《Dreaming: Blood & Shadow》 Memories One of the many things Laurel had been cursed with was an eidetic memory. Since before she''d even been born, she''d been recording almost every moment of her life with crystal clear vision. That made it hard for her to look at portraits of her mother, as much as she knew she had to. In life, Clarice had been a raven-haired beauty with lovely dark brown eyes but Laurel had never known that version of her. When the nurses had pulled her free, her mother had already become a monster, struggling against her restraints, hissing and screaming and baring her fangs. They''d locked eyes, two sets of identical red rubies staring back at one another, but Laurel had only found fear and hatred in them. Yet that was still not her worst memory of Clarice. A few hours later, Laurel had watched from the shade as her mother was marched out into the courtyard. The sun had burned her to ash in a matter of moments but she''d had just enough time to look back at her. That was the face she saw whenever she was made to remember her mother, a tearful, pleading face, wracked with fear and pain, crumbling away into nothing. ''What are you?'' Her brother''s voice startled her, though it didn''t show in her body language. She remained as still as a statue, staring at the portrait. It was the only one that remained and, if her step-mother had anything to say about it, it would soon be gone. ''My prince,'' Laurel said, finally turning to the boy and smiling softly, ''I am your dutiful older sister.'' Her tone was proper and her answer well-practiced, since the boy had asked that question - or a variation of it - several times throughout the years. ''Duh,'' he replied, quite improperly for a boy of his rank, ''I know that, but what actually are you? Father won''t say.'' Nathan irritated her much more than her other siblings. The twins were decent to her, if a little cold, and Callum was a sweetie, but their brother was a tormentor. He loved to tease and taunt her. She had no real answer for him. ''I am a dhampir,'' she said, as though she truly believed it, ''a half-human vampire.'' One of the countless wise men her father had brought to examine her had been an ancient man with milky white eyes and a strained voice. He''d said she was a dhampir, that her mother''s vampiric blood had mingled with hers in utero and produced an abomination. Still, the common folk said she was simply a dreamling, that her mother had been an adulterer and her father a fairy or a demon, or something even more exotic. The palace''s servants, on the other hand, told her that she was a changeling. That she did not merely have the blood of a nightmare but that there was nothing human about her at all. The real Laurel had died in the womb and the thing that now walked in her skin was a monster. She didn''t want that particular explanation to be true but she had to admit that it was the most plausible. ''Mother says dhampirs aren''t real.'' Laurel wanted to roll her eyes at that, but she didn''t. As much as she despised Nathan''s mother, she had to respect her elders. ''She says that you''re not royalty at all, but the bastard daughter of a mothman.'' Her step-mother''s fixation on the mothman theory was doubtless due to Laurel''s red eyes. ''It is not for me to question my lady,'' she said, simply. Mercifully, he was satisfied by that and left. Her relief turned into a pang of envy, however, when she realised that he was rushing out to play in the gardens. Her father definitely believed that she was a vampire, whether half-human or not, as he forbade her to go out into the sun. Out of obligation, she marched back up the stairs to her bedroom. She''d have thought of it as her prison cell if it were not so well furnished. The red carpet floor was soft and lovely. her writing desk was ebony and her bookshelves were well-stocked with rare tomes, many of them written in the days before the nightmares came, some three hundreds ago. She took up her favourite spot, by what used to be a window, on her cushioned bench and waited for a servant to bring her her dinner. Her father''s wife had seen to it that she had no place at the dinner table and her strictly vegetarian meals were prepared separately anyway, on the prince''s orders. That was another thing the old man had told them, that Laurel should not be allowed to eat meat. At the time, it had seemed unfair, but she''d grown accustomed to it over the years, consoling herself with the fact that some humans abstained out of compassion for cows and pigs. Waiting was not hard. Each sleepless night, locked in her room, had taught her patience and by now, at the age of ten, she was a master of it. So, she sat, perfectly still but for the beating of her heart until an hour had passed by and Emily brought her a bowl of pea soup. The common girl, an inch shorter than her despite being four years older, had the demeanour of mouse. She curried in and scurried out and was likely to squeak if Laurel moved. Politely, then, she merely watched as the girl walked across, eyeing her nervously all the while, and placed her serving on the desk. The insolence of her servants hurt her. Not because she had any strong feelings about the need for a well-disciplined staff but because she knew that they reserved that behaviour for her. