Empress Aliya

Two hundred and sixty years ago, my parents were burned alive by a man I swore with my life to take revenge on. No matter how hard I tried, I could never let go of that memory, because that was what I lived for.

The night was bitterly cold and unusually dark. Everyone in the house was fast asleep except me. Then I heard voices—strange voices coming from outside, or so I thought.

I hurried toward my parents' room, but as I reached the door, I realized the voices were coming from inside.

“Please, don't hurt my children,” my mother pleaded. “Let him go,” she cried, referring to my little brother, who clung to her like a frightened child refusing to let go.

I placed my ear against the door, trying to hear what they were talking about. Instead, I heard the cry of my little brother.

The moment the door slowly drifted open, I saw everything. My mum and dad were kneeling before a huge, heavily built man, a scar running along the side of his face. He held a wooden stake in his hand and drove it straight through my father's chest.

My mother threw my little brother towards me. I caught him, but the force sent me crashing to the ground.

“Run!” my father yelled. I watched helplessly as his body turned to ashes.

My mother screamed. Tears streamed down her face. I could see the fear in her eyes as she looked at me.

“Keep your brother safe.”

Those were her last words. Then she turned to ashes too.

I woke with a gasp, bursting out of the triangular coffin I usually rested in.

Lately, I had been dreaming about that night. Over and over again. But what haunted me the most was my little brother. He had died too.

I hadn't kept him safe like I promised. I had failed the last thing my mother ever asked of me. How disappointed she must be in me, I thought.

I stomped my way into the kitchen, desperate for a cup of blood. My thirst was becoming unbearable. But the moment I opened the refrigerator, my anger flared.

One bag?

Just one miserable bag of blood remained—and it wouldn't be enough. My heart clenched with fury.

"Who drank the blood in this refrigerator?" I thundered.

The noise outside immediately died down. Laughter faded into whispers. Conversations stopped as everyone began murmuring nervously, even before I stepped into their midst.

My fangs were already aching to sink into the throat of whoever had committed the offense. I rarely allowed them to show when I ventured outside to hunt. But here, within my territory, I was not merely their leader. I was their Empress. Aliya. And everyone under my command knew better than to challenge me.

When I reached the gathering where my people had been playing games and enjoying themselves, I found the culprit already on his knees. His entire body trembled as he bowed before me.

"I'm sorry, Empress Aliya," he pleaded. "Please spare me. It won't happen again."

Everyone else immediately lowered their heads. Fear hung heavily in the air. I could feel it.

Ever since I lost my parents, happiness has become nothing more than a distant memory. Many of those standing before me had come to my territory seeking refuge. Others had been turned by my own hand, bound to me by a loyalty that would last until death. And yet, one of them had dared to steal from me.

"Spare you?" I repeated.

My voice was low—almost a whisper—but it carried through the entire gathering.

I stepped closer. "You know the rules."

I bent down until my eyes met his trembling face. "There are no second chances."

His eyes widened. Before he could utter another word, I seized him by the neck and sank my fangs into his flesh. His scream echoed through the room. I held him firmly as I drank, draining every last drop of blood from his body. "Oh, the warmth." I didn't stop until he was lifeless beneath my grip.

No one moved. No one dared to look up.

I released him and slowly straightened, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.

They called me Ruthless. They weren't wrong.

I turned toward the crowd, letting my gaze travel from one terrified face to another.

"Let this be a lesson to every one of you." My voice hardened. "No one—" I paused, allowing the silence to deepen. "I said NO ONE—takes what belongs to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Empress!" they answered shakily.

I stared at them for another moment. "If you want blood, go out there and hunt humans. Drink as much as you please. After all, they'll kill you without hesitation if they get the chance."

I exhaled heavily and rolled my shoulders. Then I looked down at the body.

"Burn him." I turned away. "And bring me his ashes."

Without another word, I walked away, leaving my people frozen behind me. I felt no remorse. In my territory, there was only one law. Mine.

