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THE UNDYING

By

Ronnell D. Porter

PUBLISHED BY:

Ronnell D. Porter

The Undying

Copyright © 2012 by Ronnell D. Porter

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this

publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any

form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the

prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the

product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked

status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been
used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with,

or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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1.

A Rainy Day

I had a very small world to wander as a child, a damask and murky cage, to be honest. After the
untimely death of my father, my step mother limited my freedom to the confines my room, which had
grown into a trove of queer visions for strangers as they took in my vast collection of fine porcelain
dolls, but a very poor spectacle in and of itself as it had only one large window beside my vanity
dresser. It seemed the entire world wanted to see my room once ears caught word of my collection,
while I, on the other hand, merely wanted to see the world. Very much like a rainstorm, my life inside
of that room was heavy and predictable with the occasional streak of lightning.

But in my isolation, my small prison, I’d painted my walls with dreams; they ran up decorative
evergreen filigree wallpaper to the ceiling and kept my days vibrant with clouds, and sparkling rays
of hope I’d snatched from sleep.

Today, there didn’t seem much to gaze upon outside of my window as summer rain swept across the
square fields and dense thickets of willows beyond our manor. Though the skies were grey, and the
water cool, the air still smothered my poor lithe body, hot and muggy, but I had nothing to do but sit at
the sill and wait anxiously for the hours to pass.

My step-mother had planned another one of her trifling dinner parties, the biggest yet, they said. No
true companionship existed between she and her guests; this was simply community networking,
climbing the figurative social ladder to catch up on all of the weekly gossip she’d missed. Who had
an affair with whom, and which reputable men had fallen into destitution seemed to be all that
mattered among her snide circle, the wealthiest of the parish. They lived for the chance to show off
their riches while my stepmother lived for just another chance to flaunt her hostess flare. Just another
chance to remind herself, as well as others, of her place among their hierarchy. Just another chance to
excuse herself from having to spend another moment with her children.

I remember loathing these social gatherings, detestation writhing beneath my skin like putrid worms.
As I was only a girl of thirteen, I was still considered a child, and it was the duty of the children to
remain unseen and, most importantly, unheard for the night.

But even I had something to look forward to on those evenings; the company of friends, and a certain
gentleman in particular.

Mr. Abberdean would be making an appearance tonight. It may have been a burden to remain a
shadow in my stepmother’s house, but a tax that I would give willingly to see him.

A page torn from a journal had been stuck to my vanity mirror, a piece of paper that I cherished more
than any other page in this entire manor. It was a poem, a beautiful lullaby;

Little dove, rest your head,

When all the world is set for bed,

Remember wind sends all my love,

When all is done and said.

Sleep, my little turtle dove,

while your dreams fly high above,

Let your eyes see lands so far,

You'll always have my love.

In velvet nights, no moon or star,

Whether dawn is near or far,

You'll be safe here, in my arms.

You'll be safe here, in my arms.

Charles Edmund Abberdean had written it just for me. He had quickly become a well known local
scholar, who sometimes taught mathematics at University, and had recently taken up an interest in
photography. Despite the fact that he was a brilliant academic, his merit was miles ahead of those
who boasted one hundred times his affluence. His riches were measured further than money, and his
charms far surpassed the arrogance of upper class bores.

He was kind and comical, though mostly sweet. He did not hold his tongue when it came to giving his
observant opinion to a haughty listener, though his words remained so smooth and crafty that his
insults would sound like compliments to those unprepared for his wit. In this way his name had never
been tarnished for his rivals were left in confusion, pondering whether or not they were rivals to
begin with.

This was Mr. Abberdean’s genius, and calling in life, of this I was certain; he was to become a
famous writer.

Mr. Abberdean simply adored words, cherished them more than any pet or spectacle he’d ever
owned. He loved writing so much that it began to grow on me like a welcomed fever, for in reading I
found a path that led me closer to him.

I never cared much for literature until he gave me a short book, a journal of poetry; one of a kind,
hand-written and simply flourishing with passion. I laid in my bed for days as I read over each poem
of love, life, and loss.

My favorite poem had been a short and tragic tale of a little red sparrow, a love story that ended in
death, a sacrifice – Mr. Abberdean told me that the French were particularly fond of such endings. A
story of a poor, small sparrow who fell in love with a prince, but death wrapped its frigid fingers
around its throat.

I asked him who the author of such sorrowfully delicate beauty could have possibly been, and he
simply smiled.

That was the night that I fell in love with books. The written word might as well have been my veins,
and ink my blood. He gave me so many books from his own personal collection that after three years
of my not-so-clandestine theft his library must surely have been wearing thin.

Being a child, I was not within his social group and therefore would’ve never even thought of
speaking to him if not for my father introducing me and my sisters to him those three long years ago.
Acknowledging such, I was fully aware of how blessed I was to have been given the opportunity to
hold the friendship we’d formed, even if it was limited to once weekly visits.

The long days in between dragged on with no purpose or sense. Only on Tuesday evenings, when I
stole him from the droning babbles in the manor, did I begin to live, began to breathe again.

There came a sharp rapping at my door, and I quickly answered the call. I opened the door wide open
and found my younger sister Dinah bouncing in excitement.

'She’s here!' She squealed at the top of her voice, taking my arm and pulling me along down the hall.

'What are you going on about?' I demanded.

'Mary! She’s come home!' My interest piqued – I matched her pace. It had been months since we’d
last seen our older sister, Mary, as she was off to school and rarely felt the need to visit.

Dinah and I ran down the hall to the grand staircase with horse speed, nearly running each other down
in our haste to the entrance hall. Standing at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister for support as
my lungs burned within my chest, I gazed upon Mary in awe.

Time hadn’t changed her appearance much, but still there seemed to be a noticeable glow about her.
Her ivory skin, pastel smooth, glistened like porcelain on a life sized china doll, and her golden hair
fell around her head like a halo. Her dress flowed flawlessly around her narrow waist. What I missed
most about Mary was the way that her emerald eyes seemed to draw the very air from my lungs.
However, when I looked down into her face as she smiled up at us, her eyes were dark, nearly black,
like her governess had plucked the irides right out of her head and stuck coal where they should be.

Yet even through that strange surprise she looked breathtaking.

'Dinah,' Mary called warmly to my sister, and Dinah ran to her like a moth to a warm and brilliant
flame. My sisters embraced momentarily, and then Mary cast her gaze up to me, hiding behind the
banister.

'Wilhelmina,' she sighed with a smile.

I walked forward, slowly, taking small steps down the staircase. I stopped midway once my
stepmother came into view. She walked briskly and coolly out of the den and opened her arms toward
Mary with a small and all-too-obvious faux smile.

'My darling, I’ve missed you so,' Mother sang.

'It’s been too long, Mama,' Mary said.

Mother’s eyes wandered down to Dinah with a nod, and then up to me. Her fake smile had been
abruptly replaced with genuine disdain as her lips pursed and her eyes became slits.

'Look at you; it’s already past four and you still look like a slave child,' Mother hissed. 'People are
going to start showing up at any moment and already you’re set to embarrass me like the ungrateful
stepchild you are.' She gripped her fan the way she did when she was about to give my sister and I a
good licking, but Mary began to make her way up the banister before Mother could stomp one boot up
those steps.

'Mama, why don’t I go and help Wilhelmina get dressed?' Mary asked quickly as she rushed to my
side. Mother’s lips were still tight and wrinkled but she didn’t come any closer as she glared at me.
She huffed and spread her fan again.

'Mind your sister, Wilhelmina,' she said coldly. 'Come, Dinah, you can help Bethany in the kitchen
until the guests arrive.' Dinah was reluctant to follow but gave no protest while standing so close to
the woman. She knew better than to test Mother’s temper, especially as of the last few weeks.

'I really thought that Mama was going to beat you all the way down the stairs and then some,' Mary
giggled as she led me by my shoulders toward my room. 'I ain’t seen her so mad since I left to live
with governess Bathory.'

'Mother’s spent all that money to put you in Ms. Bathory’s care and you still say ain’t?'

'To tell you the truth, it’s not all that fancy,' Mary whispered.

She sat me down in front of my vanity mirror and flitted to my closet. I saw my wild, fiery hair
burning fiercely and freely down my back to my waist as Mary grabbed a comb. Though I didn’t enjoy
the rough ivory teeth tugging through my tangled scalp, I did enjoy my time with my stepsister.

I had missed her so, and it was hard to believe that such a kind and warm person came out of her
mother. Mary was so fun and bubbly that I already missed her again and she hadn’t even left my room.

In her letters, Mary described her life at Ms. Bathory’s estate and how badly she wanted to run away.
But about three months ago, Mary stopped writing. I was afraid of what might have happened to her,
but mother didn’t seem concerned.

Yet here she stood combing my hair, just fine and obviously unharmed, though as I looked into her
eyes in the mirror as she occupied herself with my tangles a cold feeling came over me. Her pale skin
and dark eyes reminded me of Mr. Abberdean’s features.

I wanted to ask why she’d stopped writing, what became of her during those long months, but I never
did.

'This is the first time you get to talk to anyone at one of mother’s parties,' I said. 'Now that you’re a
lady, you can drink wine, and champagne, and laugh it up with the men.'

'I can tell that you’re going to be a handful when you become a proper lady,' Mary smiled.

'I’m gonna be just like Ms. Portia of Jefferson. They say that she has two men on one arm, and three
on the other, and everybody thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in five Parishes.' I puckered my
lips in the mirror, imagining fine rose petals above my chin, while Mary laughed.

'If you like looking at the queen of the pig-people, then yes, she is the most beautiful creature in five
Parishes,' Mary said. I studied her in the mirror and gazed for a while as she tied my hair back.

'I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,' I said, and I meant it. Something about her
seemed to dazzle and shine, like a fire burned beneath her very skin. 'You’ll attract a fine husband, I
just know it. You should marry one of the Lamont brothers.'

Mary stopped combing my hair and stared out the window with a grim expression upon her beautiful
face. 'Tonight is all about mama’s plan. I’ll very much be like one of your dolls, something pretty on
display for the men of this town to gawk and stare and fantasize about. And it’s everything that a girl
like you and me should wish for.'

'Then why do you look so sad?' I asked.

'Because shame is like a dog; I can run, but it will follow me until my dying day.'

Mary didn’t say anything after that; she simply kept herself busy with my hair.

When darkness began to settle in and the guests started arriving, I waited anxiously at my window to
see when Mr. Abberdean would arrive. Mary dressed me in my very best forest green gown and tied
my hair back with a beautiful red silk ribbon that she’d given me before she left to live with her
governess. I may not have cared for dresses, or what other people thought of me, and that was
especially true for my step mother, but I would wear the most embarrassing dress in the world if it
meant making Mr. Abberdean happy.

When it grew too dark to see whose carriages arrived outside of my window, I made my way to the
top of the stairs. I sat there, watching the front door with a book clutched in my hand. I couldn’t wait
to discuss the book, Emma, with Mr. Abberdean. The problem was that I had to wait, which took
much longer than expected.

Finally, when the clock chimed nine o’clock, I saw him.

Our house slave, Abby, opened the door for Mr. Abberdean and he greeted her with a perfect, heart
swelling smile. She took his long coat off of his shoulders and I saw his lean body formed
impressively in a white long sleeved shirt covered in a dark vest, with black striped Crocker
trousers. Mr. Abberdean, in my opinion, had always been the best dressed man in these gatherings,
though since he had handsome youth he didn’t really need to be.

I immediately gripped the book in my fist as he chatted lightly with Abby. I never understood why, but
I did admire that he took the time to talk and laugh with Abby. If it weren’t for him, then she would
have been as noticed as a table lamp by guests.

I was about to make my way down the stairs to greet him, quite enthusiastically I might add, but my
plans were immediately ground to a halt when my stepmother slithered out of the sitting room to greet
and invite him in.

'Charles, how wonderful of you to come!' Her sing-songy falsetto made my skin tingle in revulsion. 'I
wasn’t certain that you would return from Gretna in time to come by.'

'I never miss your lovely soirees,' Mr. Abberdean said with a polite smile. 'You told me that tonight
was particularly important, didn’t you? And besides, I would be sorely missed if I did.' He glanced

up at me with a wink at the end of that sentence, and my knees nearly gave out.

Mother looked up at me with a grimace, and pulled Mr. Abberdean out of sight. My stomach boiled
with anger, but Mary appeared at my side out of nowhere, gently clutching my shoulder with her
feverishly hot hands. I looked up and she smiled sympathetically.

'Why don’t you go help Abby?' She suggested. I clutched the book and wandered down the staircase
without argument. I looked over my shoulder to gaze upon Mary’s stunning beauty again, but she’d run
off so quickly, as though she had vanished into thin air.

'I swear to you child, the devil must be playin’ somethin’ mighty on his fiddle; these kinds of thunder
storms don’t just come out for no reason.'

Abby ranted as she hovered over the counter, carving the chicken. 'Somethin’ big must be comin’.'

I didn’t much care for Abby’s tirade as she rushed around the kitchen, but it didn’t matter much as my
mind was in another room with Mr. Abberdean. Little did I know that something big was headed our
way, or at least someone was dropping by that would end my own little world by night’s end.

I looked up when the kitchen door was thrown open.

‘I can’t stand another minute out there, Abby; they’d pick my eyes if they could, the vultures!’ Mr.
Abberdean said. Abby smirked as she went about rolling out her dough.

‘Tha’s a business man for you, Mr. Abberdean; they only want to get to know you if they got
somethin’ to gain.’

‘That’s true enough, Abby, but I was talking about the women.’ Mr. Abberdean smirked. ‘They’re a
gaggle of drunk and sexually depraved magpies, I tell you.’

Abby cleared her throat and tipped her head in my direction. Mr. Abberdean’s smirk fell when he
saw me. He quickly swept his medium length hair out of his blue eyes and placed his hands behind his
back and bowed properly. I curtseyed and smiled, holding the book for him to see.

‘Had I known that I would be in the presence of a princess I would have come properly armed with a
present,’ Mr. Abberdean said regrettably. ‘Then again…’

He brought his hands from behind his back and there was a small jewelry box.

‘Is that really a present? For me?’ I asked eagerly.

‘I don’t know, you’ll have to find out for yourself,’ he shrugged. I rushed toward him but stopped
halfway when he held out a hand. ‘Not so fast, princess; first, you must do something for me; a trade.’

‘I don’t have anything worth trading, sir,’ I said.

‘Abby, could you give young miss Wilhelmina and I a moment alone?’ Mr. Abberdean asked. Abby
raised her brow suspiciously and stuck her knife in the chopping block.

‘I’m not sure it’d be proper of me to leave a young lady in the presence of a grown man, Mr.
Abberdean,’ Abby told him matter-of-factly. I glared at her with the unmistakable message that
silently shouted ‘traitor’, but Mr. Abberdean only flashed a smile in her direction.

‘Abby, you know that my heart belongs to you,’ he assured her. After fighting the urge, Abby gave him
a small smile and took off her apron.

‘Two minutes,’ she warned. She walked past him and shut the kitchen door behind her. Mr.
Abberdean knelt down on one knee and looked up into my face with a warm smile that touched his
dark eyes.

‘What do you want, sir?’ I asked.

‘Well we’ve known each other for three years now, Wilhelmina, so you can start by calling me
Charles,’ he winked. He beckoned me toward him, and although I was nervous and weary as to what
he wanted of me, I went to him willingly. I stood before him and stared down, captivated by his
strange but beautifully angular features.

He was what an angel should look like, or even god himself; Mr. Abberdean was so alluringly
handsome that it haunted me.

He placed the small box on the counter and reached up, cupping my face in his warm gloved hands.
They were so warm that it felt as though his hands were made of fire.

‘Your sister Mary has made you look absolutely astonishing,’ he said. My heart fluttered behind my
ribs as I struggled to breathe. His hands let go of my face and reached past my ears on either side. My
hair fell out of its binding as he effortlessly untied my ribbon. He held the ribbon as he drew his hands
back, and he smiled. ‘But I wouldn’t have you looking any other way than how you really are.’

‘Sir?’ I asked, riddled by his rhetoric.

‘Charles,’ he reminded me. He brushed my hair with his fingers, and let it run its wild course down
my shoulders and around my face. ‘I’m leaving, Wilhelmina.’

‘What do you mean leaving?' I asked him darkly. I was hoping that he was joking, but I knew that he
had a better sense of humor than that.

‘I’m going to England, and I won’t be back for a very long, long time.’ He told me. The sorrow in the
pit of my stomach reached his eyes as though his mood depended on my own.

‘No,’ was all that I could say. I hadn’t even realized that I dropped the book until he picked it up from
the floor and wrapped my red ribbon around it. ‘No, you can’t just leave, why are you leaving?’ I
asked. The thought of him going anywhere, not seeing him next week, or the weeks to follow, just
couldn’t fit inside of my head.

‘I’ve been asked by a colleague of mine to help him on a book he’s been working on. He’s a
professor at Oxford, and a dear friend. How could I say no?’ he explained practically. But I was not
practical at the moment, not at all.

‘You could have said no like anyone else!’ I shouted. Charles didn’t try to silence me, he simply
stared back with a hard frown in his eyes. I didn’t care that he was upset, I felt betrayed. As though he
had chosen someone else over me. He pocketed the book and stood up, leaning down and kissing me
on the crown of my forehead. His hot lips lingered there for a moment, clutching my hair, until the
kitchen door was opened and I froze under Mr. Abberdean’s hold.

