Chapter Three: Snow White

Shirra’s Story

December 12, 1982

10:00 pm

I did not like this thing called flying. I prefer the ground, thank you. I have heard often the rumors that other vampires, of the damned ( I do believe I just made a joke?) Order, have learned to fly with their own powers. Either way, I care not. I will not fly if I do not have to. And I do nothing I don’t want to.

This was the first time I had been on this ‘airplane’ since they learned to go into the clouds. The people talk, a constant buzzing noise that makes me want to rip their tender throats and lap up the rich blood. I will, of course, control this urge, for I am born to rule, and with it comes expectations of behavior. I must remain composed for now. Damn.

The only one who does not talk is the mortal in front of me. It is a boy, I think, for the delicious mortal smells of the specific hormones of a male adolescent, though still very young.

To make up for lack of other less desirable talents, I have trained my senses, such as smell, to be able to pinpoint by the smell and appearance of a body the age and gender of a mortal. Most vampires could learn to do this as well, but few ever think of it or care enough to make any effort.

I am thankful to this little fragile mortal that he does not contribute to the noise of this overly cramped steel and plastic bird. I am often distracted by the tiny rat-like man who is making flirtatious approaches towards me, and insists on my breaking his fingers (by which I mean he keeps touching me and receiving hostile acts in return).

I wish he would leave me alone. I can deal with him easily, but my worst weakness (though I admit to none outside this journal) is how easily I am annoyed and distracted. This man will drive me to fatally hurt him if my ‘gentle’ hints do not penetrate his thick skull.

The boy in front of me sits by no one. The seat beside him is empty. Perhaps I will move?

December 13, 1982

6:00 am

The events of the last few hours have been most rewarding! Oh god, I am in love! My heart races, and my body yearns for this other beside me! But this will not do to simply write that. Lest I forget a single detail of what has made me melt into a puddle, I must write it down!

December 12, 1982

11:30 pm

“My fingers! Ouch! You broke my damn fingers!” The ugly little man squealed.

I was so angry that he had touched me in such a private place without my permission that my breathing had sped up, heat of anger flushing my dark face. I rose angrily, and went into the tiny bathroom.

I locked the door and leaned my head back against the wall. I must calm down. Bad things happen when I get angry. Here I was still the Demon queen, whether or not I was before my subjects. I must practice that control. I must not yield to such inappropriate emotions.

When I felt better, I opened the door and went to return to my seat. Instead of sitting beside the gruesome little man, I sat in the empty seat next to the boy who had previously been in front of me. I was still in a bad humor, but I was feeling calmer. The boy, who had his face hidden under a hooded thin black jacket, looked up at me briefly. I caught a glimpse of pale skin and dark eyes, but then he had looked away again.

I am a social creature. The boy smelled right (good too, he smelled of sandalwood), healthy and strong and clean, and so I decided to make conversation with this trustworthier specimen.

“Hello.” I said to him.

He flashed another quick glimpse at me, and then looked hurriedly away.

“Hello.” Was the soft reply.

I liked his voice too. It was soft, an American accent, and slightly husky.

“You are going to Denver Colorado?” I asked pleasantly.

The boy shook his head.

“No. I’m taking adjoining flights to Denver, then to Des Moines, Columbus, to NYC. No straight flights.”

“I see.” I said.

I was going to Denver to recruit some old friends into our cause.

I suddenly realized that I could feel some heat radiating off the boy, and his hormones had changed. I grinned. He was attracted to me.

“What is your name?” I asked him, touching his arm.

I felt familiar buzzing warmth within me, meaning I was powerfully attracted to the boy too.

“Wynter.” (He has told me it is spelled with a 'y'. Most interesting.) He answered softly.

“Wynter. That is a beautiful name.” I said gently.

“Thank you.” Was the quiet reply.

“Why do you wear that hood? It is lovely warm in here. Surely you must be hot.”

“No. I am alright.”

I could feel his thoughts brush mine softly. He was afraid to take off the hood. Wynter’s mind recoiled as if he knew I was reading his mind, and I knew nothing more.

Without asking, as I am prone to do, I reached up and pushed back the hood. The boy grabbed for it, but I caught his slender pale hand and wrapped the fingers in my own. Wynter lowered his face quickly, as if he did not want me to see his face, his ropey glossy black hair falling around it like a shining dark veil.