The sun rarely shone over Central City, leaving it perpetually cold and shrouded in an almost endless chill. It was the perfect place for vampires to live alongside humans without being noticed. Yet the humans had no idea that vampires inhabited their city.

I was still thirsty for blood. Most vampires, wary of humans, hunted animals instead. But I was less afraid of them. What's the worst that could happen?

After two hundred and sixty years, I had seen it all. Death. Betrayal. Loneliness. Bloodshed.

I had lost everything. And I had nothing left to lose. Every time I stepped out to hunt, I carried the same foolish hope with me—that perhaps, this time, I would finally see him. The man with the scar. That scar. The one carved so deeply into my memory that no amount of time could erase it.

I had spent centuries searching for him. But, that very cold afternoon, I found someone else.

Deep within the woods, far from the main road where humans wandered freely, I saw a young man walking alone. He was ridiculously beautiful. But beauty has never interested me. Not anymore. What caught my attention was the scent of his blood.

It was unlike anything I had ever smelled. Sweet. Warm. Almost intoxicating. My hunger stirred instantly.

I followed him silently through the trees, keeping to the shadows as I imagined sinking my fangs into his neck. I could already taste his blood on my tongue. I imagined draining every last drop until his body went cold beneath my hands. Then I would disappear. Just as I always did.

I glanced around. No one. "Perfect," I muttered underneath my breath.

I stepped out of the woods. One moment, I was hidden among the trees. Next, I landed directly in front of him.

He stopped. His eyes met mine. And then—he smiled.

"Hey, beautiful."

I froze. Beautiful? Did he just call me beautiful? I thought in my head.

"Where did you come from?" he asked. His voice was deep. Calm. Almost dangerously gentle.

I couldn't answer.

"Are you lost?" He stepped closer. "Do you need help?"

Before I could react, he lifted his hand and gently squeezed my cheek. "You look so pretty," he said. "I can help you."

Something inside me snapped. I stood there, completely speechless. My heart pounded violently against my chest, and for the first time in centuries, I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't feed, I couldn't even breathe.

Rage burned through me. I tore myself away from his touch and ran.

I disappeared into the woods, moving faster than any human eye could follow. But his words followed me.

Beautiful.

Why? What part of me did he think was beautiful?

I didn't stop until I reached home. I slammed the door behind me and stood there, trembling with anger.

Why hadn't I killed him? Why hadn't I sunk my fangs into his throat? Why couldn't I drain him dry? Then the thought came.

Maybe... maybe it was because he had called me beautiful.

Nobody had ever called me that before. Not once.

I pushed the thought away. Then I remembered the box. The one my mother had given me two nights before we were attacked.

I hadn't touched it in over two hundred and sixty years. It had remained locked beneath my bed all this time, buried beneath dust and memories I had refused to face.

My mother had pressed it into my hands that night. "Keep this safe." And then she said something I never understood: "I will always be watching you through the mirror."

At the time, I thought she was simply trying to comfort me. Now I believe they knew they were going to die.

I dragged the box from beneath my bed. Dust covered the lid. My fingers trembled as I unlocked it.

Inside was the mirror. My mother's mirror. The last thing I had left of her.

I lifted it slowly. And then I saw myself.

I stared. For the first time in centuries, I looked at my own reflection.

My hair was wild and impossibly large, tangled from years of neglect. Blood stained my face. My eyes looked empty. Cold. Dead.

I tilted my head. This was what that man had called beautiful?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Did he lie to me?"

The question hung in the silence. My heart began pounding again. Anger rose through me like fire. I was mad at him, and at myself for believing the words of a human. Anger at the reflection staring back at me. And perhaps most of all... anger at the fact that his words had mattered.

I hurled the mirror against the wall.

CRASH! Glass exploded across the room. Tiny pieces scattered across the floor, each one holding a broken version of my face.

I stared at them. Then I smiled.

If that young man thinks he could call me beautiful, and leave me questioning everything I had believed about myself for two hundred and sixty years... he was mistaken.

Tomorrow, I will return to those woods. I would find him. And this time—I would suck him dry.