Location: The alley behind the hospital.
Time: Midnight
Scene: Echo of the dead
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Rain hammered the alley, washing away the scent of death clinging to Aiyana's skin. The city was alive with neon reflections, humming with secrets, and not a soul noticed the beautiful woman emerging from the darkness—barefoot, disheveled, a ghost resurrected in silk and lightning.
She lifted her chin, inhaling deep. The storm was electric on her tongue, each raindrop cold and vivid. But beneath the scent of rain, another fragrance teased her: blood. Warm, pulsing, fragile—so impossibly near.
Aiyana's lips parted, her fangs throbbing. She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was beating—a wild, unnatural rhythm, pounding in time to the footsteps echoing past the mouth of the alley. Her mind, once gentle and hesitant, crackled with new energy.
She laughed, soft and low. The sound was not hers—or at least, not the one her family would recognize. Her kindness ebbed away like the last breath from her old body, swept up in a tide of exhilaration and desire.
I am alive, she realized, and I am not afraid anymore.
She no longer felt the urge to weep, to cling to hope or to memories of gentleness. She remembered her mother's sobs, her brother's tears—yet the ache was distant, dulled by something dark and delicious coursing through her veins.
No more pain. No more weakness. Only hunger. Only power.
Aiyana moved, shadows clinging to her. With every step, the world bent around her: lights blurring, sounds sharpening. She watched, fascinated, as a group of guys staggered from a bar across the street—laughter wild, pulses leaping in their throats.
Her gaze landed on one, the oldest roughly 30, trailing behind. She tracked his heartbeat, the rapid flutter of prey. It thrilled her. Excitement—pure, predatory—replaced every scrap of remorse.
She slipped from the alley, moving with predatory grace. The man never heard her coming.
"Are you lost?" Her voice was honey and smoke, laced with power.
He turned, blinking. For a moment, he looked through her—then his eyes widened, caught by the unnatural shimmer in her gaze.
"I—I'm just waiting for my friends," he stammered.
Aiyana tilted her head, regarding him with amusement. How easy they are, she thought, marveling at the fragile beauty of mortals.
"You shouldn't be alone at night." She stepped closer. Her smile was inviting, dangerous.
He shivered but did not move away. Her scent, her allure, her magnetic presence—he was trapped.
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Let me keep you company."
His pulse thundered. She pressed her fingers to his throat, feeling the heat, the life. Her fangs ached.
Just a taste, she promised herself, excitement blooming in her chest.
Aiyana struck—quick as lightning, precise as a blade. Her fangs sank into his neck, and the world exploded in color.
Blood flooded her senses—rich, sweet, wild. It was a thousand sunrises, a million unspoken promises. She drank deeply, intoxicated, feeling power surge through her body, burning away the last shadows of mortality.
He whimpered, but she held him gentle as a lover, lowering him to the ground when she was done. She licked the wound, her saliva closing it with a whisper of magic. He would remember nothing but the most beautiful dream.
Aiyana wiped her lips, breathless. Laughter bubbled from her—a new sound, sharp and glorious. The rain sparkled on her skin. She looked up at the sky, triumphant.
So this is what it means to be a predator. No more fear. No more frailty. I am beautiful, I am powerful, I am immortal.
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The thrill faded slowly, replaced by clarity. She stared down at the sleeping guy, pity flickering in her eyes for only a second before fading. His life would go on. Hers would not. Not the same way.
My family…
The thought surfaced, soft and distant, yet edged with steel.
Aiyana's heart clenched—not with sorrow, but with certainty. Her new existence was a secret too dark, too dangerous for those she loved. They deserved peace. They deserved closure.
Let them mourn her. Let them remember the gentle, dying girl she had been. She could never go home. Not now, not ever.
She pressed a kiss to her wrist, remembering the countless nights she'd spent longing for a different future. Now she had eternity—but it meant leaving everything behind.
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Aiyana stole clothes from a nearby laundromat—black jeans, a hoodie, a pair of boots that fit perfectly. She studied her reflection in the window as she changed: a stranger's face, exquisite and deadly, smiled back.
Her phone had been lost, her name erased from every hospital record, an empty coffin (which she made somehow possible) without her body tagged for the crematory. She was a ghost in her own city. Her family would believe she died peacefully, never knowing what had truly become of her and she intended to keep it that way.
Aiyana turned away from her old life. With each step, her kindness faded, replaced by a thrilling sense of freedom and secrecy.
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Leave Korea, a voice whispered in her mind—her own, mingled with a darker one.
She obeyed.
She took the night train south, slipping from shadow to shadow, feeding once more along the way—always careful, always secret. By dawn, she had vanished from Seoul, leaving only rumors of a beautiful woman haunting the rain-swept streets.
Aiyana purchased a new identity, a plane ticket, and a passport with frightening ease—her newfound allure opening every locked door, seducing every official into ignoring the inconsistencies. Within days, she boarded a flight for the west—toward a new continent, a new city, a new hunting ground.
As the plane lifted above the clouds, Aiyana gazed at the world below—her heart light, her lips curled in a vixen's smirk. But inside an ache throbbed in her that she's may not be able to see her family ever again.
The old me is dead. Let them mourn her.
Now, let the world tremble at what I have become.
Sometimes loving someone doesn't means how deeply you love them or how far you can go for them, sometimes it also means letting them go, even if it kills you from inside. 💔
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End of Chapter 2