Ever since I was very small, I've been going to church. Mom used to make me wear my Sunday best and right before Dad would get me a haircut making sure that my hair never had a chance to grow any more than three inches. Afterward, we would go to the local eatery and feed our starving selves. Occasionally, my childhood friend's family would come and join us. Marcy and I would talk or play just about anything that'd keep us occupied while the adult chatted away. I look at those memories fondly

A very specific memory comes into my mind right before I drift into slumber. Sometimes it comes up on my midnight walks. A new preacher named Reverend Daniels once preached about the power of prayer. He was a young reverend who came out of college to become a crier of the gospel.

He would bellow words with a charismatic fervor, "Prayer is the way to access the power of God! For he loves us and will grant us power through prayer, through the strength of our belief." His words magnetized me. My eyes never left the good reverend. His words were fiery, and his tone grabbed the attention of even the most lethargic churchgoers.

When he was finished, I waddled my little legs up to him. Many people were in front of me praising him and giving out more donations than usual. I didn't care about praising him. Sure, he was an excellent orator, but I had a burning question. One that I needed to ask the good reverend. My little body was bouncing and fidgeting in anticipation as it was MY turn to talk to the good reverend. He lowered himself to me, knees on the floor so he could look me in the eyes as he asked, "What do you need, my child?" in the silkiest, sweetest voice that ever rang through my ears. Even now, as the memory comes back to me, I shiver from it.

My little self took a moment to think before answering, "Can I become a girl through prayer?" The line behind me gasped, and the good reverend's face twisted and warped itself in shock.

It was a moment or two before Reverend Daniels composed himself to answer, "You can be anything through prayer." Giving me a light head pat before pushing me off to go back to my family with a newfound motivation.

Reverend Daniels never came back to preach. I had asked dad about him, and he spouted that a faggot shouldn't ever be allowed to preach god's will or something like that. I didn't know what he meant at the time. Not too long after that, I saw the excellent reverend's face in the newspaper my dad always bought. At the time, I thought he had gotten famous, but now I know he was murdered for being gay.

Even though Reverend Daniels never came back to preach, I prayed. I prayed long and I prayed hard. What was I praying for? You guessed it. I was praying to god to change me into a girl. Did that every night like a wild child. Sometimes I would pray until the sun comes up. My parents had caught me multiple times praying, and every time they would spank me. Dad was the worse about it. He'd get his paddle and ruin my ass until it was bruised. Telling me how "I ain't ever gonna be no faggot tranny."

That's my secret, even though I don't pray openly, I still pray every day that someday my life will be given meaning. Since then, growing up has been hell on earth, slowly watching my body turn into a dread of masculinity and pain. My mental health took a dive and my father is too blind to see how much pain he's caused me. How much pain he's still causing me. Mom knows at least, she tries her best with what little I will tell her.

I think she understood what was going on, but in all her life she's never known anyone like me. She grew up believing that she had to marry a good, white, Christian man preferably with money but not necessarily. Mom is smart, she went to college arguing with her parent that it'd give her more stock, and she was right. She married my dad who was much older than her and had way more money than her parents. She's way too good for him even if she'll never admit it. Of course, she doesn't even know that he's having an affair. Not like I'll ever tell her.

Mom did the best she could. She'd take me out for treats and we'd do things today. Dad always worked, and when he wasn't working, he was drinking or cheating. Not that I'll tell Mom about the cheating bit. It would break her heart. Puberty continued and only worsened as I grew and began to look a ton like my father. Tall, masculine, disgusting, receding hairline, and hair. Lots and lots of hair everywhere. Not to mention how my father expected me to be a man and marry Marcy. Thinking about marrying her is ew, really ew. She's a sister to me, after all, the only one who'd sneak me around and make me her dress-up toy. I still love that girl, wherever she is.

Dad is the Mayor of Hookreach and owns many of the big places in town. We live in a beautiful house and even have maids. Mom is a shrink in general therapy. It's mostly a side gig as her foremost is being a housewife. She often uses our house for her clients. In grade school, everyone only saw me as the rich and powerful kid who no one would dare talk to for fear I'll do something awful to them or their family. Loneliness, Linkin Park, and My Chemical Romance were all I had during those times.

