Chapter 9: Between Prey and Blood
The next morning.
At the breakfast table—silence reigned supreme.
Plates were neatly arranged, a faint steam rose from the cups, and the pale morning light slipped through the window like an unwelcome guest.
But no one was really eating.
Lili was staring at her plate without seeing it.
Her fingers were clenched around the spoon, as if she were holding something heavier than metal.
Ken sat straighter than necessary, watching the faces with cautious silence.
And Lauren… was watching.
A long, steady gaze that missed no detail.
Lauren finally broke the silence, her voice calmer than it should have been:
"Lili… I want to talk to you after breakfast."
Lili slowly lifted her head.
Their eyes met for a brief moment… then broke away.
Lauren shifted her gaze to Ken and said in a practical tone that allowed no argument:
"And as for you, Ken, you can go to school on your own today. I have a private matter to discuss with your sister. No need to worry—I'll take her later, alright?"
Ken hesitated for a moment.
He looked at Lili.
Then said quietly:
"Um… alright."
He stood up, picked up his bag, and the sound of the zipper closing was louder than it should have been.
He left.
The door closed.
Silence returned—but this time, it was heavier.
Lauren lifted her gaze to Lili and leaned forward slightly.
"Lili… what's been going on with you this week?"
Lili did not raise her eyes.
"You're not yourself. It's as if something happened…"
Lauren paused for a fraction of a second, then added in a carefully calm voice:
"Does this have anything to do with your friend… the one who slipped into your room at night?"
Lili stiffened.
She said quickly, her voice trembling:
"No! No, he didn't do anything bad, really!"
She lifted her head suddenly.
"But… it's been a week and he hasn't come to school. I'm just… worried about him."
A short silence followed.
Then—Lili's eyes widened.
She turned toward Lauren in shock, her words tumbling out unevenly:
"Wait… Lauren… how did you know?"
She rose slightly from her seat, the chair scraping against the floor.
"Were you… spying on me that night? This… this… you… I trusted you!"
Lauren slowly leaned back into her chair.
She drew her coffee closer and took a single sip.
She did not rush her reply.
Then she said, in a calm… cold tone:
"No. I wasn't spying on you."
She set the cup down.
Her gaze grew deeper.
"But it seems your friend… bit you."
Lili froze.
Lauren continued without blinking:
"And you're a smart girl, Lili. I think you're starting to understand now."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering:
"This world… is not as most humans see it."
She paused for a moment, then asked—a heavy, lethal question:
"Tell me, Lili…"
Lili's eyes clung to her.
"Do you believe those creatures have the right to live in this world alongside humans?"
Silence.
Or—
Lauren's voice hardened:
"Should they be hunted?"
Lili's breath caught.
"And does this world…"
She finished, her words falling like a verdict:
"…belong only to humans?"
The question struck like a sentence.
And morning—Was no longer morning.
Lili swallowed.
Her fingers interlaced atop the table.
She slowly lifted her head, her voice coming out unsteady… as though searching for ground to stand on:
"Lauren… what are you talking about?"
The words hesitated, then spilled out:
"Of course all creatures have the right to live in this world… and what do you mean by hunting them? This… this is madness."
Lauren did not answer at once.
She looked at Lili for a long moment, studying her, as though weighing the substance of her soul.
Then she sighed.
A sigh that carried no relief… only realization.
She spoke with calm coldness:
"I see."
She leaned forward slightly.
Her voice grew deeper, more dangerous:
"Your path is different from that of your ancestors."
She paused, then asked a question that cut through the air:
"But tell me, Lili…"
Her eyes locked onto Lili's.
They did not waver.
"Do you have the courage… to fall in love with someone who sees you as prey?"
Lili's fingers trembled against the edge of the table.
Lauren continued, without mercy:
"Are you ready to fall in love with your predator?"
Her voice drew closer.
"To live between ice… and fire?"
Lili lowered her head.
Her hair fell forward, hiding her face, as though she were taking shelter behind it.
She spoke in a low, broken voice:
"I… don't know."
She fell silent for a moment, then added with painful honesty:
"I didn't know this world… truly had vampires. You never told me that before… and neither did my mother and father before they died."
She lifted her eyes slightly.
"I think… I'll try to adapt first."
Lauren closed her eyes for a moment.
Then she sighed.
A heavy sigh… like placing the final stone upon a grave.
She spoke in a firm voice, leaving no room for bargaining:
"My little Lili… the world will not wait for you to adapt."
She opened her eyes.
"You know the truth now. You have seen the real face of this world."
Her voice grew harsher:
"Do not expect this to be easy."
She leaned forward, her words striking like blows:
"This world is darker… and more brutal than you can imagine."
She fell silent for a second.
Then she said, with lethal slowness:
"It shows no mercy to anyone."
She tightened her grip on the table.
"And to survive in it… you must be merciless."
She raised a finger slightly, a warning:
"Otherwise… you will watch everything dear to you be crushed before your eyes."
Lili stiffened.
And then—
Lauren's voice dropped, becoming a searing whisper:
"You will walk into the darkness yourself, searching for a light that isn't real."
She stopped.
Then said, with clarity that allowed no denial:
"Power… is the truth."
She emphasized the word:
"It is the light. And it is life."
She leaned closer and placed her hand over Lili's.
It was not a warm touch…
But a steady one.
"My Lili… my little one."
Her tone softened, yet grew heavier:
"Be strong."
Then she concluded, without raising her voice:
"And remember… you have a family."
Lauren said in a low, steady voice that allowed no argument:
"Your family… possesses power in this world."
