I nodded, feeling the warmth and kindness of her hands.
"If you both are up to what it takes when it comes to love, there is one escape from Night Von Sorrow," she explained. "It's not quite in our realm."
"I don't understand."
Amalie sighed, and I worried. "The only place to escape the vampire king is in 'other worlds'—some like to call it 'Fairyworld,' but I don't know why. They are partially intertwined with ours but separate. Magical worlds, unlike anything we have ever seen, beyond a vampire's sight and reach."
"I don't mind at all, as long as I am with Angel," I said, not quite comprehending. But as long as a solution was available, I was into it.
"Good." She pulled back her hands and took a deep breath. "I'm only offering you this because you can't live in Murano, the only place where vampires are afraid to venture. Because of the glasswork we produce, they have to stay away, as fully turned vampires will burn if exposed to their reflection in mirrors long enough. Murano should have been a great escape for you, but considering your curse, you can't live here either. Also, we don't know where Angel stands with mirrors now. Some days he can't stare at them, and some he can, so it makes us wonder what his situation will be in the future."
"Wait,” I said, as a harrowing thought hit me. “When you spoke of mirrors, I think I had an epiphany, one I hope isn’t true.”
Amalie nodded, as is she read it in my eyes. As if she knew all along.
“Is that why I can’t stare at myself in mirrors?” I said with moistened eyes.
Amalie sympathized with her silence. The sort of silence that speaks words. It begins and ends relationships. A silence that delivers that darkest revelations.
“Am I a vampire?” I said, hoping I wasn’t. It was against everything I stood for. How could my family have not known? How was it even possible?
Amalie took forever to answer me. Consumed by her silence, she looked down and her laced fingers, then said, “No one really knows. Carmilla, if the prophecy is true, and I know very little about it so don’t ask me, you’re the Queen of Sorrow. The Karnstein Queen who is destined to hunt the Sorrows. Why? Because she has something of them in her blood and soul.”
9
I can write infinite diaries about how I felt. Unlike other memories, this one will always be memorable. How do you think it feels to know you have good and evil in you? It’s not like no one else has this, but when you’re told it’s been prophesied and that at some point you will have to chooses, it’s a different burden.
Amalie later told me about all the theories and rumors about the Queen of Sorrow. That, if I was her, she was born to a vampire and human. That she had lived forever – I know much about his now, but will tell you about it later. Ever wondered why my language is sprinkled with modern phrases? Let’s just say, I lived longer than I needed to.
All speculations and rumors meant very little then. They didn’t help, and I felt too young to have to know who I really am. To be honest, back then I sometimes doubted by love for Angel. You call it insta love these days, I remember, and you frown about it when there is actually nothing wrong with it. In fact, it’s the only chance to a True Love.
Again, I will explain later.
Amalie let murmur words to myself, “Not being able to stare at mirrors, it's as if I'm a vampire myself," I said, wondering why had the nameless witch ever done this to me?
Amalie looked at me and said nothing. The notion of me sharing a serious trait with vampires bothered her a little. But she looked like she believed that I wasn't a vampire. Or did she?
"Come with me." She took my hand again and stood up.
"Where to?" I asked.
"I want you to meet a girl who can help you and Angel escape to another realm where you can create your own kingdom and hopefully live happily ever after."
"Happily ever after," I murmured. I liked the sound of it. No fairy tales had been told then, so it was an expression I had never heard before. It was the beginning of the nineteenth century, and though fairy tales were sort of commonly known bedtime stories, they hadn’t been populated and no one cherished phrases like these. The Brother Grimm later published their first book in 1812. "Who is this girl?" I asked.
"A very special one," Amalie sighed again. “A lot of stories had been told about her.”
“Stories?”
“Bedtime stories,” she said. "She is about fourteen, and a bit different to all of us. In fact, you would never think she is special when you see her. I think the Creator of All Creators wanted her like that. We know very little of her. It's rumored that she is immortal, in her own way, as she can always rise up from the ashes again if she dies, but don't ever ask her or confront her about it." Amalie stopped and raised a finger.
"Who is she?" I was curious now about the girl.
"A glassblower, one of the best of those who have mastered what we call the Art," Amalie said. "Her name is Cinder."
“You mean like Cinderella?” I cocked my head, as it was one of my favorite bedtimes stories about a poor girl and her shoes and how she went from rags to riches.
“That’s not her name,” Amalie said.
“Cinder is a name that is originate from Cenere, a name that means ash or fire in Italian.”
“Cinderealla—I mean Cinder is a real person?”
“And she is Italian,” Amalie said. “Poor girl was shamed and tortured among other witches. At some point she was dragged in cage