‘Charles, we don’t have time for this.’ Mary said as she lingered in the doorway, staring at the two of
us. What she must have thought, I could only imagine. ‘Come, the governess is here. She’s been asking
for you.’ Mary said. She closed the door and left the two of us alone. I was too shocked to speak; by
the fact that Mary had just seen Mr. Abberdean kissing me, and by the fact that my world outside of
this prison was about to leave my life.

‘I understand that you’re upset.’ Mr. Abberdean said faintly as he cupped my face in his warm hands
again. ‘I can’t ask you to forgive me, but I can’t bear for you to forget me.’

‘How long will you be away?’ I asked. He looked away, grinding his jaw before he finally answered.

‘Two years.’ He said. My heart plummeted, and I would have fallen with it had my body not been
frozen in its position. ‘I know what your life is like, I do, but things will get better for you, I promise.’

He was gone before I could say anything. I was alone now, in the kitchen, heaving in and out because
it was the only way I knew how to breathe at the moment. I gripped the counter where the box lied
idly, and held it for support. Abby reentered the kitchen and I had barely noticed until she asked me
what was wrong.

‘He’s leaving,’ I gasped, and it was as if the moment I admitted it out loud it had solidified into a fact.

‘Just the same, you’re leavin’ too.’ Abby said.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Your sister’s governess, that Bathory woman, just announced that she and your mama agreed that she
would take you into her care, just like Mary.’ Abby said. I stared with disbelief. Not only was Mr.
Abberdean leaving, but I was leaving behind everything that kept him alive. The last pieces of my
sanctuary were being taken from me. ‘Don’t you know what this means?

‘It means that you don’t have to put up with your step-mama anymore! It means that you’re goin’ to be
a proper woman, and then you’ll be able to get away from all of this.’ Abby said. ‘I know you don’t
think that it’s good for you right now, but you’ll see that everything happens for a reason. God is
takin’ care of you, child.’

I didn’t care. I didn’t care about learning to be a woman, or god, or anything; all I could focus on was
the stinging pain inside of me at that moment. I broke down and fell into Abby’s arms, crying and
sobbing until my eyes were numb.

I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want Mr. Abberdean to leave.

I didn’t want my life to change. But I would later find out that Abby was right. I couldn’t see it then,
but both Charles and Mary were paving a new road for me, one very different than the paths they were
forced into. Both of them were trying to shape my future for the better, even if that involved their
absences in my life, or their many sacrifices.

They were willing to do this, and much more, because in their own, very different ways, they loved
me.

But at that moment, I was alone and broken.

2. Mustang

‘Do not speak out of turn, do not slouch, and for god’s sake, Wilhelmina, do not let her catch you
crying.’ I followed the governess’ assistant closely, making sure to avoid the woman’s eyes. Her
name was Evonne York, Elizabeth Bathory’s personal assistant. She was young and beautiful, with
blonde hair tied up into a bun, and tanned skin that made her bright blue eyes shine. I simply stared at
the ground and tried to endure the throbbing pain above my hips in this tight gown.

‘I know that you must think my advice is asinine, but believe me when I say that I’ve seen many young
girls punished for simply flashing Governess Bathory a defiant eye.’

The Bathory estate was vast and gloomy, even darker than home. I was only about twenty miles from
my step-mother’s home, and I so missed Dinah, and Abby, and even my small, secure room.

‘The governess usually has a dozen girls under her wing, at least, during the summer, but with news of
the North moving further into our countryside, most of the families are keeping their children at home,
in case something drastic happens.’ Evonne said. ‘This war has made everyone anxious, so it will just
be you and two other girls.’

Evonne stopped, gripped my shoulder and stood before me, bending a bit as she took my face into her
warm fingers.

‘Just stick beside me, and try not to stare.’ Evonne said.

‘Is my sister here?’ I asked apprehensively.

‘Yes, you’ll see her on your own time, which is not frequent, so for now, just be quiet and look
poised.’ Evonne told me. She grimaced as she took in my wild curls of serpentine fire. ‘She will not
be happy about your hair… perhaps we can draw attention away from it if we tie it back?’

‘No!’ I swatted her hands away from my head, and she narrowed her gaze in annoyance. She turned
without a word and I brushed my fingers through my hair to free it again. I would never wear another
hairpin or ribbon if I could help it, not until I saw Mr. Abberdean again. I knew that I was bound to
see him again someday, and when I did I wanted him to see me the way he wanted to see me.

Evonne threw the governess’ door open and stepped aside as I walked into the den. I was dark inside,
too dark for my eyes to see anything beyond basic shapes. Evonne closed the doors and stood behind
me with her hands on my shoulders.

‘Governess Bathory,’ Evonne began in a near-monotonous tone. ‘This is the Fremont girl; Mary
Shepherd’s sister.’

‘I’m well aware,’ The governess’ low croon crept into my ears and down my spine. She sat in a chair
in the corner beside the window, but her face was veiled. Her body was silhouetted in a black dress
that accented her curves. ‘Another spoiled and ungrateful child sent to learn the societal customs of
womanhood.’

‘You did strike a deal with the mother, ma’am,’ Evonne tossed out lightly.

‘I know that!’ The governess snapped. Evonne jumped, and I felt her hands tighten around my
shoulders. The governess held out a hand and beckoned me forward, but I was a little too frightened
to move from my spot. Evonne quickly nudged me forward, and I stumbled a few steps until I was
only inches from the governess’ ringed hand. ‘What is your name?’

‘Wilhelmina Shepherd.’ I said. She gripped me with her fire warm hand. Her skin was just as pale as
Mr. Abberdean’s flesh, and for a moment I was lost in the feeling of emptiness inside of me. But when
I caught sight of half of the governess’ face through the dark veil, reality clutched my attention.

Her face was smooth and stunning. The contours of her cheekbones blended flawlessly into her full
lips and pointed chin. She was much, much younger than I’d expected her to be, and her skin glowed
in the few glimmers of sunlight flowing through the window as though she were an angel. But
something peculiar distracted me from all of her angelic splendor.

Her eye was red and clearly visible through the veil as though it glowed. The ruby glinting in the
shadows had me mesmerized and I couldn’t look away.

‘Mmm… Too much fire,’ The governess gripped my face harshly, and it felt like being trapped in a
vice of marble. ‘She’s wild, untamed. She stinks like wood and soil.’

‘You’ve taken wild girls into your care before, and look at how they turned out.’ Evonne said.

‘This one is different.’ The governess said sharply, and let go of my face. I quickly scuttled back to
Evonne’s side and hid behind her.

‘But you promised her mother –’

‘Evonne, your presumptions are wearing my nerves thin.’ The governess hissed.

‘My apologies, governess Bathory.’ Evonne quickly bowed sheepishly.

‘We will break her, there’s no question about that,’ she told her assistant. ‘The difficulty of this
moment lies in deciding where her future lies; will she become a beautiful swan, like her sister? Or
will she be serving dessert at next month’s dinner party?’

‘Governess, the child is only thirteen, surely you can see her potential.’ Evonne said.

‘Take her to the east ward. I will consider what’s to become of her, but until then, little Wilhelmina,
mind Evonne while you can.’

Evonne quickly ushered me out of the den, but I kept my eyes on her dark profile in the corner, young
and beautiful but sitting there like an old woman who detested the world outside of her window. In
that, at least, we were alike.

The other two girls under Elizabeth Bathory’s government were fairly quiet. The youngest, Rhoda,
was nine, and the middle child, Yvette, was twelve, only months away from being thirteen. The ward
that we shared was a long hall filled with beds, a dozen on either side.

As none of us knew each other well, we initially chose to sleep quite separately from each other.
Yvette and Rhoda had chosen beds that were practically on opposite sides of the ward, while I slept

in the middle. However, as the first few nights grew darker, and the strange noises grew louder, they
ended up sleeping next to me.

The first few weeks of my life in the governess’ home were fairly uneventful. I barely saw the
governess expect when I would catch a glimpse of her, sparkling like a star in broad daylight as she
watched the three of us play through a window. The yard and field slaves were treated quite well, and
a few of them were even allowed to smoke pipes. Even though I had yet to see Mary, the chores were
light, and the lessons with Evonne were fun.

Evonne had a wonderful sense of humor when it came to discussing her philosophies and outlook on
the necessity of a woman to a man, and vice versa. We discussed books, which was a wonderful
luxury in my day as the other two girls had never picked up a book in their lives. I couldn’t discuss
Jane Austen with them if the only form of lyricism they were accustomed to were ‘Bile ‘em Cabbage
Down’.

Life was easy.

Then one day, as I walked into Evonne’s study, I saw a grim shade in her eyes. She told me that the
governess wanted to speak to me alone, that she had something for me. She looked sad, as though
someone had died, or was going to at least, but she was silent about whatever was troubling her
during the entire walk to the governess’ den.

‘Come here, Wilhelmina,’ the governess beckoned. I did so without a word, stepping quietly into her
dim room. I stood directly in the center of the patterned rug on the hardwood floor, and kept my hands
behind my back.

‘Shall I wait to take Wilhelmina back to my study so that we may continue our lessons for the day?’
Evonne asked hopefully. I didn’t understand why she was acting so frightened, so bleak at that
moment, but now I can look back and laugh with irony’s bitter sense of humor.

‘That will be all, Evonne, you may go. Your presence is neither required, nor welcome.’ The
governess flitted her away with a simple flick of her wrist. Evonne solemnly closed the doors behind
her with a frown in my direction. Once she was gone, and I was left alone in the darkness, I gathered
up what courage I had left in my bones and turned to face governess Bathory as she sat still behind her
desk.

‘Have you been enjoying your stay?’ She asked me, to which I nodded.

‘Yes, governess; the other girls are wonderful, and Ms. York –’

‘Do not speak unless directed to, that should have been the first lesson Ms. York taught you under my
roof,’ she sneered. I could see her distasteful grimace through her black veil, and I shut my mouth
quickly. ‘Have you been enjoying your studies?’

I nodded, and she seemed satisfied. At least, she didn’t shriek or shout, so I assumed that my silent
answer had pleased her.

‘Did Ms. York tell you why I wanted to see you?’ The governess asked. ‘You may speak now,
Wilhelmina.’

‘She told me that you had something for me.’ I said meekly. I peeked up again from under my wild

curls and saw her hard stone-like face staring directly back at me, her one visible ruby red eye sharp
and observant.

‘That’s correct; a letter came for you this morning,’ she said, holding up a cream envelop with a black
wax seal on the back.

‘From my mother, miss?’ I asked, though I knew that my step-mother would never write to me unless
she really wanted to say something miserable. At best, it would have been my younger sister, Dinah,
or Abby.

‘It’s marked from a Charles Abberdean.’ She said lightly. My heart swelled and floated inside of me
like a bubble in a jar. My lungs were spastic and my hands were white as I clutched my dress with
pure excitement.

He hadn’t forgotten about me. For that brief moment in time I felt just like I did when Mr. Abberdean
would read to me as we sat in my window while the party dragged on downstairs. I was experiencing
nostalgia like a drug, and the pieces of my life were almost put back together.

‘I happen to know Charles Abberdean myself, did you know that?’ governess Bathory asked. I shook
my head; of this I was not aware of, and it was a slight shock to think that the warm man in my heart
knew Elizabeth Bathory. ‘I also know that, while quite social, Charles does not take a particular
liking to anyone. In all the years that I have known him, he has never written a letter to anyone,
especially a child.’

‘May I read it, miss?’ I asked.

‘Speak out of turn again, and I’ll have you working with the slaves in the field for the next week,’ she
warned. Again, I sealed my lips and waited patiently. My joints ached to take that letter from her
hand, but I knew better. So, I willed my body to stand there and do nothing as she continued.

‘What is your relationship to Charles Abberdean? You may speak.’

‘I have known Mr. Abberdean for three years, miss. Before I came to live here, he would spend one
night a week with me in my room. We would talk for hours, miss, sometimes until just before the sun
came up,’ I answered plainly.

‘Talk?’ the governess barked a laugh. ‘What would a man like Charles Abberdean have to discuss
with a child?’

‘Books, miss,’ I said, but quickly regretted speaking out of turn when her red eye narrowed. I waited
for repercussion and consequence, but none came.

‘Books; is that so?’ She asked bemusedly, to which I quickly nodded. ‘And what books would he read
to you, Wilhelmina? You may speak.’

‘Many wonderful tales, but mostly his own personal works of fiction, or poetry.’ I said, and I could
feel a warm sensation rising within me. It was almost as good as the feeling of him actually being
there, but nothing could ever compare to that feeling. It was such a strange and alien feeling, when he
was near, but it was the happiest feeling I had ever known. I missed his presence, and I was afraid
that the governess could see that now.

‘I do not allow the children under my watch any form of correspondence, though there have been
exceptions for my most promising progenies, your sister Mary being one of them.’ The governess told
me sharply. ‘I will allow you to send and receive letters to your dear Charles under one condition.’

‘Miss?’ I was confused. What could she want from me?

‘You are here to leave your old life, and indeed who you are, behind you and start anew so that you
may blossom into a proper young lady,’ the governess said. She laid the letter on her desk and leaned
forward, studying me with her red eye for a moment before continuing. ‘You are a wild child,
backwoods and stubborn, that much is clear. Like fire, you cannot be easily controlled without the
right tools and leverage.

‘I want you to submit yourself to me, body and mind. Swear it here and now, and you will have this
letter, and any other letters that might come from Charles.’

I opened my mouth to swear to it willingly, but she held up a solid hand and I fell silent.

‘And to solidify your vow, I want your hair cut off immediately.’ She said. I mentally fumbled, and
my confidence in this promise faltered. I wanted to ask why she wanted me to cut my hair, why it was
such a bother to her, but I was afraid to speak out of turn and risk losing Mr. Abberdean’s words
forever. ‘You may ask whatever is on your mind.’

‘Why is my hair so bothersome to you, miss?’ I asked. ‘On my first day here, Ms. York warned me
that my hair would be troublesome; why?’

‘Every bit of your hair looks and acts like you; a sore to the eye, unkempt, uncontrollable, wild, and
unnecessarily gaudy,’ the governess told me. ‘I want that gangly mess snipped off right away, and I
want you to start over. You will brush and comb your hair every night before bed, and every morning
when you awaken to ensure that it never looks this untamed again. The moment that I see it looking so
bawdy again, I will have it cut off again, and again, until it is as obedient as you.’

With an absent mind, I had been clutching my long hair in my hands, imagining my life without my
elongated locks, of which I was quite proud.

‘Those are the conditions, either accept or decline, but do not waste any more of my afternoon,’ she
said sharply. ‘You may answer now.’

My initial answer was yes, yes, oh God in Heaven, yes. I wanted to read Mr. Abberdean’s words
more than I wanted air or water. I wanted to feel close to him again, to know that I still existed in his
world, his universe. But as I opened my mouth to tell her that I would do anything she wanted, I saw
him before my eyes.

His black eyes were warm as he smiled, kneeling before me in my step-mother’s kitchen. He took my
hair out of my red ribbon and told me that he loved my hair just the way it was; loved me just the way
I was. I wanted him to see me just as I was the next time we met, when I would finally tell him how
much he meant to me as well.

‘No,’ I said, boldly. I’m certain that there was a small part of me that was afraid of what I’d just said,
maybe even regretted it under the governess’ cold glare, but Mr. Abberdean’s eyes and beautifully
pale and angelic face under his dark blonde curls had risen my defiant and wild self out of its

slumber.

‘No?’ the governess asked. I nodded firmly, though my fists were trembling out of dread. ‘Then if that
is your final decision for today, I will keep the letter here in my drawer. After all, it’s only a matter of
time until you break. When you finally do, you can have it.’

She sent me off, and I immediately ran through the halls with tenacity. My body was trapped in this
prison, but my spirit was free, and miles away with Mr. Abberdean.

That night, I stared out of the ward windows for what must have been hours, gazing up into the far
tower where the governess’ den was perched. Her light never went out, but only tonight did I care
enough to notice. Sometimes I could see her staring out her window into the dark forest lining the
mansion.

As the nights went by, I lost more and more sleep as I stared up into her den, wondering why the lights
never doused. Surely she must have slept, right? But when, I wondered.

If I wanted Charles in my life again, I needed to get to his letters somehow, but they were locked
away in her desk. And if she never left her den, then how was I to read them without accepting her
conditions? But the thought of cutting my hair, Charles’ hair, for his letters felt as though it was an
insult because I was certain that he was writing to the wild haired and spirited Wilhelmina that he left
behind. If I cut my hair, I would no longer be that girl. He would never smile the same way again if I
allowed the governess to cut my thick mane.

At the same time, if I didn’t write back to Charles then he would think that I had forgotten him. I knew
the feeling of abandonment well, and it was something that I never wanted to inflict on his gentle soul.

I was at a horrible, horrible impasse with no solution but the wrong one, which was to give in to the
governess.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Every time a letter came, the governess made it a
point to summon me and flaunt it before my eyes. She would then administrate her previous offer once
again, and still I would refuse. I became so resilient that I even refused to let the groomers trim my
hair.

Seven letters later and neither of us were any closer to giving in.

