Story Chapter 1.

Characters: Akasha [aa-kaa-sha] (meaning-"queen")
Geraent Eamonn [gair-rehnt,ay-muhn](meaning-"Warrior, Protector of Wealth")
Calice Asheni Arabethia (meaning-"Flower Angel")

I met Geraent at a pub just moments before I was faced by impending death. I remember that day as clearly as anyone would remember, well, say, their wedding or the time their dog died. Although this incident happened many years ago, I could still tell you what was the exact shade of my coat, and the number of stray cats that had watched me with luminous eyes from the top of the low brick wall that divided me from the rest of civilisation. That was how clear my memory of the day was, every single detail sketched into every nook and cranny of my mind, though I try hard to forget.

It was late at night, and a fourteen year old girl like me shouldn't be wandering around pubs and vacant alleyways. But curiosity never suited me much. Blame my horoscope for that trait. So what DID stir up my curiosity? Nothing really. I just wanted to have some fun. Yes yes, I know what you all are thinking. My idea of fun was really twisted. But I hated the epileptic-inducing-neon-flashing lights of the idiotic-filled-nightclubs-full-of-idiotic-people to actually set foot in those kind of places. I know that a couple of my friends dressed up in heavy makeup and stuffed their bra with tissue to pass off as a bloody prostitute just so they could get into the nightclubs, but not me.

I am rather weird,I have accepted the fact not too long ago. Trust me, you wouldn't want to know why. ... Because I didn't either. But back to the story. I was intrigued by the quiet pubs, the ones where you are sure that noone is having sex or heading toward that direction. No. I'm talking about the ones where the lights are on, but the only sound you can hear is the quiet hum of secretive and extremely secretive discreet discussions.I've always wondered if the people in there wore dark cloaks and business hats and exchanged money in locked suitcases from under the table. Aha. Maybe THAT was what claimed my curiosity from the very beginning.

So I decked myself out in jeans, a black sequinned t-shirt and threw on a dark velvet blue hoodie-coat that I bought from some Harry Potter fan website. The coat tied in the front of my neck and I threw on the hoodie. It looked pretty good on me, if I say so myself. So I sneaked out of the house and took my cousin's dirt bike all the way to the quiet pubs. That was how I landed here. At a pub called THE LAMORA MIRACA. In plain English, it means the miracle of love. Gah. I hoped it wasn't another booze drowned pub.

I tried to spy from outside the misted windows, but saw nothing, to my great disappointment. I groaned. So much for all the night's work. But I couldn't give up, not mow, when I knew I would have to face school the next day. All this would not be worth it if I was going to get a booking slip for sleeping-in-class and not-paying-attention and not-handing-up-last-month's-homework. Emboldened by my sudden visions of numerous, multi-colored booking slips, I headed towards the first person I saw that was leaving the pub. And asked the question that was probably the stupidest question I've ever asked after the time when I asked my math teacher if I could skip the math lesson before she gave us a spring test because I was psychic and could foresee a certain highly-faked-fever coming on. But this was different. This was just slightly more fatal. Slightly.

This was what I asked. "Hi Sir, but could you tell me that you are a man to confirm my suspicions that you are a man? Or are you NOT a man, and if so, could you tell me that you aren't so as to confirm my doubts about whether you are or aren't a man?" The guy raised one eyebrow. Typical. My questions have always triggered a reaction between the range of 'raising left eyebrow' or 'raising right eyebrow'. But he answered my question with an air of bitterness. "Yes, I am a man." I nodded in relief. "So this isn't a gay bar, ... or a prostitute or drag queen bar??" The man shook his head slowly. I smiled. I thought he would be easy. And my feelings about people were normally very right.

"So watcha doin' down there? Are you lonely? Or is it a fun place to hang? Hmm. Doesn't look very fun to me. What do you do? Play cards, arm wrestle, that kind of thing? Or do you exchange murder secrets and snuff films?" I only meant the last part as a joke. But the man smiled. "Yes," He replied menacingly, and for a second I thought he was only answering the last question. And I've told you before, haven't I? I trust my feelings. Those kind of fleeting moments, most people overlook them. But I didn't. I couldn't. Bloody shit. What did I get myself into?

The man reached out to caress my cheek. His hand was cold, cold to the touch. I met his gaze with a stare. "Back off, smartass, or you really ARE gonna find your ass smarting." He just chuckled. It was then that I realized his eyes weren't normal- they were ringed with red. A vampire? So that thought just popped into my head. But I do trust my feelings so, and it made me wonder if that was why my feelings about him were muddled in the beginning. He wasn't human. His mind worked differently. Trust me, I never believed all this crap about vampires before, but when you were backed up in a vacant alleyway with a pervert with red eyes in the middle of the night in the center of nowhere, even you would start to believe that bogeymen would kill you when you were asleep just because you didn't clean your room when your mom asked you to.

Suddenly, the door of the pub opened, and a calm voice filled the air. "You wouldn't want to be doing that, newborn." Aha. A savior. I sighed in relief. "Thank you, whoever-it-is that hath saved thee, and piss off, to whoever-it-is that hath not saved thee, but tried to not save thee." They were confused. Thought I was weird. I could tell. The pervert vampire stalked off and then suddenly, the savior was standing right in front of me. He wasn't smiling, but I noticed he didn't have red eyes either. He started to speak. "Fuck off. And never come here unless you want to be told to be fucked off again." What a nice person. I must remember to bake him a couple of chocolate chip cookies. I counter-attacked. "I'm fine with being told to be fucked off again. What's it to you?" He just smiled lazily. "Oh," He drawled, "I'm just afraid that I wouldn't even get the chance to tell you that." he started to walk back towards the pub. Then he stopped. Without looking at me, he started to speak again. "Just remember, person. Curiosity killed the cat." Stupid dramatic effect. I shivered. Cursing whoever invented theatre, I made my way back home.


And that was how I met Garaent.

I itched to go back to The Lamora Miraca, but then his last words cut something in me.
'Curiosity killed the cat,' he'd said.
It took me a while to realize what he meant.

He was Curiosity.

And I was the Cat.