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. If Emily had entered Nathan''s room unannounced or, heaven forfend, his mother''s, and regarded her betters with any expression other than dutiful obedience, she''d have been out on the street before the day was done. If Laurel had not had such fine control of her body, she''d have thrown the soup against the wall in a rage. Instead, she calmed herself down, still not having moved so much as a hair on her head since she''d first taken up this position. Once she felt better, she was able to enjoy her dinner and place the empty bowl outside. Afterwards, she took out the book she''d been reading for the past few days. It was a fascinating read, if a little dry, detailing the geography of her grandfather''s kingdom. The Last Harbour, as it came to be known during the closing days of the Nightmare War, was a tiny island that resembled a teardrop, off the southern coast. Connected to the mainland by a narrow strait, it was exceptionally defensible. Apart from a small strip of the continent, just north, shielded by a great wall after it was cleared out by the armies of her great-great-grandfather, that operated as a forward base and, more recently, as a tentative colony, the Last Harbour was the only place known to have survived the nightmares. It was theorised by many wise men that there were other continents, on account of the sheer size of the planet, but they were the subject of myth. Otherwise, all the lands outside the kingdom''s borders were the abode of nightmare creatures, some organised into mockeries of civilisation but the vast majority contributing to the growth of an endless expanse of haunted and twisted forests and swamps. Mapping of such places, though it was known to have been performed by those poor souls trapped within, such as the dreamling tribes - the descendants of dreamlings who bred true - and the myriad exiles and adventurers who lived dangerous and fleeting lives, it was largely considered to be a pointless endeavour. Where the nightmares ruled, landscapes shifted and changed, dimensions became warped and even the most experienced hikers and trackers felt their sense of direction fail them. South of the wall, however, a much better job could be done, and Laurel had a sneaking suspicion that the various maps contained within, as old as they were, might come in handy for her. It was only a matter of time, she reasoned, before her step-mother found a way to have her expelled from the palace. ''Excuse me, my lady,'' a voice called from behind her, squeakier than usual, once the hour had drawn late. Laurel turned to face the girl, a new servant who looked to be about her age, with pretty blue eyes, an unfortunate nose, sticky out ears and a noticeable overbite. Her hair was light, almost grey, brown and her skin was lightly freckled. ''Your father says you are to put out your candles, my lady.'' Laurel merely continued to stare. ''Then, I''m to lock your door for the night, my lady.'' ''What''s your name?'' she asked, as she put out her bedside candle by pinching the flame. ''It''s Sarah,'' the girl said, somewhat disarmed, before hastily adding yet another, ''my lady.'' ''Okay, Sarah,'' she replied, stifling the urge to laugh, ''I''ll do as my father says.'' She did not tell the girl how pleased she was to finally have a servant willing to say more than two words to her. Instead, she simply snuffed out her reading light and waited for the door to close. Once she''d heard the lock turn, followed by a hurried patter of feet, she slipped into her queen-size bed. It was luxurious and extravagant and utterly pointless. When she was younger, she used to spent her nights pacing around, sometimes even throwing tantrums in her boredom and frustration, and, as she got older, she would take to lighting her reading candle back up. Now, however, she preferred to lie in her comfy bed and pretend to sleep, closing her eyes and conjuring fantasies in her mind. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could make nothing real. On account of the monstrosities he''d dreamt up, the first of her half-siblings, that poor sweet boy, William, had not lived to his see his second birthday. Almost every week, sometimes every day, something horrible and twisted had to be killed by the palace guards at ten or eleven o''clock at night. Despite her best efforts, however, not even gremlins, the lowest of all nightmares, were born in her room. It drove her to tears, on occasion, though she struggled to truly reason why. She suspected that it would simply make her feel more human. ''Think of it as a blessing,'' that old man had said, ''use all your powers for good and you might even prove to yourself that you are more than just a monster.'' He''d tried to explain to her what being a dhampir meant but, even after all this time, she still could not fully understand it. Even if she chose to believe him, she could replay every conversation they''d ever had, word for word, and she still didn''t think she''d ever get it. ''Vampires are creatures of blood and shadow,'' he''d said, ''but you are a creature of blood alone.'' What that meant, she didn''t know. She''d never experienced a craving for blood. Even after once biting her own wrist and drinking what little flowed out, she only ever felt nothing. She assumed that meant she wasn''t a dhampir but some of her books said that such half-human creatures as dhampirs generally did not feed on blood. So, it was all still undetermined. ''You have a nightmare flowing through your veins,'' was a favourite saying of his, ''learn to control it and you could become humanity''s greatest weapon.'' If that was right, then she was very far from being a weapon. She''d never even had a nightmare, it seemed very likely that she never would. Whether someone could control something that they''d never even seen seemed like an interesting philosophical question but that was about it. So, tonight, like a hundred other nights, Laurel closed her eyes and tried to imagine something