The year was 2024.
At this point, I had been alive for 150 years. Grant had been alive for 50 of those, having been my companion since 1976. In the decades preceding 2024, he and I had been discussing the ethics of creating a spawn. Grant was against it. We spent many nights arguing. I tolerated his outbursts, enduring them in silence. My determination towards creating a spawn was steadfast – nothing could change my mind.
In the years preceding this, I spoke to several coven leaders who had created spawns in the past. A few were reluctant, but they taught me how to do it. For years, I stalked the night, hunting humans and taking note of certain traits I would want in a spawn. Grant never accompanied me on these outings.
On an outing like one of these, I was hunting a young human. Following close, I periodically reached into their mind. The human was scatterbrained, delicious mental trauma lurking just below the surface of the psyche. They perfectly appealed to me. Pale, young, inattentive. They were slightly smaller than me, so I could carry them off and kill them with ease. It was a perfect night for hunting, and this human would have been the perfect prey… if not for my desire to own them.
I used my power on the human, reaching into their mind and paralyzing their body. I darted forward, letting them fall into my arms. My superior strength and agility allowed for a quick escape. The exhilaration of the kidnapping sent courses of excitement through me – excitement I hadn’t felt in a long time. To this day, I can’t recall how far I ran. Fleeting memories of rooftops, alleyways, and the paralyzed human in my arms are all that come to mind.
Eventually I set them down, cradling their head in my lap. The light was dim, but I could see their face well. The human was scared, their round, white face looking up at me with wide eyes. The human's irises were a dull gray color. I remember wondering what color they would be once the spawn was complete.
I’ve never forgotten that moment, cradling the paralyzed human in my arms, my hair draping over them like a curtain. I studied every part of them, from their small pink hands to the thin line of their lips. Their expression – so full of biblical awe and mortal terror, and yet, something else. They thought I was beautiful.
I hadn’t given my appearance much thought recently. Many vampires are effortlessly beautiful – our skin never blemishes, our hair never tangles. I am one of these such creatures, having been praised for my beauty several times when I was young. The feeling of being recognized for my beauty was indescribable, but in the moment I felt vindicated. Creating this spawn was my destiny.
I made the right choice.
It was messy. My clothes were soaked through with their blood. I remember bringing the spawn home to Grant. He was shocked and extremely unhappy, but he was more concerned with the spawn’s wellbeing than yelling at me. The spawn was trembling, their fragile body wracked with spasms. Blood spurted from their mouth. I watched curiously as Grant wrapped the spawn in towels and blankets, offering it water and pain medication. It couldn't speak, just keeping its fearful eyes trained on me.
I retreated to the bathroom to clean myself. The spawn's blood was caught in my long hair, turning it a deep mixed shade of red and purple. I cleaned myself for what felt like days, scrubbing my shaky hands until I was sure they were clean.
The next morning was very quiet. The spawn was on the couch, wrapped in bloody towels. Bandages and water bottles were strewn about the room. Grant was half-asleep, sitting on the floor, his back up against the couch and his head lolling back. The spawn periodically shivered or groaned. I ignored the noise. It was all part of the process. I removed a cup or so of blood from the fridge and offered it to the spawn. They drank it greedily. Grant was awake now, glaring at me – but he knew he couldn't say anything. I was a coven leader now.
I was his coven leader now.
The next year was peaceful. The spawn gradually returned to their human family while keeping contact with us. They remain very close to Grant, but the bonds of covendom envelop us all.
-V.
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