Now I'm in university, away from all that nonsense (still a big fan of MCR). Walnut University is one of the big unis in Missouri. My parents went there, and now I'm going there as part of their legacy. Dad was so proud of me when I got in. Little did he know when I was doing the paperwork, I signed off on being gay as a sexual orientation. I felt like a spy. Of course, I'm not gay, I'm a straight girl, but they didn't have a transgender checkmark sooo yeah. Portraying as a gay man is rough for my girly self.

The campus is large stretching over a few miles with immaculate gardens, and so many buildings that you kinda get lost sometimes even with a map. I know I got really lost and found myself in the middle of nowhere when I wandered on a nighttime stroll.

I am nocturnal. It takes five alarms, lots of coffee, and a lukewarm shower to wake me up for the morning. I have found myself late for morning classes occasionally. Even once slept through a whole day. Oh boy, I wasn't happy with myself. Right now, I'm on a bench gazing at the twinkling stars.

I love taking nighttime strolls with the feeling of the cool, night air around my body giving me life again. I feel so alive at night, so safe and calm like nothing can stop me. Daytime always makes me feel so surrounded. The school psychologist says it's anxiety but I think that is just my nature as a nocturnal individual.

I got up from my chair and began my stroll to the local bar. It's been several months since I turned twenty-one, and been having a blast trying new drinks. I've also been having a blast at life. I have a shrink helping me through my transition; she even recommended an endocrinologist in the city an hour away. I made the call, and I'll be seeing them Tuesday. Everything feels so wonderful. Yet I feel so wrong with my body and forced gender, like an imposter, a man trying to cosplay a female. The shrink calls it gender dysphoria, I had to look that up, and it seemed spot on. Even though everything is going my way, I feel like shit for even being trans.

It reminds me that my roommate, Fiona, has been giving me a lot of shit lately. She used to be such a positive factor. Even though she never knew about my being trans, she'd cheer me up when I was down, and get me ice cream. I'm almost sure she thought it was a breakup with a boyfriend or something. But now it seems like she hates me. I can't talk to her without getting screamed at. I think I did something to her by accident, and she's just too angry to tell me what I did. I'm hoping I'll run into her since she's avoiding me and ignoring my texts. Hopefully, I can apologize to her for whatever I did.

I took a turn down an alleyway to see a familiar face. It was Fiona. She was smiling at me, I couldn't see, but I think it was smug, and I definitely couldn't see it when something knocked me over the head, pushing me down. The last image I saw was stars, lots of stars, and dirt.

When I regained consciousness, I had a raging headache. I tried to move, but I was stuck, tied to a cross, I think, and naked. My eyes opened, but it was dark. I had a bag over my head. The only thing that kept me from screaming was how painful I felt. My body felt drowsy and exhausted.

"I think he's awake, head maiden." A feminine voice spoke, making me wince at both the use of masculine pronouns and the giant headache I currently possess. "Want me to take the bag off?"

"No, I'll do it." A smug, familiar voice replied. Her steps came close. I wished the voice I heard was simply a mistake from the gigantic headache, but she lifted the bag from my head, breaking my heart. It was my roommate, Fiona. "Hello, Oliver."

I shrieked, "Holy fuck, what's going on?! Why have I tied a cross? Why is that girl holding a weird fucking knife?! Let me out! I'm scared!!"

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That pissed her off and she punched me right in the jaw. The stars twinkled so brilliantly as I was nearly knocked unconscious, "SHUT UP, TRANNY!!!"

I winced again. Ugh, I guess that secret is out of the bag

I composed myself with a few deep breaths. Being terrified wasn't gonna do much for me, "How did you find out?" I asked with a tremble. The deep breaths didn't help.

Fiona gave me an angry look, "Through your computer. I saw the discord server talking to those other freaks." The discord server was for trans people. Everyone is nice despite them being a little dramatic at times.

"How did you see that?" I squeaked. I was becoming more aware of my situation. I'd gotten used to seeing in the dark, and I could tell there was a group of people surrounding me.

"Because you left it open, and I saw it. Glad I did. I can't believe some freak was my roommate."

I wish I could kick myself for leaving that chatroom open.

"Now we have a sacrifice for Camilla." Fiona snickered.

My face scrunched itself, "The book character?"

