Free Blood Life by Gianna Perada

haze that brought the ceiling down to eye level.
    His limbs were too heavy. His friends had disappeared and the bartender eyed him too keenly. “What was in that drink?” he accused the man, words coming in slurs.
    The bartender smirked and removed his tainted glass, tossing it in the trash instead of the sink to be washed. In his head, Roman heard laughter, whispers of malevolence and promises of revenge.
    Roman, using the bar for support, turned away from the man, too weak to inquire. Any moment, he felt he’d fall to the ground dead. He could feel the poison swimming in his stomach, making its way into his bloodstream. He forced himself to focus on the room.
    Through the thick tobacco smoke, lights seemed to split and divide into monstrous forms. All of the strength escaped from his knees as if his body had been drained of life. Falling back against the cold, leather barstool, Roman saw a form silhouette in front of him. The bartender cursed behind him.
    Her garments appeared fluid as if they were falling from her body, and as she moved towards Roman, he could not see her limbs in motion, simply curls and drafts sparkling through her gown.
    Black velvet and silk folded on top of each other as she moved closer to him. Her hypnotic glare, staring through his eyes into his soul, controlled his instincts to run. The voice arrived before he saw her clearly.
    “Roman, you must leave now!” The sounds were low, as if rising up from an unseen depth to reach him. “Leave now, you must return home!”
    “Y-you poisoned me!” His voice broke the constraints, “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
    “That is not of importance now. I have not poisoned you; it was him,” she pointed to the bartender’s back as he fled through the back door. “Not only that, you are feeling her disorientation. You are one with her. You are seeing with her eyes.”
    Roman staggered toward her, trying hard to focus on clearing his head.
    She continued: “The bartender did not give you enough to kill you; he only wished to stall you for his master to have enough time to commit his deed. You must fight it! You must go to Alexandria now; she needs you!”
     The mysterious woman watched him, studying the lines on his forehead crease. Veins bulged against the flesh of his throat.
    “Alexandria!” He stumbled toward her, matching her approach. “How do you know her?” He pointed at her, raising his voice to attract attention. “Witch! I want nothing of your magic.”
    Her words were flat and drawn out, “I do not offer you magic, Roman; I bring you sorrow and my failure. There is so little time! You must go save her while she still breathes. Life drains from her as we speak.”
    Their stares turned everything to silence. Roman saw how the pale shades of white hung across her cheeks, then rose, flawlessly coating her forehead and jaw. The bone color pooled around her eyes, breaking through her dismay. From her expression, Roman could do nothing but surrender. He had to believe that Alexandria was in danger.
     

     
    “Sleeping Lyca lay
     
    While the beasts of prey
     
    Come from caverns deep
     
    View’d the maid asleep.”
     
 –William Blake
     

     
    Twelve
     
    The channel seemed deeper, the troughs and rivets in the road more treacherous. Every rushed step seemed more dangerous and awkward. The city, with its dark gray ceiling, closed in around him and shoved him through the atmosphere. Mud clumped against his boots and his shirt had reached the frail point of hanging off his shoulders as he fell through his doorway.
    The odor of the room reached him as he was rising from his knees. A solid, coarse smell that relentlessly tortures the senses; the rancor of fresh blood overwhelmed him.
    “Alexandria,” her name rang out, yet he did not realize he shouted it.
    The exhaustion of the clamor brought him to rest against the wall in the hallway. Her name rang out from his throat again, still uncontrollable. His vision was stolen to