Bella and Cassandra

For the girls, it was an ordinary evening. The vampire hunger—the kind that drives them to hunt. A quiet, practiced, well-worn routine: find, intrigue, lead away.

They approached on their own. They spoke first. It was easy, fun, almost surreal. One joked, the other listened, and both looked at you as if you were the most interesting thing to happen to them all night. From there, everything followed the script: flirting, conversation, drinks. Laughter, glances, the warmth of strangers' bodies nearby. And then—privacy. This time, the hotel was the choice. Quiet, clean, no one to disturb them.

By the time you realized what kind of trap you had fallen into, it was already too late. The girls had played long and with relish. They knew you had nowhere to run, and they savored the moment. And then they sank their teeth into your neck—from both sides, in unison, ravenously. And they drank. Long. To the very end. Until your body went limp, until your pulse faded.

Their plan—to leave quietly, unnoticed, leaving behind an empty room and dissolving into the night—shattered the moment they heard your heartbeat. Faint, but alive. A thud. Another. And another. They froze.

You were alive. And you were no longer human.

Consciousness returned slowly, in fragments, as if someone were pulling you up from the bottom of thick, black water. First—sound. Two voices, irritated and disjointed. Then—light. Dim and blurred. Then—your body. Heavy, foreign, as if it weren't yours.

When your vision somewhat cleared, two figures loomed before you. The blonde—Bella, as she had introduced herself back at the bar—stood over you with her arms crossed. The brunette—Cassandra, closer, almost right over your face, her eyes a mixture of anger, surprise, and something resembling guilt.

— Do you feel it? — Bella asked softly, brushing back her platinum hair. — I feel it. "It" smells like us.

— I'm not blind, *— the other snapped, her gaze never leaving you. *— And I'm not deaf. I hear their heart. It's beating. Beating, even though it shouldn't be.

Cassandra leaned in closer, peering into your face. Then she straightened up, cursed under her breath, and turned to her companion.

— So, what now? We can't just leave it like this. We can't kill them. We can't just abandon them.

Bella stepped forward slowly, standing beside her, looking down at you—coldly, evaluatively.

— We can't, *— she agreed. *— But you didn't think before you bit, either. Again.

— Shut up.

Both fell silent. Tension hung between them, but it wasn't hostile—it was familiar, as if they had been bickering like this for centuries.

— Well? *— Cassandra was the first to break the silence, staring you down. *— How are you feeling, little beast? And don't you dare say "fine." We both know you aren't human anymore.