To Draw Blood from Wine

As the woman stumbled into her room, clutching her neck, she reprimanded herself for venturing alone at night. Shooting a spark of energy, she lit the candles in her room, illuminating the rich furnishings she had recently inherited. Frantically she made her way to her desk, knocking aside the inkwell that rested on there as she reached for a drawer, producing a small bottle and some bandages before turning to the large silver mirror by the wall. Just looking at it, she knew she didn’t have much time left, as her reflection began to flicker and fade, I have to clean the wound first, maybe I’ll have time to get it cured after, if not… she pushed the thought out of her mind as she began to wipe away most of the blood from her neck, revealing two puncture marks. Dabbing her fingers into the bottle, she gingerly but swiftly rubbed them against the bite, fighting with everything she had to stop shaking from the stinging pain. With the wound now mostly clean and disinfected, she wrapped the bandage around her entire neck, panic even further growing as not only did her reflection fade, but the silver almost seemed to glow with a painful light. Finally, the wound was bandaged, and she struggled to make it back to the door, before collapsing into her desk chair. If I don’t have the strength to leave, maybe I can get a letter to the healer. Picking up the spilled inkwell, she knew it would have to be a short message with how little was left. Readying the quill in her shaking hand, she produced a piece of parchment labelled on the top with “WynnHaven Estates,” the renowned vineyard she had inherited not even four days ago after her father’s sudden passing. Her eyes began to feel heavy as she began writing the letter, please… not like this. The light faded as she passed out before she could even finish the first sentence.

Suddenly jolted awake by a burning sensation, she darted up, looking at her hand, the flesh of which had become blackened, embers drifting towards the window. A window that now began to produce sunlight into the room. No… She couldn’t believe it; she was too late. Amala Wynn, of WynnHaven Estates, has become a vampire. She rushed to close the curtains, avoiding looking at the silver mirror that now burned white hot in her vision, before collapsing on the bed, head in hand as she wept.

Hours or more passed, before she finally felt the first of it. The thirst. It was an intense hunger the likes of which she had never felt before, gnawing and clawing at every fiber of her being, calling for blood. She looked towards the window, and saw the sun was now setting. She opened the curtains once more to look out upon the fields and courtyard below of her families estate, pondering what to do next. Just then, she saw a line of workers heading towards the office to collect their pay for the day. Her jaw opened slightly, and her tongue lolled out as her vision changed, the entire world becoming a black and white ocean, the people below nothing more than a faint shadowy outline over their heart and veins, glowing red, calling to her. Her vision returned to normal, and for a second she was about to jump from the window, pouncing upon her prey below, but one of them turned towards her window, and she paused. A young man named Bernard, who had waved to her every night, waved at her once again with a wide smile on his face. Shaking her head from her trance for a moment, she smiled and waved back at him, before closing the curtain once more, rejecting the temptation to feed. No. She thought to herself, I will not feed on them, or any creature for that matter, I will either discover a way to fight this… this disease, or I will starve. Heading to her desk, she grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and the quill once more. She still had little time left, but her hand was slowed, calm, as she wrote an emergency message that would be found in case of her death. It stated simply how she had been turned into a vampire, and she denied the consumption of blood. Should I seemingly go missing and naught but a pile of ash remains in my room, let it be known that the Wynn line has ended, and I pass the ownership of the estate onto Bernard Fesine, who has always been a loyal, kindhearted, and wise worker, under my father and under me. She rolled up the parchment and set it aside, satisfied with her will. As far as anyone has ever known, vampires who refuse to feed have only a matter of days to do so before they perish, so she began to work with a renewed vigor, gathering all texts on vampires she owned from throughout the house, avoiding maids and servants as best as she could. The few she didn’t manage to avoid, she warned to stay away from her room, she’s engaging in research and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. She spent the entire night studying the texts, making notes on certain aspects to delve into later, and when the sun rose she began writing a new letter requesting some items brought to her room, providing specific instructions to knock on her door, leave the items, and walk away. She watched as the signed and sealed letter drifted off towards the office, carried by a simple delivery enchantment. When the first delivery arrived, she cautiously opened the door, to make sure the servant had left, before grabbing the basket eagerly. The first thing she experimented with was trying normal food, there was bread, meat, grapes, and some rarer fruits and vegetables they use for their special batches. There was part of a kawa stick, the flowers clipped and the bark trimmed, leaving only the edible fruit beneath, along with a dried segment of kawa jerky as well. A slice of hjaga, a rare form of living silver that grows in the shape of a pumpkin, despite it being silver it did not hurt to look at, nor did it burn at her touch. And lastly there was a small materwelon, named as such because it resembles an inverted watermelon, a vegetable that has a savory green interior and a dry pink exterior that grows from cursed ground. Bringing first some bread to her lips, she immediately spat it back out after chewing for a second, as it tasted like ash. Already believing this theory a bust, she nonetheless continued with the other items first. The meat had some flavor to it, but ultimately she still felt completely unsatisfied as it hit the bottom of her stomach, sitting there like a rock. The grapes weren’t too bad either, the actual fruit was horrible but the juice within had a slight pull to it. She felt though that if there was any way to survive off of them she’d have to ingest half of the vineyard daily in order to do so. The kawa was similar, the juice had a slight effect, but the jerky and fruit itself was ash. When she got to the hjaga, even though touching it did not burn, attempting to eat it caused physical discomfort, and she put it down immediately. Lastly, the materwelon, she took a deep breath as she raised it to her lips, but the vegetable, despite also being juicy, tasted like ash. Perhaps it’s related to fruits? She called for a more diverse palate of fruits to continue experimenting. If she could at least find something other than blood that could satiate her, she could deal with the rest of the curse.

