona’s room.” He said, relaxing his shoulders, as if in defeat.

……………………………………………………

“Did Fiona have a journal?” Melanie asked, bending down to pick up the journal.

“She did.” He said cautiously.

“How do you know her?” He asked.

Melanie sighed. She didn’t know how easy this would be to tell him, but he had to know the truth.

“I’m her descendant. It’s 2017 now.”

His fingers tapped the floor. His eyes seemed to be lost in deep thought.

She had an idea of who he was, but she wanted to be sure.

“What is your name?”

He stopped tapping the floor and folded his hands together. He looked to her, then to his hands, then back to her.

Then, he said:

“My name is Azrail.”

He crawled out of the floor, long, black wings trailing behind him.

Wait…wings?

He held Melanie close to him.

“Don’t cry. Don’t scream. I’ll hold you. It will be done so fast, it won’t hurt at all.”   Azrail said tiredly, as if he said the words before and had run out of things to say.

He bit into her neck.

……………………………………………………

It didn’t hurt when he bit her. It only felt like a tiny pinprick, and she wanted to help him in any way she could.

Azrail wiped his lips when he was done and lay in her lap. Melanie couldn’t stop staring at his wings. She had never seen anything like them in her life. They were massive.

“You’re a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have wings?”

“I can make them disappear.”

His wings slid into his back, feathers melting into his skin. Azrail bit his lip, drawing blood.

When they were gone, he exhaled, groaning in pain.

“It hurts so much when I hide them. It just…it hurts.” He groaned.

“I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t be sorry. You’re not the one who did this to me. She did.”

“She?”

“Cassidy did.”

“Cassidy?”

Azrail didn’t reply.

“You don’t have to tell me your life story, but I’d like to tell you mine. Are you okay with that?”

“Go ahead.”

With that, Melanie began.

……………………………………………………

“You’re having troubles with who you are?” Azrail asked when she was finally finished. She needed to get that off her chest.

“Yes.”

“I have a similar problem.”

Azrail sat up and scooted next to her on the floor. He seemed a lot calmer than he did before.

“Throughout my life, I’ve loved things that no one else did. My friends were the spiders and snakes. My parents read me stories. I rarely ever went outside.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to play with the other kids.” Azrail smiled.

Melanie laughed lightly. She knew that feeling. It took so much work to be with other people and it was Hell when she was little. For instance, when she found kids to play with, it took hours to think of a game to agree upon. When a game was finally thought up, everyone would just yell and point fingers at each other, fighting over who got what role. There would never be time for a game.

So why bother to play with others when she could play by herself?

“Then…then the town…” Azrail’s voice got lower, his eyes went down.

“You don’t have to continue.”

“Then the town burned them.” He said sharply, as if he wanted to get it out.

“The town saw them as monsters, so they burned them. I was only a boy and I had to watch my parents die. I thought that my neighbor, Cassidy, would take care of me. I thought that she was one more person who cared, but she turned me into this.”

“I’ve lived in the forest the rest of my life. I had Fiona once, but it didn’t last. I had to feed. So I did. I fed on her. Drained her of life.”

“Then her sister, Lisa, paralyzed me with Holy Water. That’s what it does to people like me. It paralyzes. Her father built me into the floor. I was paralyzed for a few minutes, but so parched. I needed blood. I needed a life source and then you came along.”

Azrail entwined his hand with Melanie’s.

“Visit me every day, will you?”

“Of course.”

……………………………………………………

Every day, she visited him. Every day, they spoke. They got closer and closer with the words they shared, the nights they held hands, and the times when Azrail needed to drink her blood.

But what really opened their hearts to each other was the day Scotty destroyed her sketchbook.

Aside from writing, Melanie liked to draw. Sure, she didn’t draw as much as she wrote, but it was a fun thing to do once in a while.

Until Scotty ruined it.

“I had it on my desk. It wasn’t even lying on the ground. It was on my desk and he just jumped on it. He tore it apart. He tore it to pieces, but you know what? I’m at fault for having a sketchbook. I can’t take my computer with me, that’s “too much” but Angie can take her disease ball with her. Most people leave their pets at their old homes when they move, but nooo, Angie gets to bring the dog, because “what harm can a dog do”?”

“You don’t like Scotty, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Angie loved Scotty. Skylar loved Scotty. Everyone loved Scotty.

But god, the sight of Scotty and his stupid, drooling smile made her sick.

How could anyone find him cute?

Azrail smiled mischievously. An evil glint twinkled in his eyes.

“I’ll deal with him.”

“What’s that supposed to-“

“Shh. Don’t worry about it.” He said, placing a finger on her lips.

She never saw this side of Azrail, but…

She wasn’t one to complain.

……………………………………………………

“Melanie.”

Where was that voice coming from?

“Melanie, wake up.”

Melanie opened her eyes.

The moonlight streaming from her curtained window helped her see that it was Azrail standing over her bed.

“I did it. I killed Scotty.”

“You what?”

“Come on.” He said, extending his hand.

Melanie could have just gone back to sleep or told him to go away.

She didn’t want to do either.

……………………………………………………

Azrail was a lot stronger than when she first met him. He was able to fly to the town clock, but that was as far as he could go.

He stopped at the clock, holding Melanie in his arms.

“It’s going to happen. We’re going to leave this place.”

“What are you-“

Azrail placed his finger on Melanie’s mouth.

“All of this is over now. We’re going to be free. It’ll be just the two of us.”

“What-“

She could smell smoke. It was small at first, like the kind of smoke used in a barbecue, but then it got overwhelmingly bigger, until the stench crawled into her brain.

“What happened?”

“To be free, one must burn away their old life.”

“You set the whole town on fire?”

“I know how it sounds, but this will all be gone. It will all be over.”

“My family will be okay?”

“They are leaving now.”

Melanie held onto Azrail as he flew into the sky, wings breaking apart the wind.

She didn’t know whether to take his word for it. She didn’t know his agenda. She didn’t know his whole story.

But she knew one thing.

He understood where she was coming from. He didn’t nod his head when it was appropriate and he didn’t say that “everything would be alright” when it wasn’t. He listened, he lamented, and most importantly?

He loved her.