After five months, I devised a plan. It was my ingenious plan, and I was going to make sure that I did
not fail. I would die before I gave up on Charles, and so I set my scheme into motion.

Every month, the governess would hold a party. After the sun set, she invited a small group of
acquaintances into her home and me and the girls could only imagine what went on between the laughs
and the screams we listened to in our beds. But the most important detail of that night was that the
governess would douse the candles in her den and host the small gathering.

It was my chance.

I had devised my scheme quite brilliantly, and I was even a little smug about how clever my mind had
been.

One of the house slaves, Minus, was the keeper of the keys, and every night after our supper he was

ordered to lock us in the ward. But that night I had stuffed the door latch with small strips of cloth so
that when he closed the door it would not catch. So even though he locked the door and we couldn’t
twist the handle, I could still pull it open and proceed with the next step in my plan.

I waited patiently until I saw the governess’ candlelight die out, and then set out on my journey. I
wrapped myself in a black silk bed sheet and stowed away into the darkness of the mansion. Making
my way through the halls undetected was the easy part. The difficulty came when I had actually made
it to the governess’ den.

I gripped one of her candles and lit it with one of the few matches I had pocketed from a yard slave’s
tobacco bag. I hovered over her desk, slowly examining the drawer.

It was locked with a padlock, and I had no way of opening it without the key. I contemplated breaking
it with a candleholder, but that was a sure giveaway and there would be grim consequences. I shuffled
around her desk, searching for the key, but gave up when I realized that she would have it on her
person at all times.

When I looked up, I saw a pair of red eyes and I nearly screamed.

‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ the stranger asked. There sat was a tall, pale man with olive skin and eyes
that matched the governess’ almost identically. I wondered if the two of them were related, as I had
never seen red eyes on anyone else before. He was stretched out on her long sofa, watching me
intently with crimson delight.

‘Pardon me, sir, I did not mean to disturb you,’ I told him with a curtsey. I was about to make my exit
when he stood quickly, blocking my path.

‘What’s your hurry?’ he asked in his smooth French accent.

‘I really must be off to bed, and the governess isn’t here, so neither of us should be in here when she
is away,’ I said.

‘Weren’t you looking for something?’ he asked as he slowly advanced.

‘No, no, I just wanted to speak with the governess,’ I said. His height and stance frightened me, and it
was a great effort on my part to keep from shaking in my boots.

‘You’re a poor liar,’ he grinned. ‘I believe you were looking for this.’ He reached inside of his red
waistcoat and produced a small brass key. My eyes flashed on the key to the drawer and I stared in
wonder. How had he managed to get his ashen hands on that?

‘I can give it to you,’ he smiled cunningly, but there was still mischief in his eyes.

‘What are you doing up here, sir?’ I asked. His smile faded a bit, and he twiddled the key in his
fingers.

‘To be honest, I was waiting for you,’ he said.

‘For me?’

‘The governess has told us all about your little war a few months ago, and how you’re such a stubborn
child. We had a laugh, and I was going to leave it at that, but I knew you would come here looking for

the letters tonight,’ he said. I was amazed and, admittedly, somewhat fascinated by the fact that he had
known that I would come looking for the letters, specifically tonight. ‘You see, most people don’t
know that I have a… special gift. It’s my own little secret.’

‘What is it?’ I asked, mesmerized by his deep eyes as he spoke.

‘I sense deceit and betrayal, and I could feel it coming strongly from your ward this evening. It didn’t
take me long to figure out that you’d be coming here, and look; here you are, proof in the point.’

‘Are you going to tell?’ I asked wearily. He knelt down and smiled, reassuringly, though his dark red
eyes still made my stomach quiver with fear.

‘No, I just want to ask a favor of you,’ he said. ‘You see, just like the governess, I, too, know Charles.
I saw him not long ago, in London, working in the field of medicine with a colleague of his.’

‘You have?’ I asked. ‘Is he alright?’

He smiled again, flashing his perfect smile. Half of me was allured to his dazzling smile and gaze, but
half of me felt a near-irresistible to run, like I could sense that he was a predator - a snake - posed to
strike. But the very mention of Charles' name held me firmly in place.

'He's just fine - he even told me about you, his little Wilhelmina.'

‘What did he say?’ I asked.

‘He told me of how wonderful you are, and how soft you feel,’ the stranger said. ‘I used to have
children of my own, and my daughter used to sit on my lap at the end of a long day and I would read to
her. But I haven’t felt the warmth and joy of a child in many years.’

‘Why not?’ I asked. The sorrow in his eyes lured me a little closer as I grew a bit curious about his
past.

‘I lost her to an illness many years ago, but I miss her terribly,' he said. ‘I will make you a deal; you
sit on my lap for a moment, and I will give you this key.’

He widened his eyes innocently, but I was still hesitant. I yearned for Charles’ letters, and would do
anything to get to them, but the instinctual guttural feeling gnawing away at my insides was telling me
to run as fast as I could. I could even feel the adrenaline rushing through my body to the soles of my
feet.

‘Please... For my daughter’s memory, as well as Charles’?’

‘Okay,’ I nodded.

How could I say no to Charles’ name?

He smiled brilliantly and sat on the couch, patting his knee. I slowly tiptoed across the cold floor and
slowly sat down with my back to him. He wrapped an arm around my waist and I tried to relax my
tense body against his hard cold stomach.

‘There, that’s not so bad, is it?’

His cold whispers flooded my senses with anxiety. I shook my head, nervously gripping his other

knee as I waited to get the key; my key to get Charles back into my world.

I tensed as he brushed my long curls back and ran a cool finger down the length of my neck. Then, he
gently gripped my neck with his palm, and guided my head back until I was staring up at the ceiling.

‘So young,’ he whispered hungrily. ‘So ripe.’

‘Sir, I would like the key now,’ I said, struggling out of his hold.

However, he did not let me go. His grip tightened, and his voice grew huskier as he continued to run
his fingers over my neck.

‘Virgin blood, waiting to be tasted; I will never understand how Charles was able to resist for three
long years.’ He breathed as he sniffed my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips curl back
until his pearl-white teeth were visible. ‘He may not forgive me, but an opportunity like this does not
come along but once, maybe twice every long century.’

I remember my last few frightened thoughts were of Charles. Somehow, deep down inside of me, I
knew that I was going to die. But with the thought of Charles behind my eyes, I was comforted enough
to know that I was loved by someone, anyone, in the empty shell that was the world.

I closed my eyes as the stranger hissed, and then I felt his teeth on the soft, supple flesh beneath my
jaw.

‘What are you doing in here?’

The snarling hiss of the governess slithered through the room like shadowy imps, crawling along the
walls pointing accusations. She sounded like a bobcat as she stormed into the den.

‘Forgive me, Elizabeth, but I could not help myself!’ The stranger apologized sheepishly, letting go of
me and backing away.

‘Not you, her!’ She growled.

‘Attempting to get into your letters, governess; I found her with this,’ he said, holding up the key to her
drawer. I stared with utter disbelief - I couldn’t believe the lie that had slithered off of his tongue.

‘He had the key! He followed me here!’ I shouted, but the governess' ears were deaf to my pleas. She
towered my side in the blink of an eye, gripping my wrist so hard that I was certain it would snap
under the pressure.

‘You ungrateful little whore!’ The governess screeched. ‘To lay with a man just so you can defy me is
lower than even the cheapest street walker could ever sink!’

‘Governess Bathory, I swear to you –’

‘You will not speak to me until I direct you to do so!’ She dragged me out of her den by my arm, the
hard flakey nails digging their jagged edges into my skin. I stumbled down the stairs as I followed her
out to the courtyard and into the garden where the slave’s sleeping quarters were. The small cottage
door threw itself open by some invisible force, and the governess screamed like a banshee in the
night.

Minus appeared in the doorway, groggy eyed and fearful as he took in her anger, visible even through
her black veil.

‘She is to be locked in the old shed until I say otherwise! Do not speak to her, do not feed her, do not
even acknowledge her existence or else I will make sure that you disappear along with her - and I
promise you, Minus, you and your family will not be missed.’

The governess thrust me into Minus’ iron arms and vanished into the darkness. I watched her fiery red
eye until it disappeared into the shadows. That night, I would learn what it truly meant to yearn and to
mourn. I tasted defeat for the first time.

I had no idea what was to become of me now that the governess was convinced that I was a loose
floozy who would do whatever it took to undermine her. She would no doubt tell my sister, and my
step-mother.

I was ashamed, misunderstood, and alone in a nightmare that I wished so desperately to escape.
Charles’ letters were the only hope that had kept me alive in this glorified dungeon these past few
months, and the governess was sure to burn them now.

Death at the hands of the stranger would have been a much less painful endeavor to endure, and if I
had known back then what sort of hell awaited me after that night, I would have accepted death with a
smile.

3. Broken

The night was so long, but the day was even longer. The sun soared high in the sky, but I was trapped
in the shade, locked in the garden shed. I was locked inside of the small garden shed near the great
willow, and though I desperately wanted to feel the sun on my skin, to get any kind of warmth in this
cold empty space, there was nothing I could do but peak through the boards.

There were marks in the planks, days counted off by other girls who had decided to have a standoff
with the witch of the tower. They had carved their names in the wood, and as I ran my fingers across
the cuts and scratches, I drew strength from them.

I would last longer than Agnes, longer than Nancy, longer than Bernice, and Constance. Bernice had
lasted the longest, staying five days inside without food or water. I desperately hoped that meant that
she had surrendered. There was no way that Elizabeth Bathory could get away with the murder and
torture of a child. I prayed to God that she wouldn’t get away with this. I would stop her from treating
any other girl like this.

I had nothing but the soil in the ground to sit on, and so I huddled in the corner and held my knees to
my chest. I tried my best to ignore the burning pain in my stomach; I was so hungry. I refused to cry
because I didn’t want to give her any form of power over me.

As night drew closer, the afternoon sun was low enough to shine through the boards. It was warm. I
saw Mr. Abberdean in this small gift from the skies and heavens. I felt him there with me, and I
smiled as I imagined him holding me in the dirt and reading his poems to me. He was all I needed
then, and as the frigid pit inside of me inflated with nostalgic warmth in his image, I was certain that
he would be enough to see me through this now.

The night was cold, and my mind was going stir-crazy and I wanted something, anything, to eat. I
cried, and screamed for someone to help me, but no one came.

By the next morning my throat was dry and sticky, and I longed for water. I so craved food and water
that I clawed into the soil and dirt because I had nothing else to distract me from the pain.

‘Wilhelmina...’ I wasn’t certain I had actually heard Evonne’s voice, I simply laid there and stared at
the dark pieces of wood around me. ‘Wilhelmina, please say something so that I know that you’re
alive.’

‘I’m here,’ I gasped, though my voice was raspy and weak.

‘Wilhelmina, what on earth have you done?’ She hissed with urgency. ‘The governess was furious the
night before last, and she won’t allow anyone to come down to see you. The only reason I’m here now
is because I’m meeting the postal boy at the horse stables. What did you do to upset her?’

‘Nothing,’ I told her.

‘Wilhelmina, don’t insult me by lying to me!’ Evonne snapped. I was silent for a moment and I sat up,
crawling to the small opening between boards where I could see her light hazel eye looking back into

mine. ‘What have you done?’

‘I tried to get Mr. Abberdean’s letters while she was having one of her monthly dinner parties,’ I
admitted. ‘There was a man who followed me into the governess’ den, and he had the key to her desk
drawer. He told me that he would give me the key if I sat on his lap, and that’s all. I swear to you,
Evonne, that’s all that happened!’

‘Do you realize what you’ve done?’ Evonne barked in a whisper. She hushed me as I began to cry. ‘I
know, Wilhelmina, I know. You would never do anything foul for mere letters.’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ I asked, frightened to my very bones. I had no idea what was to
become of me, I just wanted to be back in my own little room beside my window reading Jane Austen
and looking forward to Tuesday nights.

‘The governess said that you may come out when you are ready to cut your hair. She will send Minus
to make the offer this evening’ Evonne said. ‘Just accept the offer, Wilhelmina.’

‘No.’ I was firm in my resolve and no matter what torture I must endure, I would keep my long hair.

‘Wilhelmina, I have seen far more stubborn girls in this shed for better reasons, and you do not want
to endure the consequences. Please, just accept the offer,’ Evonne said. ‘It’s only hair.’

‘I will not cut my hair,’ I told her sternly, as though she were a representative for the enemy army.
Evonne gave in with a sigh and left it at that.

‘I must go, I can see the postal boy now. I’ll come back when I get another moment.’ She stood and
straightened out her dress. ‘Please think about what I’ve said.’

I watched her walk away, and felt alone again. The memory of Mr. Abberdean left me after a while,
and I sat there, disoriented in time and meaning. I questioned if it was worth this torture to keep my
hair?

Mr. Abberdean might have loved my hair wild and free, but where was he? He was gone, in another
country, leaving me to deal with Elizabeth Bathory and the War of the Secession.

He abandoned me, and left me here on my own without any form of notice but a last minute goodbye.

Minus was at the door by sunset with the offer on his tongue, just like Evonne told me he would be. I
wanted to say yes, that I would cut my hair willingly, that this war was not worth a man who had left
me with no sense of regret. My lips were ready, my tongue lapping up whatever saliva my mouth
could muster to end this hellish imprisonment. But I couldn’t bring myself to give in. My heart could
not forsake the only source of happiness in my life for the last four years. I was almost fourteen, and
had never fought for anything in my life. Why would I? I had never believed in anything enough to put
up a fight.

But I believed in love. Charles Abberdean was my love, my one and only, whether it was a friend or
more, or maybe even nothing at all. He was the only tangible love I had to hold onto, and that in itself
was reason enough to keep fighting, whether he was here with me, or thousands of miles across the
ocean.

Again, I said no.

The next morning, Evonne went to meet the postal boy as usual and just happened to drop a sausage
link through one of the wide openings in the boards. I was grateful for her ‘clumsiness’. That evening,
she decided to help the kitchen slaves by taking some of the leftovers to the pig pin to mix with their
slops, but she said she was not a destitute woman, and that she shouldn’t have to walk them all the
way, so she left the plate in front of the shed door, just close enough for me to reach it. I was grateful
for her ‘laziness’.

But after four days in the shed, Evonne stopped coming by. In the mornings, I saw Minus walk out to
greet the postal boy instead of my tutor. He would cast a sorrowful glance in my direction, but he
wouldn’t bother to stop or say anything.

Those few visits were the last I would ever see of Evonne.

Six days in and I had finally beaten Bernice’s fort hold against the hag that dared to call herself a
governess. But my victory was hollow, for I had no friend or comrade to enjoy it with. My stomach
had numbed from starvation, so I didn’t feel the hunger pains anymore, but I was beyond parched.

I needed water. My lips were cracked and dry, and my eyes were itchy from the dryness. And as the
long and hot Louisiana days dragged on, the shade of shed and tree wasn’t shielding me from the sun’s
heat anymore. I was trapped in a hot and thick shed with no water and no food. My skin was hot, I
could feel it, but I could no longer sweat.

Minus came by that evening, and told me of the governess’ generous offer. Again, I refused.

After seven days I cried tearlessly to God to save me. But no answer came. The insects that burrowed
into the ground could sustain me if there were enough, but even as I caught wandering grasshoppers in
my hands, I just couldn’t bring myself to kill them, to snuff out their lives and eat them. In my eyes,
that would make me no better than the governess. And so I let them go and continued to hold my
stomach in a ball on the ground.

Minus came by at sunset once again with the offer, and even added a few of his own words, begging
me to accept. But still I would not grant the witch the satisfaction of breaking me.

On the eighth day, I had nothing. I had no strength. No sense of time or day, up or down. I had no hope.
I had no will. I had no sense of consciousness beyond staring straight ahead as I laid in dirt, waiting
for God to take me home to my mama and my papa. To take me to the crystal kingdom where I would
forever be a princess. Where Charles Abberdean would read to me every night and he would be my
king.

I closed my dry eyes and waited for death.

Pity came to me in the form of tears. I felt them, cold and refreshing, through the ceiling. I wondered if
the angels were watching, and if they had finally had enough. But I was not dead, and as I opened my
eyes, I saw no sunlight. Instead, there was a grey world outside.

I sat up, and felt mud where there should have been dirt. Water dripped on my face through the loose
boards above me, and I rubbed it across my face to cleanse myself of the grime and shame. It rained
heavier, and I sat there, open mouthed and enjoying the water as it ran down my hot throat, cooling me
from the inside out.

The angels had seen enough alright, but it wasn’t the sign of death and surrender I was waiting for. It
was a sign that I was going to win this war, that any day now the governess would surrender. When
she did, I would accept as smug and proudly as I possibly could.

I would show her, she would see.

On the ninth day, I was vindicated. Or so I thought. Minus opened the door to the shed, and I felt a
cool breeze rush inside, blowing through my mud-caked hair. He didn’t say anything as he gripped my
arm, and I was surprised when my legs wouldn’t work with me. He caught me and swept me into his
arms, carrying me into the mansion.

The servants waited on me as I bathed, and soon after I was dressed and force fed a bowl of soup. I
enjoyed every insatiable flavor that hit my tongue as a fraction of my former strength returned to me.
This was my victory meal, and I would savor every last drop for I had earned it.