scary. Vampires Picking out a dress was often a chore. Her father gave her so many, though very few in the reds and blacks that she preferred. All of the pinks, blues and whites were made worse by the fact that the rest of the family actually did tend to wear black. The country''s ruling family was the House of Blackheart and, having been her father''s cousin, her step-mother was born into it as much as anyone else. The servants wore greys and blacks, as well, which generally left Laurel as the odd one out. She always had her eyes, of course, those gorgeous rubies that shone with an unnatural light. In the end, she chose her long-sleeved white Empire line and ordered Emily to do her hair and makeup. She had to use her mother''s vanity because her father didn''t permit her to have mirrors in her bedroom. She hated the smell of her mother''s old room and the fact that it looked just as it had the day she was born, minus the bloodstains. Emily never bothered to thank her for remaining perfectly still. Of course, that would''ve required her to say anything at all. ''Leave,'' she said, with heat, once it was done, and she crossed over to her birthing bed. Once she''d heard Emily scurry off, she permitted herself to touch the pillow. It had become something of a ritual for her and she lingered for as long as she could stand to, which was not very long at all. When she descended, walking past the rows of portraits, she noticed immediately that her mother''s had finally been taken down, replaced with some worthless nobody. She had the claws to scratch it to pieces and the urge to do so. Instead, she continued her graceful descent, without skipping a beat. Her step-mother had been watching her from the bottom of the stairs, hoping to catch her misbehaving, and Laurel refused to let her win. ''Good morning, my lady,'' she said, with a wide smile and chirpy tone of voice. ''I am thinking of having your mother''s old room remodelled,'' she said, not showing any sign that she''d been stumped. ''What do you think of that?'' There was some venom in her tone, likely undetectable to a neutral observer. ''Whatever my lady thinks is best, although,'' she waited for a smile to creep across Charlotte''s face, ''Emily makes me up in there, so I shall have to find somewhere else.'' The evil woman rolled her eyes, ''of course,'' she said and sauntered off. Laurel went in the opposite direction, towards the parlour, though she changed her mind once she heard Nathan''s voice. There were so many rooms that were strictly forbidden to her so, in the end, she went to her father''s study. It was technically also off-limits to her but not in the sense that she might burn to ash because someone had opened a window. Also, the chance of being caught was practically nil because the room was never in use. Her grandfather, now reigning as King William II, had apparently loved it and used it well. Many of his possessions, accounts and journals, from his time as crown prince, could be found here, but her father had not taken after him and concerned himself almost exclusively with warring and hunting. Or, as her uncle had once drunkenly joked, ''rutting and whoring.'' That was a pleasant memory, as she recalled in perfect detail how ugly Charlotte''s face had become upon hearing it. Though she could see in the dark, she still preferred candlelight and lit the candelabrum as soon as she sat down. She wondered why her grandfather had chosen to set up his study in a windowless room, or if he''d even been the one to make that decision. Her favourite explanation was that it prevented thievery and espionage. The palace had been built long before the Nightmare War, when its occupants would''ve had rival kingdoms to worry about, so it seemed plausible. She sifted through the drawers in search of something she hadn''t read before but came up empty. She didn''t have to search the bookshelves, by contrast, since she was able to perfectly recall all of the titles and their exact positions. One in particular had always stood out to her and she went to retrieve it. The spine was inviting, black leather with the title in big red capital letters: Vampires. She''d been told a lot about vampires over the years but she was generally not allowed to read books on the subject. This was a tome of considerable size, however, and she dearly hoped that it would be able to answer all of her lingering questions. A girl her age would likely have struggled to carry such a thing back to the desk but for her it was no trouble and she placed it down, gently, without making a sound. The first page gave the date of publication as 1305, which made it around eighty years old. The author was a man whose name held no significance to her, Ivan Blackwood, and he claimed to be a dream hunter. As much as she was fascinated by them, her father had once cautioned her that they were often liars. This man''s prose was quite convincing, however, as she read through a description of his first encounter with a vampire. He''d dreamt of one when he was fifteen years old. She took the form of a glamorous young woman, with black hair and shining red eyes. The creature had almost bitten him but the hound at the foot of his bed had attacked her, alerting his father and the rest of the house and she''d been slain. With a wooden stake driven through her heart, she''d become inert and been carried out into the courtyard, where her body had burned to ash at dawn. From that moment on, he''d been obsessed with studying them and, eventually, with hunting them. