What is a good opening paragraph for your story Love Bites its about a girl who later becomes a vampire?

First thing: the title 'Love Bites' has already been taken. It is a movie starring Adam Ant. Now titles cannot be copyrighted so you can use it if you really want to but its considered bad form. However if a particular work fades from general knowledge then why should a perfectly good title be sent to oblivion as well.

Now to prove that I'm not just a nay-sayer --

They gathered in the dormitory's high corner room for an indulgence in the more Egyptian and Oriental aesthetics, something the school approved of quietly but shrank from open promotion. Their usual 'healthy' excursions had been squashed this weekend as an immense storm had blown in, returning winter's chill to a now crippled spring. Hard winds whipped and tore tender foliage from the trees; near deluge-like rains rattled and at times slashed the window, radiating coldness in from the glass. Nobody frequented the window seat because of it. They occupied the floor more than coach or chair, indulging more the roman fashion than current proprieties. Hair and nails were their main concern: lacquer and rouge, mascara and cream, with cotton and lace a secondary one. Blankets and pillows they had brought in to cushion themselves from the hard-wood flooring and to guard against the threat of the cold

• the invasion was constantly reminded them by the flickering

lights and the occasional half-fail of the heater's fan. Four or five candles had already been lite against the need for more. Some, the girls fluttered finger-nails near, taking care for singled doublets and dripping wax. Smokey sandal-wood and bitter jasmine clogged the air. Conversation was low and subdued, occasionally a stanza of poetry would be offered, to match the mood, but never taken to resolution, always failing in some falling train. A distant rumble of thunder pulled her attention up from its insipid distraction to the window. The world was greyness from her vantage. She rose from her robes to gain the window seat, knelt on the cushions to confront the glass. Chill touched her skin as fingers from the lattice. Rain hazed the view, but above the clouds moiled in grotesque majesty, large and violent, churning with slowness somehow inflamed and feverish yet still cold, very cold for all its intensity. Below the world churned under the violence of the winds. The trees whipped their branches about themselves as if in a tortuous dance not of their choosing. Then, to her fright, she found people amid the branches of the cherry tree: Harking and Bodwell, the cook the hostler the warren; with ladders and ropes, clinging and Wrestling amongst the thrashing boughs, all robed against the storm, all of it sodden flat and plastered against their bodies. Bodwell had a saw and was trying to gnaw through the greater of the lower branches while struggling to keep an awkward perch. The tree was like a delirious patient struggling against the surgeon for amputating his limbs. It was for the danger of the storm, to keep it from wrenching the whole of the tree from the ground or from twisting its truck apart. She saw it now, the wealth of leave still clinging gave the wind the means it needed to effect its slaughter. She felt a sudden need to help, to save them from their folly of attempting such in the midst of the gale, broken bones, mutilated bodies, ruined health, surly none of it was warranted for a tree. She wanted to flee to their rescue - but did not - it wasn't the lacquer, or the curl, or her negligee, the propriety, the rules, the cold, the fear, - but all of them together - all together it was enough to stop her, to ensure her inaction - they would never let the students out in weather like this - but the the staff, the servants - and yet she could only stare....

"Come from the window." A tender hand on her jaw turned her face from the scene - saved her from it - canceled it from her need to acknowledge... It was Chlarise, as curled and painted and bedecked as herself. "Come from the window. You will catch cold."

She resisted, lifted her eyes back to the clouds; a hint of brown in the intensity of the gray.

"I feel a presence in the storm."

"That is only the personification of animation: Zeus and Typhoon, Thor and Ymir. The smoke has gone to your head, come back near the floor."

Still she resisted the pull but from of it her eyes came upon the corner of the window, to the valley beyond the lake. Some strange accident of light paled the waters while above it a stream of thick black cloud poured down from the mountains: a cylindrical arc more vast than the lake to which it constantly descended but never reached. More charcoal and torn than either storm or mountains about it, something thick and evil, decidedly evil.

"Come away."

Her attention was turned back to the room, the girls the blankets. She turned to the window again, beheld the storm.

"Chlarise? Have you ever felt like - that there was additional purpose to your life? Some calling you were separated to, something that you were set aside to fulfill rather than just to be the wife of some man? Something greater than to just learn that which would entertain and please, have children and hope the brief production of your youth will be enough to secure the rest of your life."