I imagined Mr. Abberdean sitting across from me with his breathtaking smile lifting his face and my
spirits.

As the sun set on the horizon, I was escorted to the governess’ den by Thea, a young house slave. She
so reminded me of Abby; they shared similar facial traits, and had the same sort of glow to their dark
chocolate skin. But even though I needed her support, as I couldn’t stand completely on my own, I
walked up the tower steps fearlessly as I prepared to face my enemy.

Thea made sure to help me as I sat gently in the chair set before the governess’ desk. I stared directly
into the governess’ eye, shaded beneath her black veil, as she stared back at me.

‘Wait outside,’ she instructed Thea. The black girl bowed and backed out of the room, closing the
door behind her. ‘Nine days; that is impressive. To think that the love of your hair kept you going for
that long is remarkable, though dull.’

‘Forgive me, miss, but you’re wrong,’ I said, heatedly. ‘It wasn’t the love of my hair that kept me
going.’

‘Then what was the source of your stubbornness? Your hatred of me?’

‘Hardly.’

I scoffed boldly. Instead of getting angry as I had expected, she smiled wickedly and looked me over
tactfully. She lifted a bundle off of her desk and flipped through the bound letters with her nimble
fingers.

‘Where is Evonne?’ I asked.

‘She has left the state, fleeing at the news of the North’s advances. I wouldn’t count on seeing her
again,’ the governess said. ‘Have you changed your position on my offer?’

I shook my head evenly and matched her glare as she continued to flip through the letters; my letters.
‘We are much more alike than you think, Wilhelmina. More than you’re willing to admit, I’m sure.’

‘It doesn’t matter how much we’re alike, because we’re too different to compare,’ I told her coldly.
She considered my words as she sat behind her desk and placed the letters before her.

‘A letter came today from Fremont, but not for you,’ the governess said lightly. ‘It was a reply from
your mother. I told her what happened, and how you’ve done everything in your power to disobey me.
She gave me a message to pass along to you.

‘Your step-mother and Dinah have gone away, left this morning to go live with an acquaintance of
hers in Lebanon, Texas. Rumor has it the North has been spotted in Louisiana, and she made a hasty
decision,’ the governess said.

‘Then I’ll go with them,’ I said.

‘She doesn’t want you to go with them. You are no longer welcome home, which officially makes you
an orphan,’ the governess said coolly. I shook my head out of disbelief; I had nothing to say in
response to her lies. ‘If you don’t believe me, just read it for yourself.’

She flicked the envelope toward me harshly, and I clutched it out of reflex.

‘You have no home other than what you have here. Everyone you knew has thrown you away.’ The
governess was haughty and self-righteous as she inflicted every emotional cut with acute precision.
‘So, where will you go, if not stay here?’

I shrugged, stunned and distraught. Where could I go?

‘If you wish to stay in my estate, sleep in my beds and eat my food, you know what must be done.’ She
said, eyeing my mess of hair. I swallowed my pride, gripped my dress in anger, and nodded. ‘Are you
agreeing to cut off your hair? You may speak.’

‘Yes,’ I said through my teeth. I had no choice but to surrender, otherwise I would never be able to
know where Mr. Abberdean was, or where to find him. My eyes burned with the desire to cry, but
there were no tears to give, and so I bit my bottom lip as I stared into her veiled face. She picked up
Mr. Abberdean’s letters off of the table and held them in her lithe hand as she stepped around the
table.

‘Let this be a lesson to remind you whose hands are holding you from the endless abyss of
destitution.’

The governess threw the letters into the fireplace and I screamed, scrambling to the floor and
watching in agony. It literally seared my soul to see them char and burn, and I tried desperately to
grab them before the flames could completely consume them, but I only ended up burning my hands.
They stung, and there would definitely be blisters, but nothing compared to the pain inside as Mr.
Abberdean’s words disappeared forever.

‘You promised!’ I shouted.

‘That agreement has long expired. Our deal in the present is your hair in exchange for my care. Your
survival depends on it, Wilhelmina, so I would mind my rules and obey my word without question, do
we understand each other?’

I nodded in defeat. This was not the victory I had envisioned; this was not a victory at all. She called
Thea back inside to get me up off of the floor, since I could not stand on my own, and she took me
back to the ward. Rhoda and Yvette were both glad to see me. Both of them thought I had died in the
shed and were pleasantly proven wrong as they held me. I enjoyed their contact, their warmth. It felt

as though it had been months since I’d seen them last, not days.

I was informed by Thea that my hair was to be cut first thing in the morning. It gnawed at my stomach
like a little monster chewing my innards. But what more could I do? What could I say?

I went to bed that night knowing that everything was over; the war, my life, and my connection in life
to Mr. Abberdean. I was stuck here, learning how to be a southern belle, until I was set free or died of
the shame.

I was dead certain that the latter would happen first.

However, I was awakened that night by a sharp click at the ward door. I sat up and nearly jumped out
of my skin when I saw bodies moving in the darkness, shadows creeping through the rows of beds. I
buried my head beneath my sheets and squeezed my eyes, praying that the intruders would leave me
be if I was sound asleep.

‘Wilhelmina.’

I peeked and saw Thea at my bedside.‘Wilhelmina, it’s okay, it’s me.’

I crawled out of my sheets and saw Minus standing next to her, looking down at me with the same
anxiety scribed along her eyes.

‘What are you doing in here?’ I asked.

‘We come to get you out of here,’ Thea said. ‘We’re running, making our way to Gretna where they
say they can help us find the Underground Railroad. My aunt Abby told us to bring you with us if we
ever made a run for it.’

‘Abby is your aunt?’ I asked.

‘Me and my husband Minus can’t stay here no longer, not with that witch up there in her tower. She’s
a woman of the devil, I seen it myself!’ Thea said. ‘Please, come with us. We can be there by morning
if we keep moving.’

‘I want to go! Take me with you!’ I said, gripping her hand. She brushed my hair and smiled, holding
my hand as she pulled me out of bed. My legs were stronger now, almost strong enough to run, but I
didn’t need to as Minus swept me up in his muscular arms again, and carried me. I wrapped my arms
around his neck and held on as Thea led us out of the mansion.

The path was easy enough without being noticed. We cut through the kitchen and went down into the
wine cellar and out the back. We cut across the open field behind the estate and into the forest.

We were free, and I would never have to see that vile succubus again in my life. Most of all, I could
keep my long hair, Charles' long hair that he loved so much. Thea and Minus ran and ran, and both of
them were laughing, actually laughing. I had never heard Minus' laugh before, but I enjoyed its deep
baritone bass as we all took in the fact that we were free.

After an hour of walking southeast on Thea’s map, and following the trees with white linen tied
around the trunk to ensure that we were on the right path, we came to a clearing and sat down for a
moment to rest. It was a meadow, a beautiful flower-filled opening to the sky that was flourishing and

ripe with fauna.

My body ached, and my legs were sore, but as Minus sat me down, I couldn’t help but run and skip
through the meadow. The moon was high, and the air was fresh. I ran in circles, in squares, and even
in shaped that didn’t exist. Wherever I could run, I would. My hair flew freely.

‘Abby was right about you,’ Thea said with a smile as Minus tried to start a fire. Thea helped him
gather odd pieces of bark and branches as Minus pulled out his matches. ‘You are a wild thing. She
said you were free like the wind; you don’t care where you blow, as long as you ruffle some feathers
along the way. I’ve never seen Elizabeth Bathory stood up to the way you did, Wilhelmina.’

‘Where is Abby? Is she okay?’ I asked.

‘Your step-mother sold her to Ol’ Lou Girthwright’s farm before she skipped town. But Lou’s been
helping the railroad for a few months now, and he sent her along her way, telling her how to get to the
cottage in Gretna,’ Thea said as she watched the fire grow. ‘She’s waiting for us there, you’ll see.’

I ran back to them as Thea pulled out a few sausages. She skewered them and held them over the fire,
and they looked so mouth watering that I didn’t care whether they were warm or not. Minus handed
me a leather canteen filled with water, and I drank eagerly.

‘You go ahead and drink up, Wilhelmina, we got more where that came from,’ Thea said. She handed
me a biscuit and I thanked her as I began to work my way through the flaky sinews of bread and butter.

We sat there in the meadow, laughing while Thea talked about all of the plans she had when she made
it to the North. Before she was sold to Elizabeth Bathory, she worked for a veterinarian, and she used
to watch him work on horses and hunting dogs, sometimes wounded birds. Thea said that she wanted
to learn how to help, how to heal.

Minus said that he didn’t care too much what sort of work he landed in, so long as Thea was there
when he got home. He wanted children, and he hoped that they would have her smile. I agreed. Thea
was so pretty whenever she smiled and her eyes were a light mahogany brown, lighter than her skin,
and they glowed with absolute beauty in the firelight.

Our sanctuary was disrupted when he heard noises beyond the trees, all around us. Minus quickly put
out the fire and Thea hurriedly shoved their belongings back into her satchel. I looked around,
panicking, as Minus picked me up in his arms again, and quickly began to walk toward the south end
of the meadow.

‘Minus, stop!’ Thea shouted.

Shadows emerged from the trees ahead of us, drenched in dark colors once they entered the full moon
light.

They were confederate soldiers, most in blue uniforms but some were wearing grey. The man in the
center was the only one mounted on a horse. He wore a long striped charcoal grey coat with a faded
blue uniform underneath. He stepped down from his steed and told his men to lower their guns as they
advanced.

‘You there,’ he pointed at Minus. ‘Put the girl down and step away.’ Minus did just that and I nearly
stumbled as fear overtook my weak legs. When my legs finally did give out, the man caught me and

held me steady. ‘You alright, ma’am?’

I said nothing as I looked around, afraid of what would happen to the three of us.

‘What are you three doing out here at this time of night?’ he asked. ‘Who is your owner?’

‘We ain’t got no owners.’ Thea said defiantly with her chin held high.

‘So you’re a group of runaways,’ he said in a low tone. His men raised their guns and began closing
in on Thea and Minus, but once again the man holding me raised his hand to stop them. ‘I’m sorry, but
if you don’t tell us where you came from, we’ll be forced to shoot you. But I promise you that if you
do tell us where you escaped, we will take you back without harming you.’

‘Much,’ one of the other men added, and the man’s troupe began to snicker. I shook free of his hold,
and struggled to stand on my own with Thea and Minus.

‘Why should we trust you? Who are you to promise something like that, huh?’ Thea demanded.

‘I’m a Major in the confederate army, I give you my word,’ he said. He took his hat off of his head
and ran a hand through his blonde curls, and I was reminded of Mr. Abberdean, with his youth and
mannerisms.

I could see the urge to flee, to run away, in Thea’s face. In her mind, being shot was probably the less
frightening fate. To return to the governess’ estate would be worse than death. I grabbed her dress and
shook my head when I saw her leg twitch, and she locked eyes with me. Within seconds we had our
own private conversation that no one else would hear.

‘We’ll go willingly,’ Thea said. I knew the defeat in her face well; I had experienced it earlier that
day. The walk back to the mansion was much shorter than the run because none of us wanted to see it
again. The major was kind enough to let me ride with him because it was clear that I still couldn’t
stand well.

When we arrived, the men were welcomed inside to wait in the dining room while the governess was
fetched. Thea, Minus, and I stood next to each other, dreading what was to come. Thea had her eyes
closed with one hand clasped over her crucifix, praying in whispers. Minus held her hand and stared
ahead with a solid face of bravery.

When the governess’ boots clicked into the room, each soldier stood and took their hats off. She eyed
each of us with her one visible eye beneath her veiled face, and her expression was smooth and
composed.

‘We caught them about two miles from here in a meadow,’ said the young major.

‘And you brought the slaves back?’ The governess asked. ‘Isn’t there a law that states you must shoot
runaway slaves on sight?’

‘It didn’t seem necessary, ma’am,’ the major said. ‘Besides, you would be losing out on good labor
and money, wouldn’t you, miss?’

‘I have money, and an excess of help. These two would have been no toll on my conscience,’ the
governess said coldly. ‘This one, however, I am grateful for.’

‘Ma’am, I was wondering if you might have enough room for twelve tired and hungry soldiers?’ The
major asked politely.

‘Of course, I will have one my servants show you to the east ward, while the kitchen staff makes you
something to hold you over until breakfast in the morning,’ she said.

He bowed with thanks, but she paid him no mind. She snatched my wrist and pulled me with her into
one of the vast empty halls.

‘Running away now, are we? After everything I’ve done for you, after I was willing to forgive your
discrepancies and continue your education, you still chose to spurn me,’ the governess said calmly. It
was much scarier when she was calm; she was unpredictable when she wasn't screaming.

But I wasn't going to be so civil.

‘I don’t want your education or your luxuries!’ I screamed audaciously.

‘You’ve made that abundantly clear,’ the governess said, calculating something in her mind as she
tapped her finger on her cheek with one of her wicked smiles.

‘Go ahead, put me back in the shed!’ I said stubbornly.

‘No, no, that would get us nowhere,’ the governess said. ‘Go back to your ward and go to sleep. We
will discuss your future here in the morning.’

I was at an utter loss for words. I couldn’t believe that after everything I’d done, all of the insolence
that I had thrown her way, she was still going to make me go through the lessons and become a
debutant belle. I went to bed without argument, though I couldn’t sleep. I laid there for hours,
wondering what was to happen to Thea and Minus.

The next morning, Rhoda, Yvette, and I went to breakfast. We were quiet as we sat with the table of
noisy and messy soldiers. The only one with any form of manner and composition was the major. He
would pass quick glances in my direction now and then from beneath his blonde curls while I stared.

After breakfast, the other girls were off to their own personal tutors, but I was held behind by the
governess.

‘Come, let us go for a walk. We have your future to discuss,’ she said.

I complied without argument, mystified. We walked around in silence, and I tried to focus on the
warm morning sun on my skin. We walked out into the garden, and I saw horror incarnate before me.

Thea and Minus were tied to two posts with their hands behind their backs. I wanted to run to them, to
set them free, and my legs began to carry me, but the governess held my shoulder with bruising
strength.

The horror intensified when I watched the soldiers file out of the kitchen and into the garden, each
with their rifles in hand. The major walked toward us without enthusiasm, and there was a sadness in
his eyes that dragged his pace down.

‘Ma’am, on your word,’ he said. ‘I’d like to make it a point to say one last time that it isn’t necessary
to uphold the law in this case. No one would know if you let them live.’

‘I do not keep ungrateful slaves in my household, major, my mind is set,’ Governess Bathory said
indifferently. ‘Tell your men to fire when ready.’

The major bowed and turned, lifting his arm. The troupe lifted their rifles as they knelt, taking aim and
waiting. I kept glancing between Thea and Minus, and the firing squad of eleven men. Thea was
staring up into the sky, crying, while Minus stared ahead of him, his resolve written clearly across his
fearless expression.

‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ Thea began to pray
out loud.

‘Please, stop!’ I screamed, fighting against the governess’ hold, but she squeezed my shoulder harder,
and the pain brought me to my knees.

‘Ready!’ the major called out.

‘For you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’ Thea continued.

‘Aim!’

‘Please, stop,’ I sobbed, much quieter this time as I heaved uncontrollably.

‘Mama, protect us,’ Thea cried out to the sky.

‘Please,’ I begged the major again. ‘Don’t do this.’

He glanced over his shoulder pitifully, his arm still raised in the air. I clutched his boot and begged
him over and over again to stop, but all he offered was a silent apology.

‘It is the law, Major Hansen,’ The governess pressed.

He turned away, and I stared, powerless, as he dropped his arm. The silent command was
instantaneous, and lightning cracked throughout the garden.

Of all the colors in the garden, blue, violet, yellow, white, and green, nothing stood out more than the
streaks of crimson as the muskets tore violently through their bodies and sprayed nature with the
gruesome sight of blood. Thea cried out in hair-raising agony, but Minus was silent as he had taken a
few shots to the face; he died almost instantly.

I finally understood why the governess was going to allow me to stay in her home. In her eyes I had
cost her two slaves, and I was to replace them. I was not going to live there with the hope of
becoming a belle, a true lady; I was going to work off my debt to her as her salve.

I sat there for a while, even after the soldiers and the governess left the garden, watching as Thea's
life slowly bled from her eyes. When the sun was at its highest peak, I ventured out into the blood
garden at their feet and touched Thea to see if she was truly dead.

She was.

I took her crucifix to remember her, and offered my own silent prayer as I faced my life in servitude,
never to see my home, my sisters, Abby, or Mr. Abberdean again. I had so much hope only one day
ago, and my life held so much promise. Now I was staring into a void of black nothing.

My childhood died that day.

The child, too, had been sacrificed by night’s end when my day ended with a pair of scissors against
my scalp. My dreams fell to the floor with dead locks. Love left when I saw my near bald head in the
mirror.

I was shattered, empty, and broken.

4. Changeling

Brush, work, eat, brush, sleep. Brush, work, eat, brush, sleep. Brush, work, eat, brush, sleep.

My life was a cycle of grueling and laborious repetition, but I had to keep my hair brushed, straight
and untangled if I wanted to keep it at all. My locks were finally past my shoulders again, and I
intended to keep it that way.

No matter how dull my existence was, I had something wonderful to look forward to on this most
joyous evening.