By this point, nearly twenty-four hours had passed since she had become a vampire, and other than the general weakness from not having “eaten,” she had felt fine for the most part. It wasn’t until she reached for an apple with the second delivery that the spasms started. Intense bouts of pain, causing her entire body to shudder and twitch uncontrollably as it called for sustenance. She let out a short cry as she fall out of her chair, writhing on the floor with a thud. It didn’t take long for a servant to rush to her room, knocking on the door, “Are you alright in there ma’am?” A gentle but concerned voice from one of the maids came through. Amala struggled to compose herself to speak through gritted teeth, “I’m fine, just got a light spook and fell over, you can return to your duties!” She did her best to sound ok, like she had just fallen, and there was no response for a moment, and Amala feared the wouldn’t be able to control herself if the maid entered the room. “Ok, ma’am, you gave me an awful fright, be careful in there with your research dear!” Finally the kindly maid left as Amala heard her feet shuffling away. I need to solve this, and fast, she thought to herself.

Over the next two days, she continued to experiment with the fruits, grapes and kawa were the most sustaining, as little as they gave, so she tried to create some sort of special concoction with their juices. Nothing worked. Some combinations provided more sustenance than others, but then she’d be met with yet another spasm as her cursed body raged against her mind. Finally, after three long, restless days and nights of studying, researching, and experimenting, she felt her time was finally drawing near. The spasms had gotten even worse as well, the most recent one proved particularly violent, as she tore up the room. I’ve had enough of this! PLEASE STOP! She cried out to herself within her own mind as her body lurched. She tried to take control of it, but instead of control, her body became angrier, and raised clawed hands to her own face. The scream that followed as she gouged out her own eyes was heard across the estate. When the spasms finally stopped, she simply curled up in the corner, sobbing to herself. She had run out of ideas, and even if she had more, she was out of time now as well, so she simply waited for her end. It didn’t take too long before she heard a voice outside, it seemed to be the same maid who came by before, she was sobbing now. “I don’t know what’s going on in there ma’am, but I know you don’t want us to disturb you, so I won’t. But I just want to let you know we’re all concerned for you, dear, and I’m off to say a quick prayer to the gods for your health.” The old maid’s footsteps sauntered away slowly as Amala had one final idea. One last desperate attempt to live as she recalled that vampires who had drunk mortal blood, but not animal blood, had an aversion to holy texts and items. She rose once more, defiant against her new disability. I know this place like the back of my hand, I don’t need my eyes. She strode confidently to her bedside, opening the drawer and grabbing a copy of the Holy Almanex, before going to her bedroom door, and throwing it open with gusto as she began running towards the cellar door. I don’t have time to make juice now, I can only hope this works with wine. She felt the blood flowing from her eyes burn and dry, turning into ash as she marched. She also heard countless gasps and cries from the servants she passed. She didn’t stop for even a moment, even when one brave servant attempted to grab onto her arm, offering aid, she took her arm away as she approached the cellar. Entering, she found the nearest bottle of wine and set it upright on the ground before her as she sat on the cold stone floor. She could feel the eyes of the servants boring into her as she opened the Almanex in front of her, feeling a slight tingle upon touching the holy text. I pray to thee, Reluvathel, the God of wisdom and magic, if anyone has a cure for my plight it is you. Please, help me… tell me what I need to gain sustenance from this bottle! Nothing at first, no response, and certainly nothing started glowing or levitating or something else fantastical either since she heard no gasps from behind her. Please, I beg of thee, Reluvathel, I will never consume the blood of any living creature, just let me endure this curse! Another pause of nothing, and Amala sighed, about to give up until she heard a voice in her head, powerful and booming, yet little more than a whisper that seemed to come from every direction. “You swear this?” Is all it spoke. “Yes I swear!” She cried out, crying “I am a vampire!” Finally a reaction from the servants, gasping and crying as she turned in the direction she could smell them from, “I have been for three days, and I swore an oath, I will not have the blood of any creature, or I will perish!” She attempted to look apologetic at the kind souls who had long looked after her and her home, since before even she was born. “Look to the Almanex,” Reluvathel stated. She turned her head back to the bottle and Almanex in front of her, and gasped. Though all of her vision was still dark, she saw the bottle now outlined in a white glow, and a spell being burned into the pages of the holy text. A spell that would sanctify this wine, transforming it into the blood of Reluvathel, allowing her and any other who would follow her oath a way to endure vampirism. As she performed the ritual prayer, the servants gasped once more as the bottle shifted before their eyes. Visually it remained the same, but now it swirled and moved of it’s own accord, flecks of gold occasionally appearing and briefly forming unknown runes and constellations before drifting apart once more and disappearing. Thank you, Reluvathel… I swear now this gift will not go unwasted. I will preach your name and save as many as I can of this cursed blood. She uncorked the bottle, which made a musical sound, and took a sip.