Once when I was in ninth grade, I had to write a paper on a poem. One of the lines was, “If your eyes weren’t open, you wouldn’t know the difference between dreaming and waking.” It hadn’t meant much to me at the time. After all, there’d been a guy in the class that I liked, so how could I be expected to pay attention to literary analysis? Now, three years later, I understood the poem perfectly. Because lately, my life really did seem like it was on the precipice of being a dream. There were days I thought I’d wake up and discover that recent events in my life hadn’t actually happened. Surely I must be a princess in an enchanted sleep. Any day now, this dream-no, nightmare would end, and I’d get my prince and happy ending.
But there was no happy ending to be found, at least not in the foreseeable future. And my prince? Well, that was a long story. My prince had been turned into a vampire-a Strigoi, to be specific. In my world, there are two kinds of vampires who exist in secrecy from humans. The Moroi are living vampires, good vampires who wield elemental magic and don’t kill when seeking the blood they need to survive. Strigoi are undead vampires, immortal and twisted, who kill when they feed. Moroi are born. Strigoi are made-forcibly or by choice-through evil means.
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