There is a particular truth to the use of magic; there is no path to power without sacrifice. Fortunately, it doesn't specify who is the one that must sacrifice. Blood magic is the art of sacrificing others for your own gain. To be a blood mage is considered an aberration against the natural order of things. To steal the life of others to fuel your own power? Black magic, most foul, a despicable art.

I was forced to become a blood mage by my "father". He was a weak man, who was squeamish about the messy details. He stole me from a family of victims with the intent to train me from an early age to handle the parts he didn't particularly like about blood magic. Specifically, he made me do all the killing. Lots and lots of killing until I became numb to it, and killed him too.

This is my story. It is a love story, I hope. Well, maybe it is a romantic comedy of star crossed lovers. What I'm trying to say is that, inbetween all the killing, it is the story of a boy trying to win the heart of the girl who happens to think the boy is a psychopathic murderer. What could go wrong?