Tonight was another one of the governess’ monthly dinner parties. Tonight was also my seventeenth
birthday, and both Rhoda and Yvette said that they had something planned for me. When I helped them
get dressed for the occasion, in which Yvette would be a debutant presented to high society, they
would ‘present my present’, as Rhoda put it.

They had both grown so much, and Yvette was definitely going to be a heartbreaker. Unlike quiet
Rhoda, Yvette needed to be the center of attention and would take drastic measures, even when
unnecessary, to ensure that all eyes were on her. And when Yvette caught sight of the men in
governess Bathory’s circle she would, without a doubt, swoon on the spot.

I had seen the kind of people in Elizabeth Bathory’s circle. They were all young and beautiful,
statuesque and irresistible, and even though they all looked down on me when I waited on them, hand
and foot, I didn’t mind. I liked to stand in the corner and simply gaze.

However, one doesn’t serve their kind for three years and not suspect anything. I knew that they were
more than human, of this I was dead certain, and I knew that they were dangerous. But so long as I
kept my mouth shut and gazed like the mindless servant girl that they thought me to be, I was safe
enough to stare and observe them.

In fact, after a while, one got used to their initially creepy air. Even their deep red eyes, which they
all shared, became less daunting as the months went by. I wasn’t sure what they were, or even if they
were creatures of god or the devil himself, but it was a coexistence that had a delicate balance, and I
needed to make sure that I didn’t tip the scales in either direction.

‘It’s funny,’ Yvette pondered as she watched me lace her gown in the mirror. ‘This is something that
I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl, and now that I’m sixteen and finally about to enter this
glorified world of men and manners, I don’t feel like I belong. As though everything I’ve done for the
last three years has taken me further away from the things that I want. The problem is that I don’t
exactly know what I want. Do you ever feel that way, Wilhelmina?’

‘I used to,’ I mused. ‘But somehow you get over it. You realize that this is the life you've been given,
and the only way you'll survive it is to accept the hand dealt to you. I guess it’s just wisdom, it comes
to us all in our own time.’

‘That doesn’t sound like wisdom, Wilhelmina; it sounds like you’ve given up,’ Yvette said sadly.

‘Please, no pity; I endure quite well, thank you,’ I said. I took in her exceptional beauty. ‘You look
gorgeous.’

‘All thanks to you,’ she said as she turned to face me. She held my hands and drew in a deep breath.
‘I’ve never been so nervous about anything in all of my life.’

‘Breathing helps with the nerves,’ I laughed as she giggled. ‘So does knowing that you will be the
most stunning young woman in that room. And I’ll be right there when you need me.’

‘Thank you Wilhelmina,’ she said, accepting my assurance for what it was. She embraced me, gently,
and quickly rush off to the governess’ den for the woman’s approval. I stayed behind, smiling to
myself as I the memory of her timidity linger. I studied myself in the mirror, and wondered how my
life could have been different than it is now.

My face was still round, but had grown longer. It was more like a cat’s expression, with full lips, and
wide eyes resting on my curved cheeks. My hair fell in long fiery waves behind my back, and I pulled
my rag of a dress tightly behind me to accent my curvatures and pivots.

I saw myself wearing a forest green dress, much like the one I owned in my life back in Fremont -
before my step-mother disowned me, and my sister Mary seemed to vanish off of the face of the
planet.

I looked around before I proceeded with my next bold move. A grin spread across my lips, and I
giggled quietly before I ruffled my hands through my hair wildly and let it fly and swirl all around my
head. It streaked over my face, but my eyes were still visible, staring back at me from under my mane.
It gave me a sense of strength, of pride and prowess.

‘Don’t let the governess catch you,’ Rhoda said as she ran inside the ward. She quickly jumped onto
her bed and crawled under her bed sheets. The thirteen year old was obviously hiding something,
probably more bugs she’d caught in the garden.

‘Don’t let the governess catch you,’ I said, combing my hair back and working out the fresh kinks.
‘You know how she feels about insects, she despises them.’ I sat the comb down and snuck up to her
bed. ‘And if she caught you she would pounce!’ And so I did, jumping on the bed and shocking her
with my impressive dexterity. I thought it was rather impressive, anyway.

‘And fire would shoot from her nostrils!’ Rhoda laughed.

‘Would it?’

Our ominous eavesdropper stood in the doorway, veiled in black as usual. Rhoda froze beneath my
hands, and I crawled off of the bed and straightened out my dress.

‘Governess Bathory,’ I bowed, looking at my feet as she drew near. The air literally became colder
when she walked by, toting Yvette behind her.

‘This gown is not laced properly; I would think that you would’ve put more care into the job.’ The
governess said sharply. 'After all, your own sister is going to experience the most important moment
of her life.'

Yvette silently stepped forward with an apologetic glance, but I understood.

‘I assure you, mistress, I did not intend to rush through the task.’

‘Rhoda, run along,’ said the governess.

Rhoda climbed out slowly, eyes fixed on the floor and away from the face that haunted her dreams
most nights. The girl ghosted her way around us until the governess gripped her shoulder.

‘And take those insufferable creatures with you. The next time that I suspect them in my home you will
be the one to suffer the consequences.’

Rhoda quickly grabbed the mason jar beneath her sheets and rushed out the door. I got to work on the
meticulous task of untying the tight threads on the dress and felt sorry for Yvette. I knew that the gown
was laced properly and was more tight enough for any human girl to endure, but now the governess
was simply out for blood. Yvette had probably done something miniscule to upset her.

‘I am impressed, Wilhelmina,’ the governess said as she studied my every movement. ‘Yvette is going
to experience a grandeur moment in her life, something that you, too, could have experienced under...
different circumstances. Yet, knowing full well that this moment is forever out of your grasp, you
have been gracious with every step of the way.’

My, wasn’t she gracious this evening?

‘I understand my place, governess. And I am happy for Yvette.’ I really was.

‘For the first time, since you'd stepped in this mansion, I see a tamed girl,’ she said calculatingly.
‘Only when you have been completely broken and restrained can you be disciplined and turned into
something of value.’

‘Forgive me, governess, but I don’t quite understand your meaning,’ I said, trying to concentrate on my
duty instead of her piercing words, or poor Yvette’s whimpers as I used every ounce of strength I had.

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ she commented. She smirked when I yanked the laces one final time and tied them
off. ‘Splendid work, Wilhelmina; she can hardly breathe.’

They left in silence and I wished that I had something to throw across the room. But I had places to
be. I needed to get dressed and make myself presentable for governess Bathory’s peculiar guests.
Besides, I didn’t want to miss one single moment of Yvette’s presentation.

As I made my way to the dining room, where I was expected shortly as the sun had set moments ago, I
was abruptly stopped by one of the children from the kitchen.

‘Wilhelmina!’ Henrietta was one of the yard slaves' daughters. She worked in the kitchen doing odd
jobs like dish washing. At eleven years old she was headstrong, and obstinate, which was probably
why I enjoyed her company so much.

‘You should be in the kitchen. If any of the guests saw you wandering about, the governess would put
you in the garden shed,’ I warned her.

‘I just wanted to say happy birthday,’ she said. ‘I told my mama and Thomasine and they have a
surprise for you later when you come to the kitchen.’

‘They didn’t,’ I smiled humorously.

‘They did; they made you a cake. But you didn’t hear it from me,’ she said. She ran off and vanished
around the corner, and I continued on my course to the dining room.

Once there, I noticed a few of the guests early tonight, but the governess was still nowhere to be seen.
I silently drifted to a corner as they stared, unblinkingly. I knew two of the four by name; an ashy
brown skinned woman named Rosa from Texas and a platinum blonde man named Francis were
seated casually in chairs at the table, while two others lingered loosely.

‘Really? Left the Trenners' for that sort of lifestyle?’ Francis asked one of other men. ‘And all he has
to go on is a theory, you say?’

‘Madness where there needn’t be, that’s what I say; let the blood pour and let us be the instinctive
creatures we were meant to be!’ The dark haired man replied. The third man was new. I hadn’t seen
him here before in the three years I'd been waiting at these monthly soirees, but he seemed
particularly interested in me as he stared, cocking his head as though I were a puzzle to be solved. He
had light brown cropped hair, and eyes as black as onyx.

Soon others began to file in, and the governess herself finally made an appearance, veiled and silent.
She greeted everyone personally as usual, and soon there was a room of fifteen of the usual visitors,
with a few newcomers who had shown up for the occasion.

I tried to look focused and alert, but tonight my heart was not in my duties. Yvette still hadn’t made an
appearance and the entire evening was growing duller as they brought up names and topics that I knew
nothing of. However, I heard something from the governess’ cold lips that immediately sent me flying
into a world of forgotten emotions, revived and clashing against one another from their numbed
slumber.

‘Charles Abberdean, this is a surprise,’ I heard her say from the entrance hall.

My heart literally stopped for a moment, my mind thoroughly shocked to the frayed ends of my nerves.

‘I didn’t think you would accept the invitation after our seven year silence.’

‘Well, when I heard that you were still in the matchmaking business I had to see if the rumors were
true.’

It was him, it was really him. His voice, like audible honey, flowed into my ears and resonated into
my soul. Untended and forgotten fragments of my former self resurfaced like limbs from the murky
depths of a still lake, emerging from the crawlspaces I had buried them in to die.

‘Interested in a fresh young mate, András?’ the governess asked, bemused. ‘I’m presenting a young
lady tonight. By this time next week she would be perfect for you, I think.’

‘Don't call me by that name. I didn’t come to be matched, Elizabeth. I came to see if you were truly
still in the business of creating and selling brides to the highest bidder,’ my angel said
disapprovingly.

‘By the tone of your voice, I would think that you came here to insult me in my own home,’ the
governess retorted.

‘Of course not, governess. I merely came out of curiosity. I also brought a friend of mine from

London. When I told him what you did, he wouldn’t believe my word alone and simply insisted he see
for himself,’ Charles said.

‘The ceremony will commence shortly. If you will follow me to the dining room I will introduce you
to a few close friends of mine.’

I watched the governess waltz quickly into the dining room, stepping aside as her new guests entered
the dining room. I swallowed hard when I saw him, standing there. Tangible. I had gotten so used to
my imaginary projection of his features that I had forgotten just how soft, how fair he was. His straight
nose and narrow jaw were chiseled but yielding, as though directly sculpted from a Leonardo da
Vinci painting.

The other was refined. He had golden blonde hair and white skin. His smile was alluring, but not as
much as Charles’. Mr. Abberdean smiled as he met each acquaintance, and I tried to settle my heart
rate as he drew closer. He was almost an arm’s length away from me, and still he hadn’t noticed my
presence.

‘This is Francis, he came all the way from Canada just to see the presentation.’ The governess
introduced the blonde sitting in the chair closest to me.

‘Good to meet you,’ Mr. Abberdean said. The blonde behind him did the same with a gentle smile.
Mr. Abberdean looked up suddenly, and his eyes flashed, as did mine.

There were few things I remembered about Mr. Abberdean in my previous life, but among them was
the prominent fact that his eyes were black. But now, as I looked into them, they were as red as the
governess’ and her guest’s and I couldn’t look away. He looked just as shocked as I was, almost as
though he were afraid of me, or like he had heard that a close friend had just died.

‘Human servants?’ he asked, smoothing out his face. ‘You actually keep these filthy creatures
around?’

‘This one is more of a trophy,’ the governess said with a wave of her hand, never looking once in my
direction. ‘She told me years ago that the two of you were well acquainted.'

‘If we were, she definitely wasn’t memorable,’ he said offhandedly. Coldly. ‘But so few of her kind
are.’

They moved on, but his blonde friend nodded and smiled. He had lovely black eyes, but I was too
shocked to appreciate them. I simply stared into the empty space where Mr. Abberdean had just been
standing. Where his words were once kind, there was only cruelty now. He had forgotten me,
conscienceless and totally apathetic to my existence.

The governess silenced the room as she approached the end of the dining room table, and both Mr.
Abberdean and his friend took their places at the far end of the table.

He didn’t even spare me a second glance.

The governess clapped her hands and a young servant brought Yvette by hand. The attention in the
room piqued with interest as every eye watched Yvette walk through the door. She was scared stiff
and nearly frozen stiff with anxiety, but I smiled and waved ever slightly when she glanced in my
direction. I saw her shoulders relax a little.

When the governess approached, the slave girl wasted no time in exiting the room, leaving Yvette
stranded.

‘I remember when I was standing in her spot, those long years ago,’ Rosa said. ‘Before I was off
waging wars - in the simple days when all I had to do with myself was admire my own beauty.’

‘This one is no exceptional beauty, but she is obedient, and quite lively,’ The governess said.

‘I will start the bidding at two thousand,’ Francis began.

I was shocked; were they actually bidding on Yvette? They were actually talking about her like a
piece of livestock. Mary had made no mention of this, nor Charles. This was not what any of those
girls had been working so hard for, nor what they had been promised. She was not supposed to be
sold to anyone like a slave; she was not a piece of property.

‘Three thousand,’ one of the dark men said.

Francis tipped his fingers. ‘Six thousand.’

‘Seven thousand,’ Mr. Abberdean tipped his hat, and I was stunned. Was he actually joining in this
travesty? I was stultified and felt a little woozy. It felt like the only dreams keeping me alive were
really just wicked little shadows waiting for the right moment to sink their fangs into my heart and
poison my heart from the inside out. I was falling into a maelstrom - into an ocean without meaning.

The blonde at his side whispered something into his ear urgently, but Mr. Abberdean brushed his
comment off of his shoulder.

‘Nine thousand,’ said a woman with warm chocolate brown hair seated near me. Her bid was almost
a whisper. There was no way that the governess could have possibly heard her. And yet the cold
woman glanced up at the bidder with a nod.

‘Any others?’ The governess asked.

‘I’ll double her offer,’ said the blonde beside Mr. Abberdean, who sat silently without comment. He
couldn’t possibly be Mr. Abberdean, he just couldn’t be. My Charles was kind, and would never
partake in the bidding of an innocent and misled young girl like she was a common whore.

‘Twenty thousand,’ said the woman in the corner, a devilish expression shading over.

‘Well, newcomer, would you like to double Camilla’s offer again?’ The governess asked, intrigued.
The blonde man backed down and sat there silently. ‘Any other offers?’

The room was dead silent as they all stared at Yvette with disappointment. The governess extended a
hand toward Camilla, and the sultry woman slithered up to the head of the table with the grace of a
doe. Yvette stared at the tall curvy brunette, just as confused as I was, clearly frightened beyond
words.

Camilla stroked her face with a gloved arm, but Yvette flinched away.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ Camilla cooed. She closed the distance between them and kissed Yvette. That was
the moment that my boundaries had been crossed.

‘What is going on here?’ I demanded. It took me a moment to realize that I had spoken out loud. When
Camilla, along with the rest of the room, turned her attention to my horror-stricken face, a deep,
dizzying nausea ailed me. She gauged me like a predator, but soon turned her attention to Yvette,
locking their lips once again. The rest of the room turned to watch as well, except the blonde beside
Abberdean. He simply stared at the table with a troubled, uncomfortable expression.

‘Would you like the honor of doing it yourself, Camilla?’ The governess asked from beneath her veil.
Camilla broke the kiss and stepped back, looking Yvette over with hunger in her eyes.

‘I like to credit myself with having much strength and patience, but I wouldn’t be able to stop myself,
governess,’ Camilla said. ‘If you wish to be paid for the girl, you should do it for me.’

‘As you wish,’ the governess said.

She stepped between Camilla and Yvette and began prowling the girl like a tigress stalking its
cornered prey.

‘Wait!’ The blonde man jumped out of his seat, urgent fear about his face. ‘Shouldn’t the servant girl
leave the room? You wouldn’t want her to see this.'

‘Let her watch,’ the governess said.

With lightning fast speed, she gripped Yvette’s neck, and the girl screamed with fright, but no one
tried to help her. They simply hissed and grinned eagerly. Slowly, the governess lifted the black veil
over her face and revealed a very smooth and beautiful face, perfection personified. Her lips were
round and her button nose ran smoothly straight up into her thin brows. Her black hair was pulled
back into a tight bun, and her bright red eye looked into Yvette’s.

She opened her mouth and struck Yvette’s mouth like a rattlesnake. There was a bright glow coming
from their cheeks and a white light shining through the breaks in their mouths as the governess kept
their lips locked. It looked as though she was sucking something out of the girl. Yvette pierced my
soul with a blood curdling cry for help, and I had to shield my ears. The governess pulled away,
holding Yvette’s hair as she stared down into the girl’s frightened eyes. The governess let go, after
what looked like a struggle with her hand's grip. Yvette clutched her chest and continued to scream.

‘It burns!’ she shouted, but still no one helped her. ‘It burns like fire!’

The governess ran one long fingernail along Yvette's neck. The girl fell to her knees, clutching at the
side of her throat; blood coursed through her fingers.

‘It is done,’ said the governess. She turned her head toward Camilla, her brow strewn up in what
could only be some sense of ecstasy. ‘You must drain every last drop of blood before dawn; I will
expect my payment by the end of the week.’

‘Expect it by morning,’ Camilla said as everyone watched Yvette bleed all over herself.

The blonde man stood and left the room hastily, looking a bit queasy. Mr. Abberdean followed him
without a word. I was still petrified as I stared at Yvette, dying on the floor. The governess turned her
head and looked at me, and the terror inside reached out and stuck inside of me like little needles.

