My Stepmom Is a Vampire
Copyright© 2025 by Vamp
Chapter 16: Evolution Started
Viviane was sitting on the edge of her bed, her palm covering her face as it became her only support. Her room was a mess: everything floated in disarray, except the bed itself.
The cupboard was upside down, the table hovered beside her, and her books spun slowly, forming a silent ring that circled her like orbiting moons.
“Damn it, how long is she gonna lock me up here?” she murmured.
Time moved differently in Isolde’s world. It could slow to a crawl or spin faster than reality itself. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“And what about Seamus ... Is he fine?” she continued, her voice quiet, broken.
She couldn’t imagine what might’ve happened to her weak, powerless boyfriend in the hands of her psychopathic, control-obsessed mother.
“He must be so scared ... and I can’t be with him...” her voice began to tremble, “He can’t do anything without me...”
But god, how she loved that about him. How pathetic he could be sometimes. It made her feel needed—like she could protect him, love him properly, with no competition from any woman or man.
However, now Isolde had taken control. And inside her, a storm of rage burned hotter than ever.
“I shouldn’t have told her! I should’ve just hidden Seamus somewhere, kept him safe and alone! Fuck!”
She screamed, her nails digging deep into her cheeks as black blood began to flow from the torn skin.
“Stupid Viviane! Stupid Viviane! Stupid Viviane!!!”
She shrieked, scratching harder, over and over, until the skin began to peel away, raw meat and tendons exposed beneath.
But the wounds healed fast. The blood stopped. The flesh regrew, layer by layer, until the only thing left was the black blood smeared across her face like war paint.
Isolde would pay.
But just as silence swallowed her again, a low crackle echoed through the air. The television blinked to life in the far corner of the room.
It hadn’t been there before. The screen buzzed and shifted with static, flashes of color, and noise flickering into something coherent.
Viviane turned slowly, her face still smeared with dried blood. Her chest rose and fell unevenly as her eyes locked onto the screen.
She could see Seamus, the love of her life, her soulmate.
Isolde was on top of him. Her lips dragging along his throat, her eyes closed in twisted bliss. His voice escaped in muffled gasps, enjoyed it very much.
Viviane stood still, as if the air had turned to glass around her. The only thing she could feel was rage.
A powerful, overwhelming rage as she started to scream like a monster. She threw the TV, then books, over and over again, but it didn’t even budge.
Viviane could still hear the sound of skin slapping against skin. Seamus’s cock buried inside her mother pussy as they moaned in unison, drunk on each other’s pleasure.
As if Viviane were dead. As if the only thing on Seamus’s mind was Isolde alone.
That shattered her.
There was nothing Viviane feared more than being unloved, forgotten, replaced, discarded without meaning. Left behind, once again.
Viviane’s rage twisted into desperation as she looked at Seamus, who didn’t even try to fight back. He enjoyed it. And she couldn’t handle that.
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