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My booted feet dangled off the bridge of two worlds. The harsh and relentless beauty of the bridge was a calming force. Broken glass glittered in the moonlight, the lone streetlamp flickered and the alcohol bottles- all lined up- were transparent in the dull light. I loved this place, had grown to love it a way that none could imagine. If I was to be separated from this bridge, I would not be whole.

I was camouflaged in its darkness by my own. The two forces danced an endless waltz, never overpowering one another just merely existing.

The bridge and I had strived through more than others do in lifetimes. The bridge had survived the great earthquake that had hit San Francisco. I had survived the French Revolution. We were special beings, the bridge and I, special in our own way.

We were alike physically, too. The bridge- long ago refurnished with unforgiving concrete and metal barriers. I- also refurnished with unforgiving exterior and unbreakable barriers.

Why then was I discouraged from my beloved bridge? Why then was I, who knew every crevice of it, forbidden from glimpsing it’s beauty? The answer is simple; ghosts. I am, as you might have guessed, special, inhuman. I am a vampire and my only true weakness is a truly heartless ghost.

My kind has no way of stopping them or controlling them. Werewolves had formed a pact with the specters, using the ghouls to destroy vampires. We are in fear.

My bridge happens to be the connection of the vampire community, New Crimson, to the werewolf clan, Luna. Dante, Crimson’s leader, has forbidden all of us to visit this bridge, those who do receive unimaginable punishment. I am Dante’s favorite, therefore he will give me exceptions, but those exceptions are few as is his patience.

I cannot be angry with Dante, because he is experiencing a new emotion. All of us are experiencing it. We are experiencing panic.