After my mother's death, I grew up in my bedchamber in the tower. This cold place, like the cocoon of a butterfly, shields me away from the outside light so my beauty, they said, could be even more radiant like a pearl. However, it's not. It's a cell. Not for me, though, but the men they send to me.

When they send men to me, I drink their blood. The moment they enter the tower, they are doomed, they have arrived in Bluebeard's secret room, they have been sentenced to execution, hurled to the dungeons. Only they don't know. They are told they'd be meeting a pure-blooded vampire of the highest degree. In curiosity, they always ask to see me, and meet their fate.

Is it my fault, then, to eat the chickens that run to me?

***

It was September but already cold then, I remember, when Sabine came into my room. Her dress's blue folds hugged her body and when she walked, her hips moved beautifully. I held out an arm and she walked closer to me until I held her waist. 

"Margery," she said, "are you hungry?"

It had been some months since our last visitor, and although I had been eating some normal meals, I couldn't quite get rid of that particular hunger, so I nodded.

Sabine carefully sat on the bed where I rested, and then swallowed.

"Do you want it?" she asked, voice low. I looked at her, and sure enough, she was serious, her eyes on mine, chin tucked down, waiting for a response.

"Agnes would get mad," I whispered.

Agnes was the matriarch of our clan. The oldest of the Eldest, of the Seventh Generation. There was nothing she hated more than what Sabine did. We had been caught many times, each time ending with me being thrown in the cellar and Sabine in her room. For a month we would be locked inside without anything, blood nor meals.

One would think that would teach us, but it didn't. It couldn't. Each time Sabine entered my room, soft cornflower-yellow tendrils on her neck, emitting the sweet smell of chamomile and sage, unlike the smell of blood that heavily lingered about my other sisters and the elders, I couldn't help it.

"You haven't drank in months," Sabine continued. "And I made sure Agnes and Rowena have left today. Only Selma is keeping watch."

Her voice was soft, motherly. I felt myself waver as I always did, then she finally leaned in towards me.
"Don't worry, Margery. I will protect you."

Without realizing it, my fingertips rose to trace her neck, and then it trailed down to her shoulder blades. I peeled away the fabric covering her shoulder and then brought my nose to it. She was cold, but she smelled so different from everyone. I closed my eyes and relished in the smell.

"Thank you, Sabine."

I raised my mouth and then touched my lips to her neck.

Cold. So cold.

Then I opened my mouth and bit into her flesh.

Immediately the blood flushed into my mouth, and trickled down my chin.

Her hand was on mine, and she squeezed mine tightly.

"Margery—" she whispered.

I gripped her hand in return.

It must've hurt, and to know she was taking all that pain for me made me feel guilty. I was older than her by a few months, with both of us from different bloodlines and parents, but we had grown up like sisters. And yet I could never protect her—she always protected me instead.

And I hated that.

The blood was sweet.

I wondered how she felt.

I pulled away. There was still blood on her neck and collarbone, almost reaching her dress. I bent down and licked it, making her flinch.

"Margery, that's enough. I can wipe off the rest." She pushed me away and held her hand to her wound, stopping the bleeding. I leaned back on my bed.

"I see. Thank you again, Sabine."

She peered up at me, blue eyes watery. Had it hurt that much?

"It's fine. I should be going now."

She raced outside but then gasped. Her footsteps stopped for a moment, then quickened. I had a bad premonition of who it was.

Sure enough, minutes later, Primrose walked in, lips curved up in a sultry smirk.

"Sabine was here again, wasn't she? And doing that with you." She licked her lips. I frowned.

Primrose, fourth oldest of the Sixth Generation, with Cecile as oldest, me second, and Sabine fourth. And she was not a pleasant person. She had never been, since her birth. She always wanted to drink the blood of the guests, but since the job was assigned to me, she despised me even more.

"I wonder if I should tell Agnes," she sneered, and tilted her head to one side, black ringlets bouncing, red lips contrasting her olive skin. I grimaced.

"Do what pleases you. I don't have the energy to waste bickering with you, so please leave as soon as you've made your decision." She giggled.

"Oh, Marg, you don't have to be so callous, that's not what I came here for today!"

I turned towards her and she smiled innocently. That innocent, sweet smile of hers often lured men into their death trap. Even I had once, upon seeing that smile, wished to be a sister to her, only to find out it could never happen.

"What is it?"

"It's about guests. Cecile can't come because she's sick, as always." I frowned upon hearing it. Our beautiful Cecile, white-skinned and silver-haired, was born with a strange disease, resulting in an even more extreme lack of pigment in her skin and inability to carry out her duties as the future Matriarch of the Sixth Generation.

"How many people are there?" I whispered.

"Five men," Primrose said and began to prance around my room, peering at the dried flowers and painted canvases Sabine brought for me. She traced her fingers over each item, making me inhale sharply between my teeth.

"Why is there so much this time?"

"Two are researchers, two are transcribers, and one is an illustrator. They are planning on publishing a book about our clan."

"And did the Elders agree upon this?"

Primrose spun around and opened her arms wide, the laced trumpet sleeves flowing in the air.

"Of course, Marg! Just imagine! With a book published about us," she said, pressing a hand to her chest, "we will be famous! Men all over the world will gather to see us, to be eaten by us!"

Her eyes were suddenly bright like a starved wolf's.

"Imagine our portraits being the talk all over the world! Imagine the name of our clan on everyone's lips! Oh, the jealousy of all the other women—the other vampires!"

"I understand already, Primrose. If the Elders want it, I shall do as they say. But do warn them of the villagers. They've been expanding into our land as of now." Primrose raised her brow.

"I don't believe it. How do you know?"

"I sit at the tower window all day," I reminded her, then turned to face the window. She climbed over my bed, to my annoyance, then pressed her face to the window.

Outside the skies had already turned into a mixture of white and grey, and the grass eaten, lands harvested, but people were outside still laboring. More specifically, they were building new houses.

"I'll tell the Elders." Primrose stood up and pulled up her long heavy skirt. "Prepare for your task. They should be arriving sometime soon."

Prepare? What did she mean by prepare, sit here as always and wait?

I nodded.

"I have received the message."

I glanced outside the window again, but by some twisted luck, I saw them. Five men dressed in their tailored coats and carrying luggage. They were huddled about, a bit awkward as they sauntered back and forth.

One might've been staring at me, but I knew they couldn't see me from this height and our cloudy skies; he was only staring at the architecture. 

And then, on that ugly September, the stage was set.

The start of the end of our clan, the Butterflies, began.