Chapter Text
He woke up to the sound of rain, beating down on the roof of the church he was sheltered in. He didn't recognize his surroundings, and after looking around for a bit, he realized he didn't even know his own name.
The church felt cold, but he didn't feel cold. He was more concerned about who he was, searching around the area for something, anything to give him a glimpse into into his past, but... to no avail. He was nameless. He wonders how long he had been sleeping, his voice silent, gone from disuse. Perhaps it has been a long time. He stumbles around, looking through the pews. They were caked with dust, making him sneeze, but not even a bible was around.
So he left the church, pushing open the wooden doors to view his surroundings. A village. Desolate, burned. The houses in the village were destroyed by a raging fire, it seemed, and the only thing remaining was this little, tiny church.
... And him.
He ran through the village, noting how the wood on these houses were old and rotting already, meaning they were much older than he first perceived. He did not wake up after the destruction, but perhaps many years later. One touch, and these structures would crumble into dust.
He passed by a window, which was somehow still intact. Inside, many trinkets and old toys, such as dolls and stuffed bears. A gift shop, it seemed.
The man steps inside, the old bell on the top of the door ringing, signaling his arrival... but nobody came.
He passed by an oval shaped picture frame hung up on the wall, and stopped.
It showed a young man, with pale skin. He would have been handsome, or perhaps beautiful, with sharp unnatural features. Silver hair, dark red pupils... But he had a large burn scar on the left side of his face, the scar starting from the top of his forehead, covering his left eye and reaching down his neck and into his shirt, most likely covering parts of his left arm too. But one thing that jumped out at him were his fangs.
It took him a moment to realize this was in fact a mirror, and he was looking at himself.
He grimaced, pressing his lips into a thin line, as he put a hand to his scar, acknowledging it was, indeed, himself.
He sighed, then put his hands in his pockets, but felt a rectangular piece of metal and pulled it out.
A silver lighter, quite high quality (not that he knew what was or was not high quality), with letters engraved in at the bottom. They were small, but it looked like a full name.
Norton C. Campbell.
Was that his name? Or did he take something that belonged to someone else?
He didn't know.
He whispered a quiet prayer, but he knew it would be unheard by whomever listened to them. After all, he was for sure no longer human. His heart did not beat, his body was not warm (but not frozen either).
That day, a stray Vampire named Norton C. Campbell left a forgotten village.