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The second chapter covered the physiology of vampires and the distinction between the two main classes: the trueborn, who emerged from the nightmare world, and the accursed, ordinary mortals transformed by another vampire''s infectious bite. It was all stuff she''d heard before, unfortunately, but there was a section at the end that gave her pause. Along with detailing various other peculiar circumstances, such as bats that carried the infection and stories of vampires who preyed of their own kind, it dedicated a few sentences to the infection''s interaction with pregnancy. Whereas in most cases, it said, a mother''s transformation into a vampire would destroy her unborn child, if she was far enough along and her sire took care to embrace her without excessive violence, her child would be transformed into a dhampir, said to possess the strengths of both nightmares and dreamers and the weaknesses of neither. Immune to silver and sunlight, inhumanly strong and supernaturally graceful, such creatures were highly prized by both vampires and hunters alike as the ultimate weapon in the continuation of the Nightmare War. The author claimed never to have met one himself but said that he''d been told of their existence by other hunters that he trusted not to lie or exaggerate. Until now, she''d felt ambivalent about the prospect of being a dhampir but the thought of being able to walk in the sun tantalised her. She dared not tempt fate, however, and, upon hearing voices outside, she snuffed out each candle and put the book back in its proper place. Before long, she was eating a slice of mushroom pie in her room and daydreaming about a sunlit walk through the gardens. When Emily came to take her plate away, she dropped Sarah off. The younger servant lingered awkwardly in the doorway for a while before nervously piping up, ''um, excuse me, my lady.'' ''What is it?'' she asked, straining to keep her tone warm. ''Your father has asked me to be your playmate from now on, my lady.'' Laurel''s brow furrowed at that, a rare involuntary reaction from her body, ''why? I assume that awful woman had something to do with it.'' Sarah was appropriately scandalised and squeaked but eventually managed to answer her. ''The princess believes that it would be too dangerous to allow a dreamling so close to her children.'' Laurel''s face was now a mask of perfect composure, as much as she was boiling with rage just beneath the surface. ''Aren''t you scared to be alone with me, then, if it''s too dangerous for them?'' The servant seemed on the verge of tears and she struggled to meet her gaze, ''yes, I am, my lady.'' That made her feel bad and deflated her outrage somewhat. ''Sorry,'' she said, ''that was cruel of me. There''s really nothing to be afraid of and I am not a dreamling.'' ''As you say, my lady.'' ''Alright, then let''s play. I''m too good at hide-and-seek so how about go-fish?'' The two ended up playing for hours, mostly with playing cards, though Sarah became startled whenever she made a sudden movement. It was an enjoyable diversion from her reading plans, however, and she even managed to feel a little sad when the girl was collected. That night, she imagined herself as the ultimate weapon, hunting vampires night and day but something gnawed at her. If it was really true that her mother''s sire took care not to harm her, what did that mean? Had she been created on purpose? Had her mother been targeted so that she, in all her half breed glory, could be born? They were troublesome thoughts and they followed her through the morning and into breakfast. ''Father?'' she called, from the small table they shared, during the one meal a day that he joined her for. ''Yes, dear?'' Julian was a tall man, with long blonde hair that almost rivalled her own and piercing green eyes. ''Where did the creature that killed my mother come from?'' It was a lie agreed upon that the vampire had killed her, when it transformed her into a monster, and not the staff, under his orders, when they''d dragged her into the sunlight. Her father chewed his food for a while before answering her. ''You''ve never asked that before.'' ''I always just as assumed that she dreamed it.'' That seemed to sadden him. ''Understandable but no. Your mother was made of stronger stuff. There''s a reason my father picked her out for me. Clarice Silversun was the envy of the world in her youth, beautiful and fierce and as sharp as anyone I''ve ever known. Her nightmares stayed right where they belonged.'' She smiled at that, having always loved hearing such descriptions of her. ''No, the thing that came for her that night was a monster from the Nightmare War. Some even say he was born before it started, when dream creatures were rarities and often considered myths. He''d stalked your mother for most of her life and then, one night, when the moon was full and his powers were magnified, he slipped past our defences. The rest of the story you know well.'' One tear slipped through her mask, and then another, and before she knew it she was crying heavily and her father had his arms wrapped tightly around her. ''Sorry,'' she said, apologising for being the reason her mother had died, ''I''m so, so, sorry.'' That foul monster had waited for her to grow to just the right size before infecting her mother, in hopes of creating a dhampir. And, she realised with horror, he may well have succeeded. Here Laurel was, a living testament to his success. Lost in grief, she tried to hold on tight to her father but he''d soon extricated himself. Life had to go on as normal, and she had to disappear into her ever shrinking world. Shades It was Laurel''s twelfth birthday but she''d received no gifts. Over the past year, she had been pushed further and