Gravel crunched under tires as Opal turned into her driveway, marked by the little blue address sign that read 724. Morning Mist Drive was aptly named. First thing in the morning, fog coiled between the dense trees. Late at night, though, the woods were alive with nightlife that sang to her as she got out. The first drops of rain struck her skin. She had to hurry.

The girl was slumped in the back seat, hair spilling onto the floor. One of her hands lolled to the side, slack. She was completely unresponsive as Opal bent to retrieve her. This time, she cradled her limp body in her arms, slammed the door with her foot, and rushed to unlock the front door. It was a challenge to manoeuvre, but she managed somehow. The door was silent as it swung inward. The darkness within was no match for Opal's superior vision. She strolled through the halls with ease, not flipping a single light as she went. Though her nearest neighbour was over a kilometre away, she didn't want to risk anyone seeing her. Once the girl was safely tucked away for the night, she would turn on the lights.

In the small town of Bancroft, wealth worked rather atypically. The richer they were, the further from town they lived. The wealthiest of them lived deep in the woods, far away from their neighbours, as though they could catch something from merely setting eyes upon them. It suited Opal quite nicely. She had been enjoying life in this town for the better part of fifteen years now. If she played her cards right, she could easily get another fifteen out of it before she would have to move on. That would be a sad time. She loved this house. It was her favourite yet. Plants overflowed planters on every surface, and bookshelves lined many walls. There was a kitchen, but it sat mostly unused. It was just a nice place to socialise. Thick curtains draped the wide windows and were attached to an automated system. They shut an hour before sunrise, and opened a half hour after sunset. They effectively blocked out all sunlight. Perfection.

Upstairs, bathed in darkness, Opal strode with purpose to the end of the hall, to the room she had spent the past week customising. She knew much about the young woman she had taken. Her name was Jasmine Connelly, she seemed to love the colour Clear Sky blue, based on how much of it was scattered about her apartment. She had a cat, she rarely talked to anyone outside of work, and she worked often. There was an easel set up in one corner of her bedroom, facing out the only decent sized window in the place. The view wasn't much, but she was painting it nonetheless. Once Jasmine was settled, perhaps she would retrieve it for her.

The room had been done up in Clear Sky blue, which had been a challenge to match exactly. She had painted the room twice to get it right. Plush bedding in the same shade adorned the queen sized bed that took up much of the room. There was an empty desk, a full bookshelf, and a wardrobe full of new clothes. Extra quilts were folded and set upon the ottoman at the foot of the bed.

Opal tread silently across the soft carpet and laid Jasmine down on top of the blankets. Though it had been longer than she cared to admit, she remembered her transformation vividly. The sweats would start soon, and she would resent the added heat. Her body would try to fight off the venom and fail, and she would succumb to its effects, much like the bite of a venomous snake. Hers was just as deadly, but it also brought with it a second chance at life, in a way. So, it wasn't all bad ... right?

Jasmine was so peaceful there against the soft blue blanket. Her dark hair splayed out across the pillows, and her full lips were parted as she breathed deeply. Sweat began to bead on her brow. Jasmine sighed and hurried to the washroom across the hall. It rarely saw use, and the bright light was jarring when she turned it on. She opened the cupboard and retrieved a stack of clean, white washcloths, then returned to Jasmine's side. She dragged over the desk chair so she could be there for her like her own master had not.

Dying or not, Opal recalled every single moment of the transformation. She was aware of everything around her, every sound, every touch, every whisper. She heard the taunts and the jeers of her master. She felt the sweat rolling down her body, and pooling in the valley between her breasts. She felt Dorian's fingers explore her mouth to retrieve her eye teeth as they shed in place of fangs. All things that Jasmine would experience, save the jeering.

Opal felt bad enough about taking this girl from her life. This woman. She was nineteen, after all. Barely younger than Opal herself at the time of her kidnapping. That said, Opal had had a long time to experience the world and the horrors within it. She was not the same woman she had been back then. She wasn't even the same woman she had been under Dorian's reign.

Shaking her head, Opal dabbed a trail of sweat from Jasmine's cheek. Her body was trying its best to fight off the venom. It was failing. Inevitably, the venom would kill her, then awaken her once more. It was hard to say exactly what she would be, beyond the obvious name. Would she be considered undead? Immortal? A god, perhaps? They couldn't die, not in the traditional sense.

Opal liked to think she was living a second life, a second chance. Once she had won her freedom from Dorian, her second life began, bright and beautiful. At least, it was at first. Very quickly Opal came to see the horrors of her new life. The first came with the death of her new best friend. Old age, could you believe it? Opal never could explain how she never changed over the years, and Lilly didn't ask. Deep down, she knew the truth: Lilly suspected something about her immortality. Why she never asked for it herself, Opal didn't get. Again, not at first. When she had to leave her next city as suspicions arose about her unchanging face, she felt the heartbreak all over of leaving her friends forever. Then, understanding dawned on her. Lilly hadn't wanted that life for herself. She didn't want to leave her friends behind, to watch them die as Opal had. That's what Opal suspected, anyway. She could never find out the truth. Lilly was buried in a cemetery some five hundred kilometres away.

Was this really worth it? Putting this girl through all this pain just so she could live forever, too? For a while there, the words of her fellow vampires had won her over. She was lonely. She missed the security of knowing that she wouldn't outlive her friends. She could hardly talk to the other vampires, though. They were unbearable. Pretentious, stuck-up pricks, the lot of them. At least, every one she had met in her lifetime. She didn't seek out her kind, but couldn't avoid crossing paths from time to time.

This way, Opal would have someone in her life who she knew she would get along with, who could keep her company when the crushing, existential weight of immortality got her down. At least with someone with less time under their belt would be easier to get along with. She was sick of how depressing others like her were to talk to. It wasn't like they could simply take antidepressants, they had no effect. Therapy was good, but how could one get it all off their chest? They couldn't talk about what they were without sounding out of their minds.

In just a few days, Jasmine would wake with brand new eyes, an ache in her bones, and a thirst like nothing in the world. She would need to feed, and soon, or she would become uncontrollable. There would be no containing her. Opal couldn't risk a rampage. Fortunately, she had planned for this, too.

Opal pressed her hand to Jasmine's round cheek before heading for the stairs. She pulled out her phone and turned on the lights in the house to a dim yellow. Enough to see and read by, but inoffensive to her eyes. She preferred things darker. Down the stairs, through the kitchen, and around the corner to the door to the basement. Opal pulled back the thick latch, then turned the bolt, and flicked on the light as she descended.

Muffled whimpers drifted up the stairs. Opal smiled, basking in his discomfort. It had taken a great deal of research to find someone worthy of killing. Someone who shouldn't be missed. She found the perfect candidate in Ben Larson. A hockey player on the local team, he was a rising star expected to play in the NHL in the next year or so. He was just eighteen, and he was facing allegations of rape. Discerning whether the evidence against him was credible or not was child's play. It was also evident nothing would come of his court appearance. The media had him painted as a saint. Yes, he would do nicely.