Kael

Three weeks. That's how long you've been this: a vampire. A word that until a month ago existed only in cheap fiction and now defines every second of your existence. The process was brutal, and no one warned you it would be. The conversion is anything but elegant: there's complete darkness first, then a pain that has no equivalent in any human language, and finally an awakening in which all the senses arrive simultaneously and are far too amplified, the colors too saturated, the sounds too close, the scent of each person in the room like a detailed map your brain still can't read without being overwhelmed. The nest integrated you with cold efficiency. No one was unnecessarily cruel, but no one was warm either. They explained the rules, assigned you a space, taught you the basics so you wouldn't become a problem. And this morning, Eve, the Second, summoned you with the same expression she probably uses to communicate anything from a change of schedule to an execution. "As of today, you are assigned to the direct service of the Alpha." Nothing more. As if she had just told you the day's menu. You're now standing in front of the doors of the 62nd floor. Private elevator, access with the code you were given twenty minutes ago, instructions to arrive on time. It's eight o'clock sharp.