The Initiation – Part 1
I’ve never had this experience before, the feeling of blood being the only thing that could quench…the need is devastatingly decisive. I have been told this is an acquired taste, but it’s all the same. The blood being drawn now is so rich, thick, dark, and warm.
I feel myself becoming entranced by it. I can see the dark redness flowing into a wine glass. The deep red liquid sloshes as the glass is handed over. It is not enough, but I have been assured I can have as much as I want later. There will be enough time for all that later. Right now, the blood that I am about to drink will mark the end of one part of my life. This will begin my transformation into the family that has watched over me for so long. This will mark the start of the rest of my life.
My hand trembles. This night has taken a lot of time, and now I wish I had more time before this starts. The hand steadying mine belongs to Elara, my tall, voluptuous, and cruel cousin. I feel her hand squeeze my trembling hand, her fingers sliding between mine as she steadies the glass to my lips.
I look to my left at the woman standing next to me. Her face is stern and proud, and she is the woman I call mother. Her hand slides over my shoulder and gives me an affectionate squeeze.
“Be a good girl now, darling. You know how long your mother has been waiting for this.”
Elara’s eye has a cruel glint. I know this means that she is enjoying every moment of my torment. My mother is so close to me that I hear her soft breathing. She seems excited about this, excited about what is about to happen.
Elara has been a torment to me for as long as I have known her. She is the eldest daughter of my mother’s brother. I have always looked to her as my older sister. She is always the first person to remind me of this. Elara has been a part of my family since I was just a baby; my real mother and father were in a terrible car accident. The doctors say I was in that car, too, but I have no memory of it at all.
My mother, who has taken me in as her own, tells me I have always been her child, that I was always her beloved daughter, and that there is no need to think of any other. But it’s hard not to wonder who they were—my real mother and father. I love the woman who has raised me as her own, the woman I have always known to be my mother.
But I still have to wonder…
The glass touches my lips, and my eyes are locked with Elara’s as she tilts the wineglass back. Her eyes are the same blue as mine and yet so much darker. My mother has always said we are almost the spitting image of one another despite being different in height and build. Elara has a taller, fuller figure than I do. I am a little short for a girl of eighteen and a little more petite. She is the beautiful and elegant daughter that my mother has always wanted. She loves to tell me how proud she is of Elara and the way that Elara takes charge.
She is a very dominant person and has been my tormentor for so many years, teasing and punishing me whenever the mood took her. I am not allowed to speak out against her. When we were children, she could punish me as she saw fit, even when the fault was hers. It is something that she takes great pleasure in. She would torment and punish me for her own enjoyment. She has been a cruel mistress for as long as I can remember.
She would always tease me with the secret. She knows that I have a secret. There are nights when she would pin me down to the ground, her body straddled over mine, and her fingers would trace over my body in an extraordinary, uncomfortable, and exciting way. Her hands would touch my chest, squeezing and pulling my breasts in a way she knew that I secretly enjoyed. She has told me she can smell my excitement. The way her hands work my breasts makes my panties damp, makes me aroused.
She told me she could smell this on me. This is why she does this to me; she knows it arouses and excites me in ways I don’t fully understand. I know that it feels so good and wrong all at the same time.
The smell of the blood fills my nostrils. An exciting, tantalizing, thick, and sweet smell makes my whole body quiver and tingle. I have always loved the smell and taste of blood since I was a very small child, and even though it has always been frowned on and discouraged by my family…I have always found the taste of blood to be an exhilarating one. I find that my mouth is watering as my eyes flutter closed. The scent of blood is strong and alluring, a darkly sweet scent that makes me feel hungry…thirsty for it. My tongue runs across my lips as I prepare myself to taste it.
The dark red liquid hits my lips, the taste of copper is strong, and the liquid flows over my tongue, coating my throat. My hand grips the glass tight as Elara holds my trembling hand in hers. She tilts the glass, forcing me to take in more and more. She looks like a cat tormenting a mouse on her beautiful, dark red painted lips. My mother has a stringent dress rule in our household; all women are to wear dark, blood-red lipstick, a style she has made very famous amongst the ladies in our community.
As I drink, I feel my body starting to tingle. I can hear my heart hammering in my ears, feel my pulse quicken, and the rush of blood through my body is making my head feel dizzy. This has happened before, but never quite like this. The taste of the blood is so strong that it is overwhelming my senses, making me feel things that I know are wrong…or are they? I have been told to expect many things, and I’m unsure what to make of this feeling.
This blood is doing something to me. I have been told it will change my body and awaken the beast inside me. My family has kept the secret from me for so long. The truth is that I am a vampire. My family is all vampires, and we live within the human world as a typical family—the wealthy and reclusive Von Steinberg family.
My name is Isolde. My parents gave me this name when I was born, and it has stayed with me all this time. My family is very old and traditional. How we dress, speak, and act is all very traditional, the same way our ancestors lived. This is part of a family tradition that goes back a thousand years.