1.

The mist steamed over the river, thick as cream. It was, she observed, almost as if she were much higher up, caught in a mesh of cloud. And the city-lights that twinkled below could number the stars. A sigh escaped her lips.

This war isn't ours. But they gave us no choice.

It was long past the midnight hour, and the streets were nearly empty of people and passing cars. And on the bridge, she was alone. She felt Vaclav looking through her eyes, seeing the vast stretch of empty road like she did.

No, she said to him firmly. You take care of the twins. Make sure they get to where they're supposed to.

"Please," she whispered aloud. "I know what I'm doing."

The vision of a burning city filled the space of her thoughts.

The sound of police sirens filled the night, and if she listened more closely, she would hear screams, and the rumble of panicked feet.

She watched as the clock-tower—the city's most famous landmark—burst into a riot of flame. The bridge was a wreck of cars and burnt bodies. God, the smell of it—the smell of rot and smoke. It was sickening. Even for someone like her, who was used to the smell of blood, and even craved for it when her body demanded.

Her eyes flew open. For real, this time. The city wasn't burning. Not as she knew it. There was no fire, no pain. Only darkness.

She stood alone. Barefoot in the middle of the bridge.

Black shapes wavered in the gloom. She squeezed her small hands into fists. Her knuckles crackled when she did. She bared her teeth. The twins' faces flashed before her, about ten years into the future. They stood, hand in hand, knee deep in the surf, gazing up to a high, pale sun. The sun that she had never seen in almost a century past.

She felt the mist cool against the skin of her face, felt it swirl around her legs in a cottony froth. Let them come. By their many legions, let them come.

2.

And come, they did. One particularly eager one in a leather jacket, pounced at her with a serpentine hiss, sharp teeth glinting, red eyes all aglow.

She clawed at the upper torso area of the creature, and tore. In the mist, there was nothing to see. But she felt something gush out of it, warm and slippery, spilling over her. Oh, she smelled blood then. Sweet and viciously tempting.

Two, maybe three, came upon dying vampyre, seizing the opportunity for blood by any means. There came the sound of flesh tearing, and horrible sucking noises, as they pieced him apart.

And, oh, how they all shrieked and writhed and yowled when she went and dealt with them. Blow by blow. Bite after bite.

She remembered to breathe. A white cloud billowed as she exhaled.

This was what it meant to survive. This was what it meant to live. This was what defined her now—a monster among monsters. The blood-smell overwhelmed her and the feeling was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, not even in her few immortal years.

It was, above all else, pure ecstasy.

The bridge was littered with clumps of shredded flesh, fabric and metallic objects—leaving no trace of anything that was once-human.

And just as she was set to walk away, set to find her brother and wash herself off the filth she was doused in, she heard someone call out her name. A female voice, all silk and honey.

Now the mist, turned thick and sooty like smog, congealed to form the shape of a woman. Lady Taija, the legendary Empress of the Mystic Halls. Violet had heard of her before, but never dreamed or desired for the day that they would meet.

Half the Lady's face was already gone. The skin dripped all the way down to her chin like melted candlewax. Her right cheek was burnt all the way to the bone, exposing an empty eye-socket. But the other half, by all means, remained so chillingly beautiful.

What remained of her mouth stiffened in rage and in grieving. "What have you DONE?"

Between the Lady's fingers, she grasped what appeared to be two bloodstained feathers. Far too large to belong to any bird, Violet observed. She dropped the feathers as she sank to her knees, scrabbling at the myriad scraps of flesh and bone, trying to piece them all together.

"My...children. My beloved children..."

The Lady Taija let out a terrible wail, a banshee's sorrowful cry, that shook the very foundation of the bridge. Violet clamped both hands over her ears, and felt a sudden, heavy weight upon her shoulders.

"YOU WILL PAY, you little wretch!"

Eyes flashing, the Lady crunched both bony hands around the smaller girl's neck, and lifted her high up into the air. "A vampyre that goes against her own kind's laws. Disgusting, and pathetic."

Violet slammed down on the concrete, hard. Blood, a lot of it, spurted out from six long gashes in her neck. She tried on last try to stand, but she was immediately knocked down by an invisible force.

And a black, tar-coated tongue lolled out of the Lady Taija's mouth, curled like a butterfly's proboscis. It began to lap up the blood that had spilled on Violet's dress.

"You think you've won, have you? You've already suffered your greatest betrayal."

And in those moments, a vision came.

In the dank, deep underbelly of the City, she saw Simon and the twins. Eloise to his right, and Nathaniel to his left. And, at the very mouth of an abandoned railway line, there stood the Lady Taija, with an army of young vampyres at her wake.

She saw her brother willingly surrender the twins to the coven. Nathaniel went first, screaming in protest, silenced only by a heavy blow to the gut. Eloise did not fight. Instead she went obediently, coaxed by a pink-haired vampyre girl with a diamond-stud on her lip.

The Lady Taija smiled. Her former beauty was restored, and the only telling sign of a past struggle was a cobweb-shaped scar on her right cheek. And that, too, was beginning to fade. And Violet could only helplessly watch as Simon crossed over to the vampyre woman, and pulled her face to his, their lips meeting in a brutal, passionate kiss...

A/N: Okay, a pretty short chapter, more on Violet's POV this time. I think I might include her again in one of my future stories. Who knows?