One side of her face was perfect and beautiful, but the other was a sight that was too grotesque to

believe, even though I witnessed it with my own eyes. Her face was splintered and cracked, like a
marble statue. One great fissure ran down her face and it was abundantly clear why I could only ever
see one of her eyes beneath the veil. She only had one eye.

She hissed, and I clutched my chest as my heart raced. The others hissed as well, their hellish red
eyes on me and their teeth, grown long and pointed, bared. I ran. I had no direction, but that didn’t
matter as long as I was as far away from those monsters as possible. I ran through the garden and into
the forest as quickly as my boots would carry me.

I heard snickers from every direction and shadows swept through the trees like the wind.

I hit something hard. I struggled away from this hot solid object, screaming, but it held me with iron
grips. I was afraid to open my eyes, but the figure swept me into its arms and I had to see who my
capture was.

‘Be quiet and say nothing,’ Mr. Abberdean told me coldly, his crimson eyes set ahead as he cradled
me. We exited the forest, and I saw the governess waiting, covered in blood from the chin down, her
eye focused on me.

‘Thank you, Charles,’ she said.

‘Perhaps next time you won’t kill so conspicuously, Elizabeth,’ Mr. Abberdean said dryly. ‘I would
think that your face would be reminder enough of the last time you killed so boldly, and encountered
Pontius.’

‘This one was set to die anyway,’ she said offhandedly.

‘I would like to make a bid,’ Mr. Abberdean said, clutching my shivering body to his torso.

‘The bidding is over, Charles; if you wanted Yvette then you should have made an offer after
Camilla.’

‘Not for that useless girl in there, I want to make a bid on this slave girl,’ he said.

The governess’ eye became a slit and her lips became a thin line as she pressed them in agitation.

‘She is not for sale,’ the governess said. ‘She is mine. I’ve been waiting to drain the life from her
eyes for four years.’

‘She is but another human, Ms. Bathory,’ his blonde companion said as he emerged from the trees
behind us. ‘Surely whatever this girl has done to you has been repaid by her loyal servitude.’

‘Not nearly,’ the governess hissed.

‘I want to drain her soul, Elizabeth,’ Mr. Abberdean said harshly. ‘Her soul calls to me so, and I
cannot help myself. I want to drain every last drop, and I don’t think that I could stand back if you
were to try and take her from me. Even holding her now to talk to you burns my senses with hellfire.’

‘Is that so?’ She asked, intrigued.

‘Give me this one simple pleasure, Elizabeth, and I will be forever in your debt,’ Mr. Abberdean told
her.

‘In my debt, you say?’ The governess asked.

‘Yes,’ Mr. Abberdean said sternly. ‘I swear to it.’

‘How will I know that you’ve truly killed her?’ The governess asked.

‘I hardly think you need to know, as long as he pays you your money,’ the blonde said firmly.

The governess sneered and growled, but Mr. Abberdean stepped forward to silence his friend.

‘Do it here and now,' the governess snarled.

‘I don’t want to rush the experience,’ Mr. Abberdean said.

‘I say turn her,’ Camilla said from the surrounding audience.

‘She would make for an interesting immortal, Elizabeth,’ One of the others said. ‘Just look at how
supple and beautiful she looks now. If turned, her beauty would doubtlessly surpass even your former
glory.’

The governess hissed at the comment, and looked as though she was ready to leap forward, but the
blonde, Francis, stopped her.

‘I, too, am curious as to what kind of immortal she would make. She holds a certain alluring quality
about her, especially in her gaze,’ he commented. ‘Like a born huntress.’

‘Will you turn her, Charles?’ The governess asked. Mr. Abberdean visibly swallowed, and looked
down into my fearful eyes with a gaze that mirrored my own.

‘Elizabeth, I am not an overconfident man. I know my limits, and we both know that I would not be
able to control myself from devouring her entire soul.’ Mr. Abberdean said slowly, deliberately. ‘But
my friend, he has the apt restraint to complete the task.’

‘No,’ the governess said. ‘It must be you, or she dies.’

‘In one week,’ the blonde said. The governess looked at him questionably, half offended and half
intrigued, and waited for him to continue. ‘Give him one week to prepare. I can help him through the
process to ensure that nothing goes awry.’

‘I am pleased with the conditions,’ the governess said thoughtfully. ‘But there is still the question of
price.’

‘Name one, and I will pay it,’ Mr. Abberdean said. She tapped her bottom lip and it clicked, like two
rocks hitting each other.

‘One hundred thousand,’ she said.

Mr. Abberdean’s eyes fell, and his jaw tightened.

‘I do not have nearly enough to pay your demand,’ he admitted. ‘Surely you can understand how it
feels to yearn for such an enthralling soul, won’t you reconsider?’

‘I am firm on the price, Charles,’ the governess said with a twisted grin.

‘Then consider it done,’ the blonde said. ‘You will have the money on the night that she is to be
changed.’

‘Then we have an accord,’ the governess said as she covered her face with her black veil.

‘But as I will be supplying most of the cost out of my own pocket, I do have one stipulation,’ the
blonde said, a mischievous glance into my eyes.

‘And what is that?’

‘Charles and I will be allowed to see her each night until the seventh day when he is to change her,’
he said.

Mr. Abberdean looked at him questioningly, but the blonde didn’t respond.

‘I don’t see why he would need to,’ The governess scoffed.

‘To grow accustomed to the presence of her flesh, her soul. Charles must learn restraint in such a
short time,’ the blonde said. ‘Unsupervised, mind you.’

‘The deal is struck,’ the governess said.

The crowd reluctantly followed her into her mansion, but the three of us stayed behind. Mr.
Abberdean dropped me to my feet, and I stared back at him with utter fear in my eyes.

‘Please, don’t kill me,’ I begged.

‘Wilhelmina, I’m not going to kill you,’ Mr. Abberdean said. ‘I’m going to get you out of this place.’

‘What?’

I was completely confused. When had the tables turned? Who was he?

‘But you left me here, you didn’t care. You forgot about me.’

‘No, Wilhelmina, never. I had no idea that you were here of all places,’ Mr. Abberdean said. ‘If I had
known…’

‘This is not the place for this conversation, Charles,’ the blonde urged.

I didn’t care what he thought of the moment, or its appropriateness. I may wake up in the morning and
never see Mr. Abberdean again, and even if his eyes matched theirs and he was something inhuman, I
wanted to hold him close to me as long as I could. Now, as he held me firmly, my life was better than
it had been in more years than I cared to remember, since my father died.

‘You knew I was here, you wrote me letters,’ I sobbed.

‘I wrote them to your mother, but I never heard back. She must have forwarded them to the Elizabeth’s
estate,’ he said, stroking my hair.

Eventually I calmed down in his arms, and he carried me with the grace of an angel. He laid me down
to rest on my bed, and then he was gone.

I stared at the ceiling as I wondered if I'd dreamt it all, or if I had gone crazy. Working for the

governess, the latter was the most believable scenario. But I had seen my love tonight, and his scent
still lingered with me. I pressed my fingers to my lips, and tried not to think of poor Yvette's screams,
still echoing through the mansion, or the governess’ true demonic face.

I thought of Charles Abberdean was twisted, and it felt monstrous of me to think ill of him, even after
what I’d seen, but I clung to the thought of him with every last fiber of sanity I had left.

5. Untouched

Everything from the previous night felt like a dream, surreal and terrifying. As usual, I awoke just
before dawn and went about my morning chores, such as waiting on Rhoda as she bathed, changed,
ate, and then sent her off to the tutor. But most of my afternoon was free, and that was because I hadn’t
seen Yvette. Her screams faded sometime in the middle of the night, and I feared for her life.

I couldn't help staring at Rhoda whenever she was near - partly out of pity, mostly out of fear. I was
fearful for her life, and for the years ahead of her. Was that to be her fate as well? Was she to be
auctioned off to a room of bloodthirsty demons and then left to die?

I couldn’t wrap my mind around what they were. Were they demons? Perhaps they were pieces of the
devil himself, lurking in the night to stalk and prey on young women like Yvette. The governess was
not human; she was like a living statue. The sight of her exposed face, the shattered fragments that
were left of it at least, was something that would not leave my dreams. It haunted me, much like she
did.

I knew that Elizabeth was bloodthirsty, foul, evil, and twisted. But what exactly was she? Her very
existence eluded me.

I wondered how my sister Mary survived this ordeal, how she managed to survive the governess’
torture and ‘social gatherings’. My life in this realm of isolation and despair flooded behind my eyes,
and things that should have been obvious to me became painfully clear. My sister Mary had been
solved like a riddle as I recounted the last time I saw her, the night that Mr. Abberdean had left.

She was hot and pale with skin like smooth marble, and black eyes like Mr. Abberdean’s. It was
suddenly and painfully lucid that Mary hadn’t survived this at all.

She was one of them.

Did our stepmother know? Did she know what was expected, what to anticipate from the governess
before she'd sent her oldest daughter to live here? If so, then how could my father have ever married
such a cruel and pathetic woman?

I thought of all this, and much more, as I wondered what was to become of me. A type of pain that I’d
never felt before irked inside of me when I thought of Charles Abberdean being one of them, a demon
of the night, a creature of death. And now I was his, I was to be subjected to the same treatment that
Yvette received - to share her fate. Her beauty and innocence were violated in an unimaginable
fashion. I had to watch it to believe it, and still I couldn’t convince myself that any of what I'd seen or
heard was real.

As the day dragged on, I was uneasy and fretful. Mr. Abberdean and his friend said that they may visit
me in the night. What if they did? What would they do to me? What would they expect?

I waited on Rhoda as she ate her supper alone in silence, and a sickening question came to mind. Just
how many hours did I have left? My life had been full of hours - admittedly squandered - but now I

realized that a limit had been put on those hours. Now that they were numbered, how many breaths
equaled a last moment? How many heartbeats could be counted until the measure of my life’s thread
was cut by the hands of my angel?

He was an angel of darkness now. He was still beautiful, and his words as gentle as his hands, but
there was an undertone to everything he said, and every inch of me that he touched. That undertone
was my demise.

I returned Rhoda to the ward and closed the door behind her so that she may change and go to bed. I
locked the ward behind me and went up to the library to be alone. I couldn’t face anyone at the
moment because I was too stirred, too unnerved. I couldn’t stand to be alone in my small room; I
would begin to think of all of the dreams I would be losing if I did.

I wandered through the vast library, past row after row of old books, half of them I had read on my
spare time. I calculated the prospect of running away. In my experience, running away from the
governess hadn’t gotten anyone anywhere but under the soil in the nearby cemetery beside the small
chapel up on Whesker’s Hill. Both times I ran for the forest I was captured before I could make it to
total freedom.

Not long after the sunset Yvette’s screams started up again. At least I knew that she was alive and my
prayers hadn’t gone unanswered, but I could only imagine what kind of torture she was enduring at the
hands of the monstrous governess. Her heart wrenching cries of pain and agony were scraping away
at my conscience and I held my hands to my ears, trying to drown her out with the poem that Charles
had written for me.

‘Don’t think about her, Wilhelmina.’

I jumped at the sound of the voice, scrambling to my feet and clumsily backing away into a shelf. In
the candlelight I saw their faces ghost into my view; the blonde with eyes like midnight, and my angel
of death. I knew that they could catch me if I ran, but I couldn’t possibly sit down.

‘You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.’ Mr. Abberdean smiled.

‘You haven’t changed at all,’ I said shakily.

He smiled a bit, and avoided my eyes. They were blazing red, like this thoughts could bleed.

‘We shouldn’t waste what precious time you have left, so I’m going to ask you a few questions,’ Mr.
Abberdean said.

He took a seat across from my empty chair and gestured toward it. I slowly lowered myself into the
seat after his silent invitation. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his as he stared down at his hands. The
other observed me from behind with sadness inside of his eyes. I wondered why he always looked so
heartbroken.

‘You know what we are,’ Mr. Abberdean said. It wasn’t a question at all, it was a blatant statement.

‘I’m not entirely certain that I do,’ I commented as I adjusted my posture under his curious glance. ‘I
know that your skin is like hot coals, and as hard as stone. I know that your eyes were black, but now
they are red just the others’. You are faster than the eye can see, and… unchanging.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We are the Undying.’

‘What are the undying?’ I asked, cautious to whet my thirst for answers.

‘We, the Undying, are eternal creatures of darkness,’ Mr. Abberdean said, staring directly into my
eyes. ‘We are vile, blood-lusting demons who prey on the weak and strong, the guilty and the innocent
alike. We have no soul, and without the soul there is no humanity; without humanity our bodies cannot
grow, or change, and neither can we. We are the snake who poisoned the apple, the decay that
corrupts the souls of mankind, and we are victims of ourselves. We are damned.’

‘I think I understand,’ I said, clenching my fists. I couldn’t really make any sense of it, but in my heart,
where the core of my fear welled like a coal-black pool, I knew what he was saying.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Mr. Abberdean confirmed.

It was just as I’d feared. My life turned out to be nothing like I wanted it to be, not even remotely how
I’d dreamt it would be, but I never thought that it would be over so soon, let alone at the hands of
Charles Abberdean. It felt strange that my life should end in such a tragically beautiful manner. Tragic
because I saw beauty in dying by Charles’ hands: therein rested the proof of the indignant
senselessness of my infatuation with him.

‘After Charles takes your life, you will enter hell and beyond,' said the blonde man. 'Pain will be all
that you see, all that you hear, all that you feel and breathe.’

Mr. Abberdean glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the man, but quickly turned his attention
back to me, his eyes dark in the candlelight.

‘My friend here would rather see you die than become one of us,’ Mr. Abberdean said, almost
apologetically.

The blonde lowered his gaze, silently, but he didn't commented on Charles’ remark.

‘Don’t fault him, he doesn’t hate you. It’s just that this isn’t a life he would have chosen for himself,
or anyone else, for that matter. What the governess does disturbs him to the bone, so forgive his
silence but he is still a bit shaken standing here in her home.

‘But if I don’t conscript you unto our black Incubus existence, you will die,’ Mr. Abberdean said.
‘Between the governess killing you out of jealous cruelty, or condemning you to hell myself, I cannot
bear to think of the world without your existence.’

‘Mr. Abberdean,’ I began, but he quickly held up a solid frigid finger to my lips.

‘Charles,’ he reminded me as he dropped his hand.

‘Are you telling me that… ?’

I couldn’t utter the words. Just the thought of what he was telling me was too dark to speak with my
own tongue.

‘Six nights from now I will turn you into one of us; I will consume your soul and drink your blood.’
He said. ‘Everything is in order, and I will take you away from this place. I promise.’

‘You’re going to turn me into a demon?’ I asked.

Charles nodded once, morose and sullen.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Because Elizabeth will kill you, she’s planned to do it for years. She just hadn’t pinpointed the right
moment until now,’ Charles explained.

I stared, frozen with the horror that strained my heart. ‘Why?’

‘Elizabeth was once the most beautiful young woman in her country when she was just a young girl,
and she was soon to be married to a king. She was robbed of her innocence… as I will do to you…
and she became a notorious succubus, vain and mischievous. However, she had an unfortunate run in
with Pontius, and, as penance, her beauty was taken from her.’

‘Pontius?’ I asked. ‘Who –’

‘Some chapters of our world, and Elizabeth Bathory’s life, are best left buried,’ said the blonde with
a forced smile. ‘I will not return to you after tonight, Charles; this mansion bodes ill for me.’

‘So why are you here tonight, if not to kill me?’ I asked.

Speaking with Charles like this felt eerie. I was no longer talking to by beloved Abberdean, but my
murderer. Death in the flesh. And it was talking back to me.

‘To prepare you. To make sure that you have a chance to be who you want to be after this is all over,’
Charles said.

‘Oh,’ I fumbled. I was still trying to understand how I could possibly be anything other than a monster,
like the governess, after this was all over. ‘This’, of course, meaning life, and when this was all over
I would no longer be me, would I? No more the quiet servant girl with a slight defiant streak under
her belt. I would be a creature of darkness, a stalker of the naive in the night shadows.

‘Would you give us a moment of privacy?’ Charles asked his companion.

The man nodded and bowed out, fading into the shadows. There were no echoing footsteps as his
unearthly body left no din; he simply vanished.

Charles reached forward cautiously, and my first instinct was to shy away in fear, by my curiosity
overshadowed those concerns and I watched, peculiarly, as Charles’ hands took mine into his hot
stone grasp.

‘I want to apologize to you, Wilhelmina,’ he said.

‘You’ve done nothing to apologize for,’ I assured him after swallowing the anticipation building up in
my throat. Every receptive nerve in my body flared at his contact, screaming run! Run! But I sat there
with my hands cradled in his feather touch, looking deeper and deeper into those red eyes to try and
understand how he could do it. How could he talk to me as though he were saving me when he was
going to end my life and curse me? Did he truly believe my inexistence was worse than becoming one
of the damned?

‘But I have,’ he sighed. ‘I knew this was what your stepmother wanted for Mary, but for you… I never
saw this coming. I didn’t think that your path would lead you to this place. I thought you had more
time, more hope.’

