War of Blood

It's New Year. The town is shining bright, people are busy attending parties, the sky is not dark today, it is lightening with firecrackers. 

But she is still not welcoming this day, like yesterday she's standing outside her daughter's room, who's fighting for her life. Her wet eyes didn't seem to hold any hopes for her. Only a miracle can save her life. 

Charlotte Brown, a middle aged woman who owns a pastry shop, she bought on her daughter's first birthday. She's wearing a rough red dress, her black hairs are clumsy, her grey eyes are puffy. It's been a year since she's been busy attending to her sick daughter who is fighting against an invisible disease by doctor's and Curse by some of Charlotte's friends. 

She gasped as her house's bell jingles.

"Who it could be?" she thought, wiping her tears with a tissue and shifting her hairs slowly after her ear she started to step down from the stairs to reach the door of the house, thinking it must be her husband who didn't show himself up in the last five years.

"Yes?" she asked, with narrowed eyes opening the door slowly. She was wrong, it's not David.

"I need a blueberry pastry," a boy who was standing outside her house replied, in an old british accent giving a supercilious gaze through his half-lidded eyes.

He was a young hardly in his early twenties, had a solid torso wearing a grey coat, his hands were resting in his pants, his black hairs were done in side-parting. He peeked at her through his grey eyes in need of response.

"I'm sorry, we don't have any?" she replied, as her voice cracked. Baking her only passion, it's the last thing she has in her mind these days.

"Oh yes Love! you do have?" he said, meeting her gaze and widened his red lips in a smile.

"I think you should leave," she replied, flushing and slammed the door on his face, and turned around to head upstairs again with a sigh.

"This is not how you should welcome your guest, love," the boy said, as she started to step down from the stairs resting his hands in the pocket of his gray pants.

"How did you…?" she mumbled, grabbing the hand rail her face slowly turned white as dead.

"I don't like when someone slams the door on my face," he replied, with a mocking smile as he continued to move to her.

"What are do...ing," she stammered, stepping down.

"I said stop, or I'll kill you," she announced, taking a flower vase from the table beside the stairs and holding it in the air.

"Really," he replied, with a smirk as these threats did not seem to affect him.

"It was impressive, but I can't," he said, shifting his hand in the air, Charlotte's body starting to freeze.

"Wait for a minute I'll be back, and we will discuss this later," he mumbled, reaching beside her frozen body.

"There you're... my girl," he said, the door of Winter's room.

Winter was laying on the bed muffled in a white blanket, her hairs were scattered around her face, which was so pale as she had no life left in her.

"Just a few drops of your blood love.....it won't even hurt," he mumbled, sitting beside her, and held her hand, drawing a small cut over her palm slowly as he slightly moved his index finger over her palm.

Winter moaned a little, as felt pain in her hand.

"What's happening?" he murmured, as no blood appeared.

"Don't do this," he mumbled, squeezing her palm hardly, still no blood flows from her palm. 

"Very nice then, I'll take your complete body with me," he said, with a scoff.