further out of her father''s life. By now, he didn''t even share breakfast with her. Her uneasy friendship with Sarah was a welcome distraction, from time to time, but she knew even that was all a part of her step-mother''s plan to isolate her. Today, her father wouldn''t even look at her, as the staff took her to what she assumed was one of her lessons. As she passed him by, she saw his jaw clench. His eyes looked dead ahead, out into the inner courtyard. Just as she was about to pass him, however, she felt two of the servants tug her, right towards the archway he was staring through. ''No,'' she said, as a dull sense of panic began to rise through her body, ''don''t.'' The men pulling her arms were strong but she was stronger and she yanked them back, so hard that they fell to the ground. ''Father!'' she cried, but he kept his gaze fixed towards the courtyard. Seconds later, two palace guards had seized her, much stronger men with firmer grips. Instantly, she was drawn back to the death of her mother and she became paralysed by grief. She braced herself and closed her eyes, trying to focus on something good in what might''ve been her final moments but all she could think of was ash and smoke. Then, she heard gasps from the onlookers and felt the grips on her arms loosen. She dared to open her eyes and found herself standing in the courtyard, with the hot sun on her skin. Frist, she gasped with relief and then she laughed. She even threw back her head and clutched at her chest, half performance and half sincerity. Dhampir or dreamling, she was free. She looked up at her father''s face and saw guilt in his eyes, but a smile. Her step-mother did not seem pleased, though nothing in her manner gave away any anger or disappointment either. Laurel herself did not know what emotion to replace her sense of relief with. Eventually, once she was done twirling around in the open air, she played the part of a grateful and dutiful daughter and used the opportunity, probably one of the few she''d get for a long time, to enter her father''s embrace. He muttered apologies to her as they held one another, though only for trying to kill her and not for cutting her out of his life. Before long, he drew himself away and the palace returned to business as usual, as though nothing had even happened. For her, however, everything had changed, and she headed straight to the gardens. She''d seen sketches of them and been given cuttings of the flowers but she was still unprepared for their true majesty. The air was thick and sweet and she drowned herself in it. She let the rows upon rows of colourful flowers dazzle her and observed every insect she found with utter fascination. Whereas humans found her stillness unnerving, it seemed to endear her to all the tiny things that buzzed and crawled. As she lounged about, she stretched out her arm and held it up, perfectly still, for an hour. It delighted her when a butterfly, gorgeous with big blue wings, landed on her finger within seconds and she studied its every move. Her dressing gown was stained, possibly beyond saving, by the time Sarah came out to give her a sandwich. She offered one half to the servant girl without a moment''s hesitation. ''Come,'' she said, with a smile, ''sit with me.'' ''It''s strange to see you out here,'' her friend said, to which she gave no reply. They ate in comfortable silence, basking in the sun, and when they were finished Laurel insisted on exploring. The gardens ran the length of the palace and extended far out, with no obvious terminus. At a certain point, the flowers simply seemed to grow more wild, as careful arrangements, trimmed lawn and gravel paths gave way to long grass and thorny bushes. Across the clearing, on the western side, were the woods. Even in the summer sun, the shadows within were black as pitch and some darker still beckoned her forth. ''We''re not allowed in there, my lady,'' Sarah called as she walked with determination towards the darkness. ''Turn back if you''re scared,'' Laurel said to her, not without sympathy. Fear of the dark seemed ubiquitous across all ranks of humanity and it seemed perfectly reasonable but Laurel had never been afflicted by it. Until now, she had feared the sun but those days were over. She could truly be fearless from here on, she said to herself as she strode ever closer. It did not take long for her to notice that the trees had been warped and twisted by whatever foul nightmares lurked within. There were faces in the woods, sparkling eyes flashing in the dark, and they strengthened her resolve to enter. ''Laurel,'' her servant practically screeched, searching for her hand and gripping it tightly. ''I don''t like this.'' ''Don''t worry,'' she replied, absently, ''I''ll protect you.'' Sarah''s only response was to squeak and hold her hand more tightly. Soon enough, the pair had entered the woods and Laurel immediately heard voices calling out to them. Some taunted her, whereas others tried to tempt her with promises of sweets but she ignored them with ease. As they went deeper and deeper, crunching through the forest floor as the light faded beneath an unnatural canopy, Sarah began to squirm and shiver. ''I really don''t like this,'' she said, ''we should go back.'' Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Laurel rounded on the girl, somewhat irritated by her. ''I said you could go back if you were scared.'' ''But I was worried about leaving you alone,'' Sarah replied, her voice shaky and tearful. After letting out a performative sigh, Laurel relented. ''Fine, fine. We''ll go back but tomorrow I''m going in alone and don''t you dare tell anyone.'' The servant girl gave her no assurances but she didn''t press the issue and, soon after, they were back in the gardens, chasing butterflies and lounging around until they were called in for dinner. Later that night, she was annoyed to learn that the custom of locking her in her room was going to be continued and she struggled with her pretend sleep. Instead, she paced around her room, as she''d often done when she was much younger, desperate to be allowed out. Eventually, she settled into her favourite spot where she heard, from far beyond what used to be a window, more voices calling out to her. It was the nightmare in her veins, she intuited, that drew them towards her. The things in the woods came from all over but a great many of them came from the palace itself. Every momentary fright, every dark dream, from its inhabitants, young and old, common and royal, birthed such creatures. Most were shades, barely able to affect the physical world beyond a stiff breeze, but she knew that much nastier things also dwelled there. When something big and powerful and savage, like a werewolf or a troll, was born, it rarely left without causing trouble but such things as were less sure of themselves, like goblins, often fled. Then, of course, there were the more intelligent creatures, like vampires and hags, that could rampage through whatever place they found themselves in, but that generally preferred to leave without a trace. That was how the Nightmare War had begun, it was said. Dream creatures slipped into the waking world in greater and greater number but for every one that caused a scene, a hundred more left to join one of the armies. For years, they plotted in the darkest parts of the world, the deep woods and the foul bogs, and massed themselves into hordes, each a million strong. Then, just when the world had grown accustomed to the odd nightmare getting out of hand, they unleashed themselves, in the worst night humanity ever knew. A hundred million died every hour and, by the morning, the survivors struggled to come to terms with what had happened. Laurel wondered if the voices in these woods were plotting an attack of their own. It occurred to her that she did not know how she would feel about that. She disliked most of the people here and smashing the whole thing to pieces held its appeal but she loved her father and a few of her siblings. It was also hard to stomach the thought of the palace''s poor animals suffering from such an attack, never mind the children. Even her step-mother, as much as she hated her, was not someone she could bring herself to condemn to a painful death. ''Join us,'' a voice called, much louder and nearer than the others, breaking her out of her deep contemplation. ''Why?'' she whispered, unsure if it could hear her. ''One of us,'' it chanted, perhaps in response and she shook her head. ''No, I have the nightmare in my blood, but I''m half human.'' ''Join us,'' it called again, this time a little quieter, as though it were retreating. ''One of us.'' The morning could not come quick enough and she was ready, as soon as her door was unlocked, in her wellington boots, to race right down, through the outer courtyard and the gardens, across the clearing, and into the woods. She twirled around, much as she had done the previous day, when first exposed to the sun, letting herself enjoy the true darkness and the hungry eyes that twinkled all around her. Bolder shades nipped at her but she batted them away as she journeyed deeper and deeper into the woods. The chanting voices grew wilder, almost frenzied, until one of them decided to make its presence known. ''Sweet girl,'' it said as it stepped out from behind a large dead tree. She assumed it would look much uglier in the sunlight. ''How brave of you to come so far.'' ''It isn''t bravery, really,'' she said as she studied the bloated form of the hag, ''I just don''t feel much fear.'' The monstress chuckled, ''oh, you will do, in time.'' It walked further towards her, seemingly trying to scare her. Just as it reached out with one of its clawed hands, however, Laurel raced around it in the blink of an eye. ''Ooh,'' it gasped as it wheeled around, ''you''ve got tricks, I see.'' Laurel smiled smugly. ''I''ve got a few tricks of my own, however,'' the hag said, before whipping around to chase off a few shades, ''stop it, you lot, I''m starving.'' It smiled grotesquely, baring its sharp, rotten, teeth. ''I''m going to need a few of your bones, girl. I''m making stew, you see? Dreamling bones are so much more flavourful than peasants.'' ''I''m not a dreamling, witch.'' ''Oh, but you are. We can smell it. And those lovely red eyes of yours. They''re not human, I''m sure you''ve heard.'' ''I''m a dhampir,'' Laurel replied and she noticed the hag''s face change in an instant, just a slither of fear creeping over it. ''Nonsense,'' it said, trying to assure itself, as it reached out another hand. Laurel clawed at it, drawing awful green-black blood. It shrieked and launched itself at her after that but Laurel simply danced around it, laughing all the while and delivering cuts and slashes wherever she could. Once the foul thing had been brought low and began to cry out for relief, the shades that had been watching them fight with great enthusiasm took advantage, descending upon it in dozens, then hundreds, and draining its blood from all the open wounds. The hag was dead within minutes and Laurel was free to continue heading deeper into the woods. The chanting voices soon returned and she skipped along to them, as if they were a party of bards. Games Two years had passed since the sun first kissed her skin and Laurel was still sometimes struck by it. With