'Charles, please...’ I wanted him to stop and was ready to beg him to do so. I couldn’t take being
reminded that my narrow, dead-end of a life had led me here. My hopes and dreams had all fallen
through. What more was there to believe in? My life became work and servitude, and I knew that
nothing more waited for me. If I tried to escape the wretched hand dealt to me, others would surely
die. I had cost people their lives already, good people. I would have to live with that on my
conscience for the remainder of my life, undead or alive.

‘And,’ he continued, despite my protests. ‘I never thought that I would have to be the one to do it.
Well, I never thought that it would happen, but… now that it has come upon you, I fear for you,
Wilhelmina. I am afraid.’

‘Then don’t do it,’ I suggested.

‘Wilhelmina, if I don’t turn you then the governess will drain you of your blood and bath in it to
solidify her petty victory - after she has devoured your soul,’ Charles warned despairingly.

‘Your kind; Incubi, daemon, Lamias, you desire souls and blood, do you not?’ I asked. ‘You yearn for
it, you crave it, don’t you?’

Charles nodded shamefully. Hesitantly, he pulled his hands away and averted his eyes so that I could
only just barely see the reds of his irides.

‘Why not do what in your own cursed heart you dare not dream of doing?’ I challenged curiously.
‘Take my blood, take my soul. End my miserable existence and let me cleanse my hands of the
governess and the sins that weigh on my shoulders.’

‘What?’ Charles asked, appalled while at the same time intrigued. I picked up a letter opener and held
it to my throat. He tensed, to my surprise, but I was still distracted by the thought of how easy it would
be for me to end it all now.

‘My life has meant nothing up until this moment. Send me into the arms of my maker and satiate your
lust for blood and flesh in one,’ I said.

‘Has this life truly made you so callous? Do you honestly hate the sweet air so?’

‘You cannot imagine my life here, or what I’ve endured. Last night was nothing, but it could have
been worse, and would have been had you not saved me. But suffering is a relentless cycle that makes
up my existence, I understand that. I have no desire to live if life is all made of sighs and tears.’ I
spoke honestly, though my hand still shook from dread. What if he did kill me?

I looked up and saw him standing over me, like he had been there the entire conversation. He gripped
my hand and held it there against my neck with slight pressure. One quick flick of his wrist and it
would end.

‘I believe you’ve lived a hard life, Wilhelmina, I do. If you wish for death so quickly then perhaps I
should oblige,’ Charles said.

I closed my eyes, and I wasn’t certain if I truly wanted to die or not. I couldn’t fathom becoming one
of those lecherous devourers of innocence; driven by base desires credited to the sin of lust.

‘Would you have me do it?’ He asked.

‘If that is what you will deliver,’ I answered simply. ‘In either case, my wrists are bound and my fate
is in your hands. Your decision is my future, be it rebirth or my passing.’

‘Death, in its sweet and charming ululations, is black, Wilhelmina,’ Charles said. He lowered my
hand and took the letter opener from my fingers. His fingers gently stroked my face and, just like in my
stepmother's kitchen those four long years ago, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. ‘But my heart is
not as dark just yet, and it does not relish the thought of being the one to send you into Death's murky
embrace.

‘Though my heart is selfish in this denial, I cannot take your life with intent. As it is, I couldn’t bear
the thought of killing you on the seventh night, but that is the risk.’

‘You truly do care, don’t you?’ I asked in wonderment.

Stupefaction swept across my face as I realized that he honestly believed that he was granting me a
mercy, the only solution he saw fit to give me my freedom and dignity. Charles felt that he was giving
me a chance to live a life outside of this purgatory.

Once I felt his sweltering touch lift from my tender flesh, I opened my eyes and saw an empty space of
black shadows before me. I was alone in the library, cold and empty of reaction. I was a flagon of
emotions, bubbling and swishing in my stomach. But the most important sensation I had pinpointed
was something that I hadn’t felt in a very long while.

The swell of my heart. It was the warm fluidic feeling that filled my chest when I thought of Mr.
Abberdean when I was a little girl, thirteen years old and running through a briar patch while I waited
for him to come to me on Tuesday nights. It was the flush of blazing sparks when I realized that
Charles still cared. Nothing had changed between us, only that now he wore the burden of my
demonizing or the guilt of my death on his face like a pasteboard mask.

The governess, too, wore a similar mask, but what lied behind hers was the thing I hated more than
anything else in the world. Her true face was the malignant and frightening monster that was behind
the masks of the rest of her acquaintances, plaguing mankind since the spawn of their existence. But
what lied behind Charles’ mask was simply the most beautiful man in all the world, for in his eyes I
saw the compassion that was once believed to be an impossible trait within a demon.

When I awoke the next morning, Thomasine promptly escorted me to another set of quarters, a large
and spacious room with a plush bed. She told me that she had been ordered by the governess to wait
on me for the rest of the week, and that I was no longer under her employment.

I was free. In a sense, at least.

But the first problem with the time that I had left was that, ironically, I had nothing with which to kill
it. The day dragged on, and I was hoping that my words of death and despair hadn’t chased Charles
away forever. Would he blame me for longing for eternal rest in a shallow grave? I had survived the
governess long enough, and in the end that was all I had to look forward to. So, naturally, I was not

afraid to face it; I welcomed death to my bosom like my own babe.

The mansion was filled with distant screams of pain and torture from somewhere in its deep reaches.
Yvette was alive, but nowhere to be seen. I wondered what Rhoda thought of the disappearance of her
friend, her confidant, and how she felt about those far off shrieks of agony.

Though there was plenty of bustle around the estate of from the servants, there was still no sign of our
supreme queen and dictator, the governess. She had been locked up in her den since the night of
Yvette’s debut.

I waited eagerly that evening in my room and watched the sunset fall below the horizon. As the tip
vanished, Charles was there. The second night was far different than our hard-faced and dour
conversation from the previous. We just sat on my bed and caught up.

He told me of London, and all of the things he had been up to with his blonde friend, the doctor,
whose name I still had not been told. Perhaps he didn't wish his name to be shared in a place like this.
I could listen to Charles go on all night so long as I could look into his eyes when he spoke. The color
of his eyes wasn’t even a factor anymore when it came to what I noticed about them. What I saw in his
lovely eyes, framed by thick wheat lashes, was the way that they became a part of his smile when his
lips curled up in the corners.

The third night, he explained to me that my life as a mistress of darkness was going to be a very
difficult and empty existence, but it was still possible to have a social life, with or without human
interaction. He told me that I would be a killer, and this much was unavoidable.

By the fourth night, I was fretful as I thought of how little time I had left of my human life. Also,
Charles was unusually silent. We laid on our sides on my new bed, facing each other, but neither of us
spoke until my curiosity burst from my lungs and I had to ask what was the matter.

‘It’s nothing,’ he told me.

‘Charles, please don’t lie to me. You’re the only person I trust, the only man I can talk to. How am I
supposed to know where I stand on a road of secrets?’

‘I would rather not talk about it.’ Charles frowned deeply. ‘But I fear I must. After all, it involves you
and your future. But it is not a pleasant thought, let alone an appropriate conversation topic to hold.’

‘Is it really so horrible?’ I asked laughingly. We'd already discussed my murder, what could be
worse?

Still, his face was grim.

'It's worse than horrible, it’s a tragedy,’ he said, morosely.

He ran a hot stone hand across my face, and I eased into his touch. I so loved the smooth glide of his
marble skin against whatever part of me that he touched. There was no resistance there when his skin
ran smoothly over mine, just like my gravitation toward him.

‘Do you remember Carmilla?’ He asked. I nodded, instantly recalling the face of the woman who had
won the auction over Yvette’s life.

‘The lesbian?’ I asked.

I’d heard of such women, and even men, but never thought that I would actually see the sight of a
woman kissing another woman intimately, as I saw Carmilla kiss Yvette’s frightened and shivering
mouth.

‘When Carmilla was… changed, she had never been touched by a man. She was young, and was not
soiled because she was not the type to flaunt and flounder about. But because she became what she is
without that experience beforehand, she will forever be… unable to partake in that life experience.’

Charles struggled with his words, and I sat up and leaned over him in disbelief.

‘Are you telling me that she was made while a virgin, and she will always be a virgin?’ I asked.

He seemed a little disapproving of my blunt question, but reluctantly nodded with a grim and fowl
expression.

‘Once changed, our bodies cannot adapt. If not broken while human, a woman will never be able to.
She will never be able to mate with another,’ Charles explained. ‘This is why she chooses female
encounters, and has apparently chosen to purchase a mate from the governess, your unfortunate friend
Yvette.’

Charles sullenly stared ahead of him, his eyes, though facing wall, saw horrors of which I'd only just
tasted the night that Yvette had been sold.

‘Because Yvette was turned before she had ever lain with a man, she, too, will be a perpetual virgin.
Carmilla has done this will countless young girls... She will end up casting Yvette aside, which will
leave the girl feeling open, used, and abandoned… Fate directs cruelly, and it is a truth I'd hoped to
spare you.’

‘So I will never be able to lay with a man?’ I asked.

Charles nodded silently, guiltily.

‘And I can never have children?’ I pressed on, to which he nodded once more.

There was a heavy pressure on my chest as I laid my head upon my pillow, staring up at the lofty silk
canopy above us. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I hadn’t thought of lying with a man, taking a
husband and experiencing the joys of intercourse before now, nor of bearing children of my own. But
now that I knew that these options were going to be taken away from me, I had to think about how I
felt.

‘I will be a virgin forever,’ I mused, still uncertain. Would it bother me? Say I fell in love, would it
bother my partner? Would the demon lover who chose me still wish to stand by my side if I could not
satiate his lust and desires? And what about me, in the vice versa situation?

I supposed the question I had to ask was: could I, as a demon, ever find love to begin with?

The thought didn't seem realistic, not at all believable. None of the demons I'd seen were capable of
love - the governess, Camilla, the entire room of their peers. For what use had a demon with love? I
would be a coldhearted creature of ash and despair. The only thing I would be able to do with love in

my hands would be to kill it in my palms and then crush it beneath my feet.

And then I looked into Charles' troubled eyes, and I felt all of those previous assumptions trickle
through my fingers and out of my hands.

‘I’m sorry, Wilhelmina, but you will be,’ Charles said. ‘I am so very, very sorry, I truly am. There are
no words that can express how much I am taking from you, nor how I feel about being the one to rob
you of all of this. I understand if you never want to see or speak to me again after the transformation
has taken hold of you. I can’t ask you to forgive me, but I hope that one day you can try to understand
how I feel about this moment.’

I would have cried, but I was beginning to feel a great deal of apathy toward life and all of its
burdens and conditions. They never ceased; whenever things were looking up, something buckled my
knees and I was back in the mud of the garden shed again, battered and broken.

‘Please, try to understand,’ Charles whispered. ‘I am sorry.’

‘There’s nothing to apologize for, Charles,’ I told him from an inner distance as I contemplated life
without being able to please another, to be whole and complete with that significant other.

As much as I would like to say that things didn’t surprise or bother me as much, that my emotions
were numbing around the edges, I still had to work very hard at that moment not to feel anything when
reality began to settle in.

In the end, I cried. Charles was kind enough to hold me against his soft form, stroking my long hair as
I soaked his shirt.

6. A Honeymoon, or a Funeral?

That was the question teetering back and forth, with me at its equinox. It was a delicate balance, and
the slightest mistake could mean that I would quickly go from getting what I wanted to becoming
immortally tied to Hades himself.

I couldn’t sleep after Charles left last night, but that was fine. It had given me so much time to think
about what I’d learned. As the sun hovered over the countryside, and the willow’s shadows crept
along the garden like curious little hands, I came to the conclusion that I'm certain Charles must have
been expecting me to make. He would have to be headless not to realize what I was going to ask of
him.

Thomasine was silent today, and I was a little absent minded, but at least the screams had ceased.
They were finally gone, faded, but there was still no sign of Yvette. I feared and assumed the worst,
of course.

By noon I was fast asleep, and gladly. I hated waiting for my time with Charles, and this solved my
empty time space. At least then I could dream of him until he returned to me.

‘Wilhelmina,’ Thomasine shook me and I sat up, groggily but steady. The excitement in my blood
wouldn’t let me roll back to sleep when I knew that Charles was coming. But as I looked out the
window I saw that the sun was still up, loitering above the horizon. ‘You should get up and get ready;
eat and change.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ I lied.

I was starved, but I didn’t want an unsettled stomach after what I had set out to do. Nerves alone
would occupy the void inside of me until after it was done and over with.

Though I was quite anxious to see Charles’ kind eyes, and his endearing smile, I didn’t rush my bath.
My nerves were bloating like dead weights and I was beginning to wonder if I had the courage to ask
this task of him. Would it even be possible? Would he kill me before saving me?

I dried and Thomasine helped me dress, though she did most of the work as I was too distracted with
the prospect of the night ahead of me. So there I sat, alone and waiting by the light of my sweet vanilla
candles for Charles Abberdean.

And like a dream, a wonderful and terrifying dream, he was there. He took off his hat and bowed
slightly, and I stood up to greet him.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, gently moving my chin to study my face in the light.

‘I’m fine, Charles, really,’ I assured him.

‘After our time together last night, I was afraid that you would still be shaken, upset,’ he said.

‘You were just being honest, which is all I can ask of you.’ I led him to the bed and, like a gentleman,
he sat down only after I'd settled myself down first. ‘And that’s all I can offer, which is why I want to

ask something of you.’

‘What is it?’ Charles asked.

‘Though I am afraid, Charles,’ I said. My stomach was in knots, but I managed to look him in the eye
as I prepared my confession. ‘I’m afraid that you won’t grant me this one request.’

‘Wilhelmina, I am about to be branded your murderer for the rest of eternity; any last requests you
have I will give if I can, and willingly,’ he said, and I smiled at the fervency in his voice but he was
not prepared for what I was to ask of him.

‘You may not feel the same after you hear what I’m going to ask of you.’

‘Should I be worried?’ Charles asked in a low tone.

‘Perhaps,’ I mused. ‘I’m about to cross a boundary. I hope you’ll be there with me on the other side.’

‘Now I am worried,’ he said. I matched his smile to calm him a bit, to let him know that everything
was still alright, but I think that may have prepared him for an ambush instead.

‘Charles, we only have tonight, and tomorrow night together before the governess expects you to
change me. And then you will turn me into one of ‘the legion of the damned’, as you like to put it.’ I
took his hand inside of my own warm palms, and held him there for a moment. ‘I will be immortal.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

‘Undying,’ I continued.

‘Yes.’

‘I will live on for centuries, thousands of years, and I will meet others like you,’ I persisted, trying to
work up to my point.

‘Eventually you will find a mate, a man who loves you, who shares a bond with you,’ he added,
which was exactly what I wanted him to say. Now he could better understand my request from a
logical standpoint, even if I knew that he wouldn’t agree to it.

‘But I could never completely fulfill and satisfy my mate, and we could never completely be one and
joined,’ I said.

Charles’ expression hardened, frozen with concern and, most likely, disgust.

‘Is it not enough that I must bear the fault of reaping you of humanity?’ he asked. His voice trembled,
though out of nerve or anger, I couldn’t be sure, though I was very certain, by the crook of his brow,
that he was irate. ‘Is it not enough to turn you into a monster in order to set you free?’

‘No,’ I said flatly.

His eyes flashed - he couldn’t believe what I’d just said, and neither could I.

‘It isn’t enough, Charles. If you leave me untouched I will have no choice but to accept. But if you
won’t do this for me it never will be enough.’

He shook his head furiously, standing up from the bed and staring down at me with incredulity, so

clear on his face it may as well have been written across his brow. He turned away, and I grasped his
arm, afraid that he would leave.

‘Please, don’t go,’ I pleaded.

‘Wilhelmina, that is too much to ask of me,’ Charles told me fanatically. ‘You have no idea what
you’re implying.’

‘I’m implying that you be my first,’ I said. I stood up and held onto his coat to keep him from running
away as I forced him to look me in my eye. ‘I trust you, I want you to do it. After all, you’re going to
change me, it’s only logical that you be the one.’

‘So it’s logical? It’s purely business, is it?’ he asked crossly. I swallowed as I realized that was not
what he wanted to hear. ‘I think it’s best if we mark this as the cap of our visits until the night I…’

He never finished that sentence, he just left me sitting there. I should have gone after him, but instead I
stared into the empty space in which he stood moments before. I was alone and rejected, but I knew
that time was on my side. The present was a failure, but time was like a book of pages, of layers, and
if I stood up now, I could run after him and change the story.

It was my story, and sitting here playing a damsel in woe was not how I wanted to be observed, to be
remembered. This was not simply business, or logic, this was emotional. This was choice. I loved
Charles so much I was going to let him kill me, both in life and in innocence.

I stood.

‘Charles!’ I called after him, rushing out into the hall. I ran and ran, though I had no idea which
direction to go. I kept running and running, calling out his name with the hope that he would hear me.

I saw a lone figure in the garden, gazing at the moon, and my heart fluttered. I rushed out into the
moonlight and stopped, taking in the vision of beautiful pale skin that glowed like a dove’s wings in
the glorious sun. Eyes, red with wonder, immediately noticed my presence, and a familiar smile crept
across the striking full lips of the seraphine girl.

‘Wilhelmina,’ Yvette whispered.

‘Yvette!’ I gasped. ‘Where have you been? What’s happened to you? I thought – I feared – I heard –’

‘You look so gorgeous,’ Yvette marveled, completely oblivious to everything I’d just said.