“What are you so afraid of?” I asked.

I received no answer.

“Wynter, sweet, look at me.” I said gently but firmly.

Wynter shook his head. I could feel his fingers trembling in my hand. What was he hiding? I took his chin in the fingers of my free hand, and lifted his face to look at me. Wynter, as a mortal, could not free his face from my grasp.

His face was small and oval, the skin cool but for the slightly warm (because of my touch) cheeks that were still faintly plump from so little time as an adolescent, and utterly colorless. Wynter’s skin was as white as my hair. His eyes were still lowered, the glossy thick black lashes hiding whatever the color of his eyes. His mouth was plump and seemed rather dark compared to his skin. A dark bruise tarnished his alabaster skin on his cheekbone, as if he had been hit. I gently traced the curve of his eyelashes, being careful not to cut him with my sharp nails. At the touch, he raised his eyes to look at me.

They were simply beautiful! I have always been one to study every detail of a person, whether mortal or immortal, and marvel at the beauty I find there. Wynter’s eyes were as black as his hair, the pupils indistinguishable from the irises, and so glossy I could see my reflection staring back at me. I almost kissed him then and there, for I was losing myself in the beauty. I wanted him badly.

As I sunk deeper into the ebony pools of his eyes, lines from an old fairy tale played through my head. Skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony… A faint pink glow graced Wynter’s pale cheeks, and I realized he was blushing. The people of this day and age are not so intimate as to touch a stranger like this. I let him go, and he looked away for a moment, then back at me shyly.

“What’s your name?” He asked, and I realized I had not told him.

I was traveling under one of my many aliases, a Miss Sarah Arrihs, which was one of my rare jokes. Before I could stop myself, my real name had left my lips.

“Shirra? Isn’t that a Jewish name that means ‘queen’?” Wynter asked.

I smiled and nodded. I wanted to touch him again, to feel the heat ripping through my body, as it desired this soft mortal flesh beside me. I reached for his hand, just to satiate the need for now. Wynter did not seem to mind my touch.

“Wynter? I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you not want me to see you?”

Wynter bowed his head, a bit shamefully.

“I creep people out sometimes, ‘cause I’m so pale and dark.”

“I think you’re lovely.”

Wynter blushed.

“Thank you, Shirra. I didn’t want someone so stunning as you to be… repulsed by me.”

“I am not, as you see, ‘repulsed by you’. In fact I am rather attracted to you.”

Wynter turned quite pink and blinked rapidly at this last comment. I am always one to tell people exactly how I feel about them and feel no shame in doing so. Wynter was obviously not used to such honesty.

“I-I…. uh, that’s, um, nice then. Uh…” Wynter stumbled over his words.

I reached out and put my finger to his lips.

“Shhhh.” I whispered.

Wynter was quiet.

I could feel the way the closeness and particular spot I was touching him was warming his body. His lips burned against my finger, making me want him all the more. I could see that these new feelings, which I doubted one so young as Wynter had experienced before, were making him uncomfortable, and yet he was enjoying them. Most of the people on the plane were asleep… I shook the thought away. This is no time to be letting your hormones run wild!

Wynter closed his eyes for a moment, pretending to be calming down but really just enjoying the touch of my skin on his satiny lips. I ran my finger slowly down his soft lips, loving the feel of the soft plumpness moving under my fingertip. Wynter’s heart was starting to pound. I could hear it doing double-time in his chest. I smiled at this realization. I had always enjoyed toying with people, testing what made them tick and watching the results. My finger moved down his silky throat, down his very narrow chest… Wynter suddenly caught my hand, his grip firm.

“Please don’t do that.” Wynter said softly.

“Why not? Don’t you like it?” I asked.

He shook his head. A lie. I would have to get used to people with some discipline. My mind flashed back suddenly to one I had loved (in a way) long gone. Hot kisses, soft golden curls running through my fingers, slanted tawny eyes that could be so sweet, or so seductive they would drive a monk wild, bell-like laughter, smooth pale skin under my fingers…

“Are you alright?” Wynter asked, and I mentally shook myself.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I replied.