"I do not need to explain things to a freak!" She tried to strut off before I spoke.

"So, you're saying you're some kind of Lesbian Vampire Cult? So cliché."

Another girl giggled, "More like Lesbian Vampire Sex Cult."

"Even more cliché."

Fiona glared at the girl as she spoke, "We're called the Maidens of Carmilla."

"So, you worship a fictional character, and you think that sacrificing me will bring her to life?"

"She's NOT fictional!" Fiona screamed, taking a knife to my throat.

I peed.

"Ew, the freak is peeing." There were a bunch of giggles from the other girls.

My whole body went warm with embarrassment, but that turned to anger, "What the fuck is wrong with you people?! I'm a human being and not it! Does anyone have any humanity?!"

"SHUT UP!" Fiona bellowed and her gaggle of Lesbian Vampire Sex Cultist drew into military attention. Fiona composed herself as she stuffed a gag into my mouth, "This'll keep you quiet as we perform the rituals." She whispered to me with a sweet voice, then she stood up and barked, "Begin the ritual!"

For the next five minutes, candles were lit, incense was burned, and they pushed a big wooden square with a pentagram-looking thing on it under my cross. Don't know why they didn't do that before. I could smell iron from the pentagram below.

Blood. They created a pentagram with blood. If my reluctant viewing of horror movies has taught me anything, this is bad, really bad. Last but not least was the whetting of that very weird-looking dagger which produced a very nasty noise that made me wince with each stroke.

Once that was all done, the cultist gathered around me with each candle and sang something in a language I didn't understand. When the chorus began to rise, a woman... No, a girl with the weird dagger took slow steps as though matching itself with the singing. Head Cultist Fiona was sitting there with a malicious grin as the girl came close and grabbed my genitalia.

I've hated my genitalia all my life. I used to tie rubber bands around it until it hurt. I don't like pain, no matter how much I hate my genitalia. So, when the girl sliced through my jibbly bits, I wasn't happy about it. No, I shrieked, cried, and passed out from the intense, burning pain that was the mutilation of my genitalia. If I were to tell past me that her genitals were going to get chopped off by a crazy lesbian vampire sex cultist, she would be so happy that she'd kiss me right on the mouth.

Now, I'm just in a void of darkness, wondering if I'm dead.

"You're not dead, silly girl." A sultry sweet voice echoed as a naked woman appeared in front of me.

The woman was the caricature of everything I wanted. Dark chocolate hair that gleamed with beauty and softness, fair skin that glowed, a very fit body with plenty of curves, big perky breasts, gorgeous, clear, amber eyes that quite literally glowed, and the apparent fangs from the grin she made. It's odd, we're in a void of all colors, yet I can perfectly see her as though lights were shining on everyone.

I didn't know what to say, and the woman sighed as she curtsied without a dress, "I am Countess Mircalla von Karnstein." As she straightened up, her grin was more apparent as though she's been practicing this, "Otherwise known as Carmilla." Her German accent was light.

"So, a fictional character?"

Her grin twitched to a simple smile, "The book, Carmilla, is quite a historical fiction. I was a real person, a real vampire, and hella gay. Though, not quite as brutal as the book implies."

My brow went up, "So you didn't bathe in virgin blood?"

Her smile disappeared, "What?! NO! I've never bathed in virgin blood! Where the hell did you get that idea?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. I think I heard it while watching the history channel."

Carmilla pinched the nerve between her eyes and nose, "Ugh anyway, shouldn't you be asking me why I'm here."

"Uh sure? Why are you here?"

She sighed, rubbing her face. "To save you from dying. You do know your genitals just got chopped off, and you are currently bleeding to death, right?"

I stood there stiff, unsure what to make of this weird dream with a crazy lesbian vampire sex cultist and now a woman claiming to be a fictional character trying to save my life, "I guess? How are you going to save me?"

"Well, I'm going to bond with your soul, and you'll gain my powers to destroy your enemies, in this case, the Maidens of Carmilla or whoever those bitches are."

"So, you're gonna possess me?"

She sighed with annoyance, "No, it's not possession. Do you want live or not?"

"Uh, yes, I want to live. Can you at least do one favor for me if you're gonna possess my body?"

"It's not- ugh nevermind, what's the favor?"

