I sighed, so those were the facts that came to this end. Now I was locked in that box, which was now obviously a morgue box. I thought about my family. I didn’t know how much time had passed since the attack, but I could guess that it didn’t exceed 12 hours, and, therefore, my family still thought I was having fun on the second day of the festival and instead, I was lying, dead, in a hospital in Poland. Great. What would I say to my family? "Hey, I made a mistake, I was attacked by The Rake and now I'm dead, surprise! "

Among all that darkness, I giggled, the mere thought was stupid. You can’t tell your family that you died when, well, you are dead... Then, why was I awake? I went back to analyze my surroundings. Now I could clearly see the corners of the box and my own body, exposed to the cold. I stretched my hands, this time to my legs, watching my fingers and how they seemed to be clearly in contrast to the dark inside, although there was no light. I inhaled deeply. My chest went up, and as I saw myself breathe, what should be the most banal thing in the world, like blinking or the beat of my heart, I began to feel anxious. There was something that wasn’t right with me, that is, apart from the fact that I was conscious when I really shouldn’t be. What was happening? Somewhere in my mind, I remembered reading that the brain was the last thing to die and the theory that the dead still retained some of their memory was increasingly accepted. I assumed that's what happened to me. I was dead, my brain wasn’t and as time went on I would just go off, and then I would have disappeared forever. And what was I supposed to do while? Count sheep? I supposed I had to wait for the death to come, and after what seemed like an hour, I gave up.

I sighed again, convinced that the movement of my chest was part of my imagination, which is why I felt something wasn’t right and I found myself wrinkling my nose. It smelled like rot, but not like the dead rat you find in the sewer, which stinks and forces you to cover your nose, no. It was a subtle scent, more like what Death herself must smell. It was an essence that should freeze the blood of the living, by its own discrete brand, like a subliminal message. For me, it was just my body's own smell, which was not yet beginning to decompose, but full of inactivity anyway. However, I seemed to recognize that the stench came from the walls, through them, not from my own being. I sniffed strongly, checking that, in fact, my guess was correct. The walls stank to death, but not by themselves, as they smelled simply of cold metal. The stink came from outside, from my fellow shelving corpses, all in a different state of "slight putrefaction," as I decided to call it, as my now acute sense of smell allowed me to guess.

I frowned, it wasn’t the only thing I could feel, in fact, all my senses seemed to be not only in perfect conditions, but beyond human capabilities. I could recognize the smells of the shelf on which I lay, negative and smelly. I could now say that a live woman had entered, a while ago and, by God, I could know what she had eaten not long before (a sausage kebab with potatoes and a soda). As for the taste, I could still taste the blood of the bastard, mixed with my own, in a party of flavors that involved the taste of iron, something sweet and the alcohol that I had drunk before dying. It must be a taste that made me nauseous, but I found it quite attractive, for some reason. My skin, on the other hand, felt things in a way that I could consider different. I felt cold, hell, the drawer was cold, but, analyzing it, I really wasn’t cold. It was like, in simple words, open the freezer in the fridge and put your hand in for a second. The temperature didn’t affect me. My skin remained normal and my nipples weren’t bristling. Finally, my sense of sight, which was the first thing I had noticed that had changed. There was no light inside and yet I could see myself clearly, the aluminum that surrounded me and ... if I concentrated right in front, I could see my eyes...

Starting to hyperventilate again, I realized, slowly and painfully, like that vivid dream in which you win the lottery, and when you wake up, you get depressed. No. I wasn’t dead ... and yes. That feeling of awkwardness, came from my chest moving at the pace I wanted and not by itself. I had begun to breathe only when I realized that I was not! My panting upon awakening had been purely instinctive, and as I absorbed myself in my memories, I had stopped breathing. Like that pale man, whose chest hadn’t moved but to smell us, I no longer needed to breathe. Nothing motivated me to do so. I didn’t feel the primary urge to breathe. Nothing. I inhaled as much as I could and stopped breathing, hoping to feel the typical feeling of despair, but nothing. Ten seconds, thirty, one minute, two, ten. Nothing. I inhaled again just because I felt like doing it.

My smell, my taste, my touch, my sight. Why the hell I hadn’t noticed before?! I considered myself a cultured person and of rare tastes. If not by culture, by hobbie I had read all kinds of stories that involved the creatures of the night, beautiful beings with bright eyes, naturally seductive and lethal. I could mention more than ten authors who had written about the matter. Why I hadn’t noticed it before, despite being totally obvious? I could blame my critical nature. Being reasonably, I liked to fantasize about these creatures, but it had never crossed my mind the idea that they could be real. Never... But how beautiful or seductive could I be?! I was pretty, or at least I thought I was, with my height a little higher than the female average, acceptable curves, wavy hair mid-waist and dark as night. But having told me that I would become what I was now, I would have gone on a diet and exercise to lose the almost five pounds of overweight I had. Instead, I now have to bear the belly protruding from my pelvis, with cellulite on my thighs and my slight deviation column, to name some few deficiencies.

I was tired of sighing so much, so I retracted to do it one more time, and instead looked at my eyes reflected on the surface, which had once been blue and now shone in a violet tone.

- Great Lucille, of all the great things that could have happened to you on this trip, you had to become a fucking vampire.