But I wasn’t fine. I was lonely. And I wanted Wynter to fill the empty space.

“Wynter? Is it all right if I… come with you?” I asked.

Wynter stared at me, looking surprised and confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I… need a friend. I’m all alone. I want to be your traveling companion.”

Wynter smiled in such a gentle sweet way at me.

“You’d have to get another ticket. I’m going to New York, remember?”

“I remember. I will. All you must do is talk to me and… be my ally.”

I had nearly said ‘love me’, but that would not do. Attraction is not love. I had never really had love. The only two people I thought I had loved had both betrayed me.

“I can do that. I’d be happy to have a friend.” Wynter replied with a smile.

I found the way he was smiling and inclining his head most irresistible. I leaned over and fluttered my lips against his once, my fingertips brushing his soft cheek, and then sat back quickly. Wynter looked shocked, and touched his lips with pale fingertips in surprise. I felt his thoughts brush mine. Ah, it had been his first kiss. Not really much of a kiss, but close enough. The most any girl had ever done to him.

I smiled and stroked his cheek. He placed a swift, shy kiss on my wrist, and I wanted to moan as I hungered for him. Wynter looked up at me, ebony eyes shy and strangely seductive, though I was quite sure it was completely unintended. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to not just take him now. I have never been good at controlling my passionate impulses.

Wynter smiled and ran his smooth fingertips down my arm. I made a tiny, almost inaudible whimpering sound. Wynter looked up at me, surprised he had such a strong affect on me. I was surprised to. Never had I been so weak, or so wanting, toward anyone since I was a babe in my mother's arms, and it was strange to me.

I took Wynter’s hand and kissed the fingertips. He blushed and made to pull away. I let him go. We sat without touching for perhaps a minute, and then I needed the touch again.

“Wynter?”

“Hm?”

“Promise that you won’t leave me? Or… or betray me?” I asked, very seriously.

Wynter turned to gaze at me, his eyes locking with mine.

“Never.” Wynter replied softly.

I sighed with relief, and reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of my hand.

Wynter was getting sleepy. I could tell. It was almost midnight, and I reminded myself that Wynter was a mortal child, used to going to sleep at this hour. Wynter leaned back against the seat, my continued soft caresses making him relax. His eyes soon closed and his breathing slowed. I thought he was asleep, and withdrew my hand. But Wynter caught my wrist gently.

“Don’t stop.” He muttered sleepily.

I smiled and moved closer, stroking his soft thick hair now. He was soon fast asleep. An hour later, I decided to sleep too.

* * *

3:30 am

I awoke with a start. It was still very early in the morning, leaden gray out the plane window. I realized I was most pleasantly warm. Wynter was asleep against me, his head resting just below my shoulder. We had been both lying inward, and ended up against each other. Wynter was so warm and soft, and his head lying against my heart made me feel as if I would glow. I looked down at him. An angel. He had to be a seraph.

His pale skin glowed softly with the approaching morning light, his exquisite oval face looking so young and lovely. His jacket had gotten twisted beneath him, falling down almost to his elbows. Underneath it was very thin pale shoulders revealed by the thin black tank top, which was short enough to show about two inches of his stomach, but had gotten pushed up higher than that.

I frowned, seeing purple fingerprints in his soft child's flesh. I had left such bruises on many a person myself, and knew what they meant. I felt at that moment that I would have gladly dispatched anyone who dared harm sweet little Wynter, my delicate mortal of such beauty.

I traced delicately the graceful lines and curves of his shoulder and collarbone. I leaned down and kissed his hair, breathing in the calming scent of sandalwood. Wynter made a small noise, half sigh half moan, and snuggled closer to me. I smiled and put my arms around him, my hands folded over his heart. I fell asleep to the rhythm of Wynter’s heartbeat against my palms.

Author’s Note: In case thou art getting confused, Raven and Wynter are the same person. His full name is Wynter Raven Black, and Wynter changed his name to just 'Raven' some years later. Evil Shirra is not a milksop villain; she just has a definite thing for Raven. Besides, I do not believe in anyone being truly evil, and its been fun getting into Shirra’s mind and showing she’s not all she’s cracked up to be. Tell me what you thought, huh? Love you all!

-Sinead