richellemead-vampireacademy01-vampireacademy-110824015328-phpapp02

Moroi could stand some sunlight, unlike the Strigoi, but they had to limit their exposure. Sitting
here, she could almost pretend she was in the sun, protected by the glass's dilution of the rays.
Breathe, just breathe, she told herself. It'll be okay. Rose will take care of everything.
She believed that passionately, like always, and relaxed further.
Then a low voice spoke from the darkness.
"You can have the Academy but not the window seat.”
She sprang up, heart pounding. I shared her anxiety, and my own pulse quickened. "Who's
there?”
A moment later, a shape rose from behind a stack of crates, just outside her field of vision. The
figure stepped forward, and in the poor lighting, familiar features materialized. Messy black
hair. Pale blue eyes. A perpetually sardonic smirk.
Christian Ozera.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't bite. Well, at least not in the way you're afraid of." He chuckled
at his own joke.
She didn't find it funny. She had completely forgotten about Christian. So had I.
No matter what happened in our world, a few basic truths about vampires remained the same.
Moroi were alive; Strigoi were undead. Moroi were mortal; Strigoi were immortal. Moroi were
born; Strigoi were made.
And there were two ways to make a Strigoi. Strigoi could forcibly turn humans, dhampirs, or
Moroi with a single bite. Moroi tempted by the promise of immortality could become Strigoi by
choice if they purposely killed another person while feeding. Doing that was considered dark
and twisted, the greatest of all sins, both against the Moroi way of life and nature itself. Moroi
who chose this dark path lost their ability to connect with elemental magic and other powers of
the world. That was why they could no longer go into the sun.
This is what had happened to Christian's parents. They were Strigoi.