She paused, then added while looking straight into Lili's eyes:
"And then… you have me."
She slowly withdrew her hand and straightened.
Her voice returned to its practical, cold tone:
"Anyway… it's time for you to go to school."
At the same time…
In the Cristval family home.
The doors of morning burst open violently.
Seraphine rushed down the stairs, her steps striking the wood as if she were fleeing something unseen, her voice rising in panic:
"No, no, no! I'm late!"
Her hair was unkempt, her bag swinging from her shoulder, her breaths coming fast and uneven.
At the bottom of the stairs—
An elderly woman sat alone at the dining table.
Her back was straighter than it should have been.
Her hands rested on the table with unsettling calm.
And her eyes… were watching.
When she saw Seraphine rush toward the door, she moved her hand in a slight motion… barely visible.
And as if a cold breeze suddenly passed—The door closed.
And with it, every window in the house closed as well.
Without a sound.
Without an echo.
Seraphine reached the door, grabbed the handle, and turned it—
Nothing.
She pulled hard.
Then harder.
But the door did not move.
As if it were no longer a door.
As if it were… a mountain wall.
She shouted, panic creeping into her voice:
"What's happening?! I—I'm going to be late!"
She kicked the door with her foot.
The pain shot back into her, and the door… did not even tremble.
She spun around in agitation and looked at the elderly woman.
"Grandmother! The door—the door is stuck! It won't open! What should I do?"
The elderly woman sighed slowly.
A calm sigh… as though time itself obeyed her.
She spoke without raising her voice:
"My granddaughter… I know it's locked."
She lifted her gaze to Seraphine, a deep look that was not easily read.
"I am the one who did that."
Seraphine froze.
The old woman continued in a steady tone:
"Today… you will be absent from school."
Seraphine's eyes widened.
"What?! But—"
She cut her off with quiet finality:
"I need you for something."
Then she added, as if concluding a simple matter:
"There's no need to worry. I've already called the school and informed them that you won't be attending today."
A moment of silence followed.
The house was still… far too still.
The old woman leaned slightly toward the table and pressed her fingers into the aged wood.
Then she said in a voice lowered to a near whisper:
"There are things… that, when their time comes, cannot be postponed."
She raised her eyes to Seraphine directly.
"And today… is one of those days."
The elderly woman slowly gestured toward the chair across from her.
Her finger did not tremble.
Her voice was calm… far too calm.
"Sit down, Seraphine."
Seraphine sighed, her shoulders finally relaxing.
She walked toward the chair with ordinary steps, as if nothing were wrong, then sat down.
A wide, clear, childlike smile spread across her face.
"Thank you, Grandma… I really love you."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes shining.
"You really understand your granddaughter. Honestly… I didn't want to go to school today anyway."
She laughed softly.
"I'll be happy staying with my dear grandma all day. I promise."
The old woman did not smile.
She did not return the laugh.
Instead… she sighed.
A long sigh, drawn from a chest that carried centuries, not years.
She spoke in a deeper, slower voice:
"Seraphine… when you were born, it was destined that you would not be ordinary."
The smile gradually faded from Seraphine's face.
The old woman continued, her eyes steady:
"We are the Cristval family. We are born with red hair… naturally."
She lifted her hand slightly, as if weighing her words.
"But this… is not natural."
A heavy silence fell.
"There is a reason."
The old woman leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering:
"And in this family… special individuals are born every one hundred years."
She paused.
Then she said with unmistakable clarity:
"And you… are one of them."
Seraphine's eyes widened slowly.
Her breath stopped for a moment.
The old woman continued, a trace of regret slipping into her voice:
"I wanted you to live the life of an ordinary girl."
She lowered her gaze slightly.
"To love an ordinary person. To laugh… to make mistakes… without the world watching you."
She lifted her eyes again.
And within them was an ancient sorrow.
"But—"
Her voice hardened.
"From the moment you were born… that became impossible."
Silence settled.
The morning light suddenly seemed dull.
And the house… heavier.
And Seraphine—for the first time—
Did not smile.
The old woman fell silent for a moment.
It was not a moment of hesitation… but a moment of weight.
Then she spoke, with deliberate slowness, as though peeling back the cover from a forbidden truth:
"They are… people destined to become vessels."
Seraphine's chest tightened.
The old woman continued, without softening the words:
"In short… when they reach only one year of age…"
She raised her finger slightly.
"Their bodies… become the property of another."
A suffocating silence fell.
Then she said, without evasion:
"And you… are one of them."
Seraphine froze in place.
The chair beneath her suddenly felt hard, alien.
The old woman spoke in a low voice, heavy with sorrow:
"At that time… when I learned that my granddaughter was the vessel…"
Her head lowered slightly.
"Something inside me shattered."
Her fingers trembled atop the table.
"But… there were things that slipped out of control."
She slowly raised her head, her eyes widening a little, bearing the trace of an old astonishment that had never faded:
"A miracle… happened."
She drew a deep breath.
"Something impossible."
She leaned forward, as though the walls themselves might hear:
"There was someone… in this world…"
She stopped.
"Someone who was never meant to exist."
Seraphine's breath caught in her chest.
"And no one—"
She emphasized the word:
"No one… knows how he came to exist."
A heavy silence fell, as if waiting for a name that would never be spoken.
Then the old woman said, in a tone as final as a verdict:
"And because of this person…"
She lifted her gaze directly to Seraphine's eyes.
"You survived."
Seraphine's pupils trembled.
"You survived… from becoming a vessel."
They were not just words.
They were a blow.
And in that moment—Seraphine felt that the life she had known was nothing more than a brief truce before the truth.