When I was young, all I ever wanted, was to be loved. Not that I was missing any from my parents but, that special kind of love. The kind of love that men used to scour the earth for. The kind of love that you'd do anything for. Lie, cheat, steal, kill for. The kind of love you would gladly die for, and someone worth giving up everything for.
I believed, as all young girls do, in a prince that would one day come to claim me. Rescue me from my provincial life. Leading me into a life of adventure and passion. Followed by marriage, children, and everlasting devotion. The hearts and flowers of romance, mingled with tender intimate nights. Taken away to the lavish castle far far away. The sweetest of dreams.
However, nothing ever happened to me. My life was safe and easy. I was a good kid, picture perfect. Clean room, straight edged, and hopelessly romantic. We lived in Olympia Washington, all my life. I went to the same privet school since pre-k and knew all the families in town. Mostly due to my father’s dental practice and my mother being a college art professor. I had a pretty good life.
Most stories like this start with a woman or some odd teenage girl. Sometimes she’s plan or antisocial. Maybe she is special in some way, or something weird like that. Next, there will be some tall dark and mysterious boy who will take interest in her and they’ll fall madly in love. Until she finds out, he’s a supernatural being. Finally, in the end, he will rescue her from danger and they usually live happily ever after. That’s how most of these stories go. They always start with a girl meeting her vampire. Mine, begins with the loss of one.
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