A pair of intensively gray eyes stared into a cracked mirror. One would wonder what would cause a being to keep a cracked mirror when in the modern society surrounding offered mirrors at a relatively low price, even offering decent ones at this price. It was interesting to consider this lack of consideration by beings.
But then, it was no different than a vampire owning a mirror.
To be truthful, the one gazing into the mirror wasn’t even a vampire. Sleek hair, fangs, and brilliantly dark eyes might’ve made one question exactly what he was; even the trenchcoat and dark garb… but no. Rislan wasn’t a vampire.
No, Rislan wasn’t a vampire. Rislan was a werewolf. The overly hairy creature standing calmly beside him was, however, a vampire. The overly hairy creature with fangs, nails, and an expression that shot nails into the already shattered mirror. Stalking over to the nearest window, she threw the curtains open with a disgruntled frown and stared into the moonlight with an expression nearly as disgruntled as it had been before the curtains had been flung open.
Silver moonlight trickled into the bedroom, moonbeams reflecting off of the mirror and into the taller of the pair’s eyes. He winced, covering his eyes almost reflectively. In fact, as the mirror’s eyes stared back at him, it was reflectively. The reflection covered its eyes as surely as did the werewolf in distinctively vampiric garb. As surely as the lycanthrope encased vampire had cast the moonlit curtains apart to bathe the room in shadows of silver.
“No,” she muttered. “Not accepting. Denial. Denial is good.”
“Vell—” Rislan started before jerking to a halt and falling into maniacal laughter. “Bvhaha! I speak like you do now! Ahaha! Ahaha!”
The vampire in lycan skin winced painfully at the butchery of her sophisticated manner of speech. “Love, just because I wear your body, doesn’t mean I can’t tear you apart.”
“Ach, it’s more likely now.” Rislan beamed at her; a fangy and malicious grin that could only have been birthed by a predator. As if they both weren’t… “I can be sexy now. Voo-hoo!” He strutted about in the moonlight, the silver playing off of his perfectly formed hair. “I shall seduce all vomankind and zay shall all be mine! Bvhaha!”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” she grumbled absently. “Just remember you’re mine, love.”
“Of course,” he trilled. “Aolane, you know you vill alvavys be mine.”
“Do I sound that stupid normally?”
Taken aback, the now vampiric Rislan blinked. And blinked a second time for good measure. “Vhat? How could you suggest zoze of us who speak vis great perfection sound… faugh… stupid?”
“Because it just occurred to me zat ve do,” she mocked.
The argument was cut off by a shattering noise slicing through the air as cleanly as the inward broken glass from the window flew across the room. Senses kicking in a moment before anything could possibly have harmed him, Rislan’s body moved cleanly, sweeping underneath the spears of glass and bringing itself back upright as they imbedded themselves into the wall with a terrifying thunk. Never mind the fact that all reason would’ve had the glass fall to a weak crumble underneath the window as the grappling hook from below smashed through it.
Moments later, the flawless and yet ruggedly scarred face of a hero peered up from amidst shattered glass, climbing up and through the window without a single cut on his fingers from the broken glass caused by his hook. Amazingly enough, both metaphysical beings had come from the incredibly shattering glass attack without a scratch on their bodies or a hair out of place.
To make certain, Rislan pushed his hair back and grabbed a bit of gel anyway. It wouldn’t do to duel the ultimate hero with mussed hair.
“Knew I shouldn’t’ve gotten the low grade rope,” the hero was muttering—for clearly it was a hero by the large shoulder spread, perfectly toned muscle build, and untouched hair. And the sexy scars on his face, of course. “Cursed castles with no decent windows to clamor through…”
Due to a convenient shift in gravity, Aolane found herself falling into the arms of the rugged and handsome hero. Their eyes met across time and space, though there were but inches separating their lips from touching. “Oh…” she whispered. “You’re so… handsome.” She only wished that she had fangs with which she could sink into the hero’s lush and muscular neck. The most-assuredly non-ivory flesh appealed to her darker nature, his handsome blue eyes appealing to the carnal side.
Rislan, in the meantime, fumed.
The hero’s eyes met hers, slipping past her eyes and down to the incredible bosom she boasted and the slinky black evening dress (which was very unflattering on her newborn lycanthrope body, to be certain). His eyes widened in love at first sight, somehow ignoring the fact that the beautiful and seductive vampire had been turned into a lycanthrope by some horrible twist of fate and she was ugly. Gravity pulled them together, lips touching—
And the hero slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“What’d you do that for?!” Aolane screamed at Rislan; the lycanthrope boasting a rather thick and heavy piece of wood.
“He vas hitting on you, dahling.”
“I wanted him to hit on me!”
“Vell, I didn’t!” He swept her into his arms and kissed her.
“Gah!” She kissed him back anyway, both of them ignoring the fact that as they kissed for an exceedingly long length of time, the sun was gradually coming closer and closer to the horizon, and the unconscious hero had begun to stir. Too caught up in the art of kissing in remarkably distasteful and immoral manners, it was too late for them as the heroic hero plunged a wooden stake through Rislan’s back.
Though Rislan was not a vampire by birth, a stake through the heart could kill anyone. Aolane screamed as her love fell to the floor, a bloody piece of wood pierced through his clothing and staining it with blood.
“You… you… that was a freaking expensive trenchcoat!” she shrieked, the wail of distress intensively high enough to smash the eardrums of even the most hardened heroic spirit. The hero’s hands shot up to his ears, dagger to chop the vampire’s head off slipping and falling. The blade hit with a thump and buried itself into the wooden floor.
Then the sun came up and she died anyway.
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