her head in Sarah''s lap, as they lounged in the gardens, she reached out as if to grasp it. A dark thought then crept up on her, ''would my mother be envious, if she could see me now?'' Sarah cradled her and said, ''your mother would adore you.'' She''d stopped adding ''my lady,'' to everything she said a year or so ago. ''She burned up in the sun but I don''t even tan. I think she would hate me.'' That face came back to her, one twisted in pain and anguish. ''She could never hate you.'' Laurel whipped up onto her knees at that. Her sudden movements had long ago lost their unnerving effect on her friend. ''They had to restrain her during the birth, you know? When she looked at me, it was a more hateful look than anyone has ever given me.'' Sarah shook her head, ''that was the vampire. Your mother was human before, all that time you were in her belly, and she loved you. The older staff all talk about how lovely she was.'' She tutted at that and stood up. ''Oh, you just don''t understand.'' She pointed to her eyes, almost poking them. ''I''m her daughter. That hateful savage monster was my mother, not my father''s soft and loving wife. The blood that''s in my veins has nightmares in it and that''s the blood we share.'' Feeling her mask of composure slip too far, she sighed. ''Sorry, you''re right, sort of, I shouldn''t have brought it up.'' ''That''s okay,'' her servant said, with a warm smile. ''My lady,'' someone called out, ''lunch has been brought to your bedroom.'' ''Coming,'' she replied, as she tried to reason why. Looking out into the distance, she saw carriages driving down to the outer courtyard. ''Father''s feting guests, it seems, and wants me out of the way.'' Sarah said something then that she wouldn''t have dared even a few months ago, ''Princess Charlotte is the more likely culprit.'' Laurel smiled at that, though she didn''t know how true it was. Her step-mother would''ve likely preferred to tell her in person, to rub it in. This felt more like her father''s quiet shame than her open contempt. Regardless, her friend followed her and they shared a nice lunch, cucumber sandwiches, lime cordial and snacks, all clearly prepared for an afternoon of hobnobbing and light entertainment. Sarah barely had any duties and only ate her breakfast with the staff. It was actually on of the few things that made her grateful for her step-mother''s crusade, as it was designed to ensure that she was rarely alone or unoccupied and, hence, never inclined to go looking for diversions in the parlour or any other part of the palace that had become forbidden to her. ''The King is in very poor health, I hear,'' the girl said, unprompted. ''That will please our lady,'' Laurel replied, with a tinge of venom in her tone. It was an open secret that her step-mother believed her father-in-law had lived far too long. ''I suppose I won''t be attending the funeral.'' The thought actually made her a little sad. She''d only met her grandfather a handful of times but he''d always been very sweet and gentle with her. ''That would be outrageous!'' Sarah shouted, startling herself. ''I mean, it''s tradition for all a king''s children, grandchildren, siblings, nephews and nieces to attend. It''s the kind of thing people are brought out of exile for. Dreamlings are no exception.'' Laurel gave no indication that she was offended by the comment but the girl still hastily added, ''not that you''re a dreamling, it''s just that, you know, it''s not even something they could use against you.'' ''We''ll see,'' she returned, simply, before going back to finish her sandwich. Afterwards, with the gardens forbidden to them, they played house until dinner. The sounds of entertainment grew louder at that hour and they realised that the party had been brought inside. With the parlour closed to them, Laurel''s half-brothers eventually turned up at her door. ''Laurel,'' Nathan moaned, ''we want to play.'' She opened the door a crack but upon seeing Callum, the one she actually liked, she let them in. ''Where are the girls?'' ''They''re in the parlour with the adults, they actually like just sitting there and listening to them talk and play boring grown-up games.'' ''Alright, how about hide-and-seek?'' Callum''s eyes lit up at that but Nathan regarded her more sceptically. ''No, you''re too good at that. It''s not fair.'' It was worth a shot, she thought. ''Alright, then, what do you want to play?'' ''Blind man''s bluff,'' he said, ''but you have to be the blind man.'' Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. She agreed, successfully stifling a smirk, and they wasted no time. Sarah wrapped the blindfold tight around her eyes and Nathan insisted on checking it and then they were off. With the entire first floor of the palace to hide in, Laurel gave them plenty of time. With the noise emanating from the ground floor, she imagined it would''ve been very difficult for a human but Laurel''s senses were so attuned that she could pick out the distinct patter of three different pairs of feet, scarpering in different directions and could even distinguish who they were. Still, she knew that it was no fun for them unless she gave them plenty of time to shift position, taunt her and try to sabotage one another, so she took things slow. Nathan stomped where she knew Sarah was hiding before pattering off. His footfalls were softened, meaning that he''d taken off his shoes. She pretended to fall for it and sprinted towards the spot. She felt the spot Sarah had chosen and pressed her hand against the wall. From her breathing, Laurel knew her friend had simply crouched down but she left, nonetheless. When this caused Sarah to badly