"Can you turn me into a girl?" Might as well try since I may wake up from this weird, vivid dream soon.

A wide gleeful grin stretched Carmilla's face as her eyes twinkled, "Of course!"

"What do I need to do? Sign a contract or-"

She teleported close to me, and with a whisper, "Stay still." She pushed her fangs into my neck.

Fiona prided herself in accomplishing the ritual to Carmilla that she had been planning for a couple of years. She had been studying that journal since finding it a couple years ago. Who Carmilla really was along with the ritual. Once Fiona was just your average Christian girl, praying to a false god, and going to church every Sunday. When she found that book, she showed it to several of her friends from church, and decided that the Christian life wasn't for them. They created the Maidens of Carmilla. Since moving to the university, their number have swelled from six to twelve, doubling their size.

Unfortunately, even though they knew ritual and could perform it, they needed the last piece: 'a boy who wants to be a girl'. Or in Fiona's words, a tranny freak. Carmilla smiled upon her when she found such a specimen, her own roommate. It's sad, she really did like him, but since finding out that her roommate was actually a freak, she'd put that all past her to arise her deity.

The black smoke went into the tranny as it coughed itself and freed itself from the rope. Its eyes opened with an amber glow as Sandra (knife girl) welcomed it with a deep bow, "Welcome back, Countess Mircalla von Karnstein. We are the Maidens of Carmilla, your loyal servants."

The incarnation of Carmilla blinked as it took in the surroundings with an inquisitive eye. The orgy part of the ritual was quite underway as the girls moans and orgasms echoed, the incarnation spoke with a raspy, feminine, light German accent, "Quite a party we have here."

Still bowing Sandra replied, "Yes, it was in the ritual part of your journal that you left for us."

"Oh? Someone found that bullshit part I wrote for a laugh? I knew something felt familiar about the ritual." Carmilla's words didn't sound correct to Fiona. It said specifically that doing this ritual would bring her back to life and it did. Why is she saying it's bullshit?

"What?" Sandra's confused eyes looked to Fiona, who shook her head.

Carmilla raised an inquisitive brow, "Something feels off, did you forget the last step of the ritual?" The incarnation stepped forward.

Sandra stepped back, eyes full of terror, "What step?"

She spoke in a sing-song voice as though it was the most apparent part, and the cultists were silly gooses, "The step where I kill you all and drink your blood, silly cultists. You thought you could revive without spilling your blood, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

A devilish grin appeared on her face, "You did! That's too bad. Now give me that sip!"

The incarnation grabbed onto Sandra and chomped down on her neck. The orgy stopped and stared at their comrade being drunk to a dried husk. Their eyes widen in fear. The incarnation licked her lips as she darted to another cultist, ripping her limbs off and beating the cultist's lover. Carmilla threw the same limb at a cultist who tried to run, knocking her down for the vampire to feast. Audrey and Darcey tried to flee, but Carmilla held out a finger gun that fired a bolt of electricity, zapping them both dead. She pushed two hands out and, scorched another two alive, shrieking in burning-hot agony. Two almost got away when they hit an invisible wall.

Carmilla spoke in a way as though she was a parent scolding her child, "Tut, tut, tut, it would do no good for Ophelia if I let any of you flee." As she smashed them both with a boulder. All with a deep, wild grin on her face as though she was having the time of her life. Fiona stood in dread as the carnage slowed to a finale.

Fiona could feel a wet liquid going down her thighs as limbs flew and blood flowed in thick puddles, the smell of burnt bodies permeant an unnatural sweet scent. Her legs gave out, and she couldn't move as she watched all her fellow maidens being ripped and torn apart by a monster. Fiona didn't want this; she didn't want this at all. She thought that by bringing back Carmilla, they could take over the world and have awesome lesbian orgies. Not this! Fiona realized right then as the demon she unleashed stood over her. It was all her fault. "So, you're the head honcho?" The blood-drenched demon spoke.

"Y-yes." Fiona replied as her face twisted in fear.

The demon curtsied despite not having any clothes, "I am Countess Mircalla von Karnstein, otherwise known as Carmilla" Carmilla licked her lips, "And guess what?"

"Wha-what?"

Carmilla's grin deepened as her eyes glowed a sick, vile, malevolent amber, "I fucking hate TERFs."