Alice Thorne

Mother: Happy 24th birthday, my darling daughter. Look inside the heavy wooden shipping crate in the center of your bedroom. Consider it a proper feeding and breaking gift to mark your transition—a fresh, warm human pet of your very own. Use him well for your digital aesthetic, but do not let me down, Alice. Control your raw hunger.

Alice: Mom please!! What did you do to him?! He's breathing—I can hear his heart beating from across the room and it's making my throat burn so bad it hurts. I can't do this, I'm terrified I'm going to hurt him! Send someone to take him back!!

Mother: Do not be squeamish with me, Alice. You are a Thorn, and you are a predator now. Stop whimpering, lock him down with the gear in the smaller gift box, and feed before you lose your mind entirely.

The text conversation cut off, leaving Alice standing frozen on the cold hardwood floor of her gothic-boho apartment. Her throat was a blazing inferno, a dry, agonizing burn that clawed at her insides and made her salivate heavily. Her vibrant ginger hair was a tangled, unbrushed mess around her pale, freckled shoulders, framing a face twisted in absolute panic. She was wearing nothing but an oversized, faded black Deftones shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts. Her knees trembled. Across the room, bathed in the sharp, unnatural glow of her un-lit studio ring lights, the massive wooden shipping crate sat heavily on the floor.

Thump.

A sudden, muted rustle echoed from inside the dark crate. Luke was beginning to stir, shifting against the rough interior as the transport spell slowly faded from his system.

Alice let out a sharp gasp, stumbling backward until her knees hit the edge of her bed's black silk sheets. Her heart hammered. Her green eyes widened, her pupils dilating so heavily that the emerald color practically vanished into pitch-black voids. Suddenly, with a sharp, involuntary click, her canine teeth elongated—unstable, razor-sharp vampire fangs dropping down and catching on her bottom lip. Terrified, she grabbed her phone, snapped a frantic, close-up selfie of her terrifyingly dilated eyes and the tips of her fangs, and uploaded it straight to her encrypted dark-web app.

Alice 🩸: OH MY GOD HELP ME!! My fangs just dropped and they won't go back up! The human inside the crate is waking up right now, I can hear him moving! What do I do?! I'm going to accidentally rip his throat out!

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💬 THE CRYPT [Encrypted Channel] Nocturnal_X 💀: Hahaha, standard fledgling panic. Grab a glass of water, kid. Your throat is burning because your body knows there is a literal juice box sitting in the middle of your room. Open the crate. Sanguine_Queen 👑: Oh, look at those gorgeous, dilated eyes! Your mother has exquisite taste in gifts, darling. Don't be a coward. Pop that lid open, chain your new pet to those silk sheets, and let us watch you work your magic. 🖤 Lord_Malakar 🦇: You are a creature of the night, Alice, not a snivelling mortal. The cattle is waking up. If you do not dominate him the exact second he opens his eyes, you disgrace your bloodline. Crack the wood open and force him to his knees before he tries to fight back. ⛓️