stifle a giggle, however, she rounded on her and caught her. Next, she followed Nathan''s trail through a door he''d tried to close without making a sound. She heard him walk slowly around her, hoping to leave, but she waited for him to get the door and snatched him up only once she heard the door creak. Finding Callum was unfortunately very easy because his nervous anticipation kept making him giggle. Once she''d picked him up, making him screech with laughter, Sarah removed her blindfold. ''What are you doing?!'' Her step-mother''s voice boomed down the hall. ''Put him down,'' she demanded and Laurel did as she was told. ''We were playing,'' Nathan said, ''but Laurel used her dreamling tricks to cheat.'' If he was expecting his mother to care, he was disappointed with her response. ''You should not be playing with her at all. Downstairs, both of you. At once.'' The woman left Laurel with a dark look, as her sons scurried along. ''Bitch,'' she said, loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough for her to care. Sarah gasped at that and dragged her to her room. They occupied themselves with playing cards, though neither girl had much of a heart for it and, when no one came to call for lights out, they eventually fell asleep together, something they''d done only a handful of times before. A few hours later, the pair were startled awake by screams and shouting. ''It''s in the boys room!'' she heard her step-mother cry, as she stepped out into the hall. A few palace guards came rushing down, where a small crowd of frightened onlookers had gathered around the door to the room that Nathan and Callum shared. Laurel rushed over there, just as a guard was tossed from the room. Some of the onlookers shrieked when they saw him and one of them fainted. The guard was a bloody mess and his head was missing. Laurel raced past them, quicker than they could react, and dove into the room where a dream creature was enjoying a gory feast. One bed was soaked in blood. The thing was twisted, all black and thorny limbs, about ten of them, extending from a face with tiny red eyes and an amorphous mouth with three rows of razor sharp teeth. As soon as she entered, it lunged for her. It torn into her, skin and clothes, even down to her bones in places, but she thought back with tooth and claw, gorging herself on its rancid thick black blood until it was dead. Before she would allow herself to feel the pain, she scanned the room and found Callum, crying and shivering in his bed, and she scooped him up, holding him tight and peppering him with kisses. He held onto her for dear life, so tight that his step-mother couldn''t tear him away from her, as much as she tried. That night was it for Laurel. With Nathan''s death, the walls closed in around her. She was not allowed to see her father from then on, except on the very rare occasion that he was home and his wife was not. Her remaining siblings were to be strictly avoided. She was to have her meals in her room or out of the palace and nowhere else. Her mother''s room was stripped bare, and forbidden to her regardless. Sarah was to return to her regular duties and they were only allowed to spend time together for one hour a day in the late evening. If she broke any of those rules, even that privilege would be taken away. She suffered these things with a mask of perfect courtesy. A year passed her by before any of these restrictions were loosened. Specifically, Sarah was allowed to spend the weekends with her. ''The King is in very poor health, I hear,'' the girl said one day. ''You''ve probably forgotten,'' Laurel said, picturing everything in her mind, ''but you said those exact words to me fourteen months ago, almost to the day. ''Oh, well this time they say it is much more serious. He is bed-ridden and cannot speak coherently.'' ''That''s sad,'' she said, absently, as they stared across the clearing. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness and the tiny, flickering eyes, she saw inside. ''Your father wants to organise another cull soon.'' Laurel laughed at that, though she was unsure why. ''Are you okay?'' ''I feel, more and more, like I''m sitting on the other side. One day, when he''s hardened his heart, he''ll sign my death warrant and burn my carcass with all the other creatures.'' Sarah snapped at her, ''don''t say that sort of thing.'' ''Alright,'' she replied, fatly, as she began to wander off towards the woods. ''Please don''t go in there.'' ''That''s not how it works, Sarah. You''re my servant. I give the orders and you obey. Come with me, if you like.'' She walked of, hoping that her friend had decided to follow her but not caring enough to check. She did not get far, however, before she heard a hurried footfall. When she turn to face it, Sarah launched at her, tackling her and wrestling her to the ground. The shock of it allowed the much weaker girl to knock her off her feet and she laughed. ''What are you doing?'' ''Stopping you,'' her servant announced, as she tried to wrestle her. Bemused, Laurel simply tossed her aside. It went like that for the next few minutes, with Sarah diving for her and Laurel evading or overpowering her until she''d been sufficiently distracted and they began to play in earnest, chasing and grappling each other. ''We should sleep here tonight,'' Laurel announced, hours later, with Sarah lying exhausted in her arms, ''under the stars.'' She locked eyes with the girl, trying to see into her soul. A thousand thoughts seemed to pass through the girl''s mind before she replied. ''I''d like that.'' No one bothered to retrieve them and they slept in the long grass, sharing body heat, until the sun came up.