In the blink of an eye she was in front of me, brushing my hair out of my face and cupping my jaw line
into her warm, hard hands. Hands like Charles; hands like the governess. ‘Your skin is so soft, so
warm; your blood is so thick, running smoothly and coarsely at the same time.’

‘My blood?’ I asked her suspiciously.

‘I’ve already fed, but you just smell so… good!’ Yvette said with a grin. ‘That’s one of the things I’ve
always admired about you, Wilhelmina. You smelled good every time you walked near, but now…
now you smell so phenomenal, so warm, so wild.’

She gripped my arm and held my neck. She was no longer Yvette, of this I was certain.

It was comical, as I trembled in her grasp during the last pages of this chapter of my life, that I should
fear this future. When it was understood that Charles would be the one to curse my soul, I felt nothing
but understanding and anticipation. So long as it meant freedom from this life, and more time to spend
with him, I could care less what type of monster Charles Abberdean would make me.

But in Yvette’s hold, I was terrified, trembling without control, because Yvette’s face wasn't a face at
all, but a mirror. She dreamed once, she hoped once, and she used to be a wonderful person full of
life. But all that remained in those demonic eyes was lust and desire, and she was no longer a person,
she was that lusts and desire.

I was looking into my own future, what would have been had I not chased away Charles; a soulless
creature driven to wicked sin by feral cravings. But now I didn’t have to worry about that because I
was about to die.

Her face blurred as she struck my neck with her teeth. I felt her silky jaw scrape my skin, but I was
thrown up into the air. I flipped and spun through the air, wondering which direction the world was
going to hit me. I landed in hard arms, and was almost immediately dropped onto the stone ground. A
shadow leapt between me and Yvette, growling like a fierce mountain lion.

When I had my bearings, I sat up and saw Yvette’s angry face hissing back at my guardian. She was
hard, aggressive, and purely untamed with rage. She shrieked and nearly flew toward my protector,
and both creatures became a smear.

All I could see were white blurs of movement and the clashing sounds of granite limbs colliding.
When everything stopped, I saw my harbinger of death holding Yvette’s head with both hands. She
was on her knees, gasping for air as Charles stood over her from behind. His eyes were dark and
beastly, and he gritted his teeth as his shoulders tensed, ready to do what in his own natural heart he
would normally never dream of doing.

I watched, paralyzed, as small cracks spread like spider webs around Yvette’s neck. Dust fell from
the fissures like a shattered brick and bright firelight shone from behind the ashen flesh. In one swift
motion, Charles twisted the head of the succubus right off of her neck.

‘Charles...’ The voice that called to him was not my own. Out of the shadows stepped a pale figure,
lithe with masculine grace as he stepped out into the night light. ‘Stop.’ He held one, solid hand raised
in his direction.

Charles dropped the head and it hit the ground with a heavy thud. He looked at his hands, and then at
me. The rage drained from his eyes only to be replaced by some unreadable emotion, close to fear but
similar to regret.

He vanished like a haze, vexed by some inner tumultuous battle that had torn him in two pieces. I
stared at Yvette’s headless body in awe, watching it wriggle around as the arms groped the empty air.
The mouth on her face gaped like a fish out of water, and she stared at me in shock.

‘Come, we mustn’t be near when she puts herself back together,’ said Charles' blonde friend as he
gripped my shoulder.

He lifted me to my feet without effort and gently guided me back to my room. Though my feet carried
me, I had no idea what was truly happening in the world around me.

Had I really just seen Charles and Yvette fight like two ravenous wolves over a helpless doe? Did
Charles become a monster and decapitate my good friend of four years? Worse yet, had my old
‘friend’ tried to kill me just moments ago?

I stared at the ceiling as I wondered just what I was getting myself into. What was the price of
freedom? Could I stand to become like Yvette so that I could walk away from my sheltered life?

The look in her eyes was menacing, and it frightened me. Not because they wanted my blood so
strongly, not because they would have been the last thing I saw, but because I didn’t want those eyes
to represent who I was by this time next week, next month, next year.

For the first time since I was bargained for by Charles from the governess, I didn’t want to become
one of them. If losing who I was would be the cost of my liberty, then wouldn’t I rather just die?

When I walked to my window, I looked down into the garden where Yvette’s body should have been.
She was gone.

By dawn I’d gone back to sleep. By noon, I was up again. With no direction, and no certain hope of
seeing Charles, I was stuck in a type of purgatory. The sun was stapled to the sky, immovable by my
relentless wishes, and time was at a standstill. Even the wind ran at my presence, abandoning me as I
sat in the garden, marveling over what had happened last night.

I was left to anticipate whether or not I would see Charles tonight, or even tomorrow night. Were my
forward advances and last request what would sever the last thread to what was once my life? If he
left, permanently left, my life was forfeit in the governess’ hands.

I knew that thinking about this evening would not make the wait any easier, but I had no other ties to
stake me to this life of mine. I couldn’t even call this thing a life, I simply ‘existed’. Charles
Abberdean was all that I really had to hold onto, and if he didn’t come back then I didn’t know where
to go, or what to do with myself. I would be a lifebuoy in the middle of the ocean with no hope of
ever seeing another ship again.

I dined alone, as usual, for I hadn’t seen Rhoda since I’d stopped waiting on bended knee for anyone.
Thomasine was quiet once again, which was unusual for her, even on a bad day.

‘Thomasine,’ I said. She shifted, but didn’t answer. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, miss,’ Thomasine said with a blank slate face.

‘Please, don’t call me that, you know me, we’ve worked alongside for four years, Thomasine,’ I said.
I felt slightly insulted by the isolated response, and she knew it. ‘Why are you so quiet? You haven’t
spoken to me in days.’

‘You’re proper now, miss, and I don’t have anything to say to a proper woman. I’m a servant, you are
my mistress; that’s enough to tell me my place,’ Thomasine said.

I looked back down at my chicken breast and poked at it with my fork, feeling a mental door close
between us.

When the sun set I waited eagerly in my room. I knew that Charles would come tonight, he wouldn’t
just leave things the way they were. He wouldn’t leave me behind, not again. But as darkness settled

in the moonless night, and all I could see through the window was my own reflection, I was beginning
to get concerned. Uneasy.

After two hours of sitting at the small white desk beside the window, reading the New Hudson
Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, my hope was hanging like a helpless hummingbird caught in a
spider web; it just wasn’t enough, and it gave way to the emptiness that awaited me.

I couldn’t believe that I’d fallen for it again. When I was a young girl, I placed so much trust in
Charles Abberdean that when he left me I was certain that he would come back, but he didn’t. When
we ran into each other incidentally, he made such sweet promises of freedom and sovereignty over
my own will, but once again he’d left me behind, in the hands of the queen of the succubae.

I slept that night with no dreams to interrupt me. No dreams, because there was no hope. There was
no hope because there was no love. There was no love because there was no Charles.

I realized why it was so easy for the demon of the night, the devil with such promisingly fine
intentions and pledges, to have so much sway over whether dreamed or not. Because I loved Charles
Abberdean.

I loved him with what semblance of a heart I had left, all that had survived with him. When he left, I
was shattered and bruised, but a sole piece of me survived with him. But when he’d left me again, I
couldn’t bear the aching disappointment and all that was life to me left with him.

I knew now that there was nothing left to look forward to, nothing worth keeping my humanity.

When I awoke, the sun was just rising over the horizon and it shined into my room with golden
brilliance, but somehow, today, the sun held nothing for me. It was another reminder of those far off
fairytale dreams I once had as a little girl. Imaginings of a kingdom of my own, with Charles at my
side.

Through the sun’s warm radiance there were streams of light moving all around the walls and ceiling,
like hundreds of tiny multihued mirrors were twirling inside of my room and casting these luminous
eyes along my walls. I sat up to find to the source and saw a tiny ballerina twirling around, dancing to
the soft chimes of the music box beneath her dainty toe. She shimmered lustrously in the morning
sunlight, resting in the hands of an angel that sat on the edge of my bed.

Charles sat there wearing only his dark pants and boots. His shirt had been cast down to the floor
beside his feet, and he stared down at the ballerina that he'd kept to remember me by. I studied the
contours of his lovely profile and marveled in pure admiration. His straight nose ended in an elegant
point and his full lips were slightly parted in thought and reluctance as he slowly looked up at me
with those fierce red eyes beneath his blonde tousled hair.

He sat the music box down beside the bed. He crawled onto the bed and stood on his knees before
me, exposing his entire torso for me to see as it glistened and gleamed with fiery skin, like the most
beautiful garnet in all the world. It looked as though there were flames crawling beneath his skin that
lit him up like a Greek god.

He was the most beautiful jewel in my world.

‘This is all I am,’ Charles said with sorrow. In the warmth of his presence, and the splendor of his

distinct curved and rigid upper body, lean muscle beneath tight and exquisite flesh, his distress was
unbefitting. ‘This is all I can offer, Wilhelmina, this is all of me. What you see is all I can give to you,
and what you asked of me requires more, so much more.

‘You need more than mere flesh to join with yours, more than mutual attraction. An ardent and eager
slave I am, and I would do anything to please you, anything to make you happy. But for what you seek
you need two hearts, and I have no heart to give.’

Charles looked as though he were crying, but there were no tears, none at all. Just gloom.

‘Everything has a heart, Charles,’ I said. I stood on my knees as well, facing his exposed flesh. I ran a
curious hand down the curves of his chest and stomach, and he was just as smooth as his hands, and as
hot as the warm morning sun. Both the sun and his chest warmed my cold hands, and the two
sensations combined sent trills through my body.

‘You of all people have a heart. I've seen it in your words, manifested by the care you took to create a
little red sparrow.’

‘I have one, yes, but it is dead. It no longer beats. What animates you, what drives you to feel, no
longer animates me, no longer drives me,’ he said.

I took a deep and bold breath, and brought my hands back up from his waistline to his jaw. I looked
him in his tender eyes, and no matter how red they were, or how wintry white his body was, I was not
seeing a demon before me.

In my grasp, I held an angel; a beautiful and elegant angel.

Even in the night he was graceful with light, and in the day I could still see the darkness within him,
but I realized that it didn’t rule him. Darkness was a part of everything in life, but the true trial of
heaven was whether or not we let the shadows overpower us.

‘I cannot promise you anything.’ Charles told me. ‘You need someone who will not want to kill you
during every second of making love. That’s all I will be thinking of.’

‘I never asked you to promise me anything,’ I said as I held his hands at his sides. ‘And I never will. I
think… I think I finally understand. Everything, I finally understand.’

He was clearly confused by my words, but it didn’t matter. What was important was that I understood
what I was saying, what I wanted. It was time to face my own darkness.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked me, calmly. I could hear the unspoken urgency laced through his words.

My answer came in the form of a soft kiss pressed to his smooth inflexible lips, and his mouth
responded immediately with restraint. My kiss reshaped itself around his stone jaws as the moved
against and with mine.

I slowly grabbed the sides of his body with my hands and pulled him toward me. He responded by
wrapping his arm around my shoulder and laying me back, gently. He broke the kiss for a moment and
curled away, hovering over me with closed eyes. He looked like he was in pain, and I gently rubbed a
hand down his neck.

‘Are you alright?’ I asked, wondering if I’d done something wrong.

‘Are you certain?’ he pressed.

‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Yes, yes, Charles, I want it to be you, I want you.’ I leaned up and kissed his still
lips as he took slow, deliberate breaths. ‘I love you.’

I grabbed his ears to pull him down, and he finally pressed his own body against mine. The feeling of
Charles Abberdean against me wasn’t as strange or foreign as I’d imagined it to feel. Instead, it felt
like I’d done it hundreds of times before now, and it felt right.

His hot skin against my cool flesh was such a clash of forces that it felt as though every nerve in my
body was a lit fuse, slowly whittling away inside of me until I exploded with desire in his firm
embrace. Even though I was urgent and wanted more, and more of him around me, he was still slow
and deliberate.

He buried his head in my shoulder, and I clutched his back and shoulders as our bodies ground
together as smoothly and naturally as waves on water’s surface. He was an ocean, a vast sea for me to
explore, and every glint and glimmer the sun cast off of his body was another treasure I was sure I
would find inside of Charles.

His arms, round and strong, were careful as he hovered above me with enough weight on my body to
keep me satisfied, but it was still not enough. I was starved and I yearned for him, but he still had his
pants on, and he had yet to slip off my night gown.

Was it truly so difficult for him to concentrate on my body and not my blood? Not to devour my soul?

‘I can’t do this,’ he breathed, heaving in and out as his body stiffened and froze on his position. ‘I
can’t…’

‘Charles,’ I whispered in his ear, holding him to me out of fear that he would run away again.

‘I just can’t, Wilhelmina, please don’t make me do this,’ he begged. My heart sank and I pulled my
face away, looking up into his pained face. His face trembled, his mouth parted with his teeth partly
exposed, and he stared back into my eyes with longing and refutation.

‘Is it me?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said through clenched teeth, still unmoving above me.

I brought my hands down his sides, roaming the rippled and tight flesh on his sides, and down the
smooth curve of his back and into his pants, letting my fingers burrow beneath his waistband. As I
pulled his pelvis down against mine I could feel the rest of his unexposed body, and I pressed my
forehead against his, exhaling with desire.

‘So what is it about me that's holding you back, Charles?’ I asked.

‘I don’t have the strength to resist you,’ he growled huskily, and reproachfully.

‘To resist me?’ I asked, slipping a strap off of my shoulder. ‘Or my blood?’ I slipped off the other,
and peeled the silky gown down my arched body. ‘You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t.’

‘If you ask me to go any further I will, Wilhelmina, I will,’ he groaned.

‘If you do then I won’t care, will I?’ I countered. I'd be dead. ‘My body is yours, whether in love or in
blood. Or both, if you want them.’

He was about to protest, but I tangled my fingers in his hair and locked our faces together. I bravely
reached down and knew that I would have to move this along because he was not going to proceed on
his own. I unbuttoned his pants all the while comforting and assuring him that everything would be
okay with small kisses. He didn’t protest as I gripped all of his body that I could, trying to get him to
grant my request.

‘Please, Charles,’ I begged.

He pulled away, looking long and hard into my eyes, and I stared back, trying to convey just how
much I wanted him, needed him. I was stroking every inch of him, how could he not understand how
much he meant to me?

‘Okay,’ he finally agreed. He cupped my face with his hands, resting his weight on his elbows, and he
kissed me once again before removing the rest of his clothing.

‘Remember,’ I made sure to tell him this while I had his full attention, before the sensation of my hot
body around his feverish flesh flared his desire with bursts of sensations. ‘I love you, Charles. I love
you.’

‘I love you, Wilhelmina.’ He smiled, and my heart melted at the sight of this rare glimpse into a side
of Charles that I hadn’t seen since my window sill. It was the sight of his happiness, his completely
uninhibited happiness.

Only the first few moments with Charles’ smooth body inside of me were uncomfortable. Not quite
painful, but it felt a bit like stretching my mouth with my fingers as far as they would go, and then
stretching them a bit further. But that was the last thing on my mind as I couldn’t believe what was
happening.

We were one. And he was heaving and moaning because of me, and I was doing the same because of
him. We were mutually afraid but equally content as the gratification rose and satisfaction overtook
our senses.

I hadn’t even noticed how loud he was getting, or how erratic, as I clung to his body with every ounce
of strength I could muster. But his vigor increased, and his grip grew tighter.

‘Charles,’ I gasped, partly out of pleasure and partly out of alarm as he thrust harder and more
frequently. I yelped when my head hit the headboard and he grew rougher. A beastly growl tore
through his teeth and his eyes were wild.

I shrieked as his hand scratched the headboard, leaving deep scratches.

His eyes snapped shut and he whimpered, gripping the sheets and letting go of me. He pressed his
burning forehead against my chest, and I gripped his hair, my heart racing in my chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he took deep breaths and struggled to steady his tremulous shoulders. ‘I was
losing control.’

‘It’s okay,’ I assured him, rubbing his smooth back and holding his heaving head to my chest. ‘It’s all
right, Charles.’

‘No, Wilhelmina,’ He growled in self-disgust. ‘I have to leave. We cannot finish this. If I keep
going...’

‘No!’ I said as he pulled away from me and slipped his pants up to his waist. ‘Please, Charles,
don’t!’

‘You got what you wanted, it’s done,’ he said hastily, angrily, and I shrugged back into my sheets. ‘I
beg of you, let that be enough. Please, ask no more of me, because I do not have the strength to bear it,
but I don’t have the heart to deny you.’

‘Charles, please,’ I pleaded, but my voice was weak. I wanted to satisfy him, too, not just accomplish
my own goals. I wanted to be the one to grant him satisfaction that no other could, to be the reason that
he achieved the highest level of fulfillment and pleasure.

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but he snapped it shut with that same pained and sorrowed look
back in his eyes. He slipped his shirt around his shoulders and then wrapped his coat around his
body, and he was gone in a blur.

I reflected on what had just happened as I lied back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I was conflicted,
as I had achieved what I wanted in assuring that I would never be denied the pleasure of Charles in
any capacity once I was turned, but I felt unsatisfied with the anti-climax. But Charles had left me
alive, and that left a wide smile on my lips.

Even though he wanted my blood, he wanted my love even more, and that’s why I was still breathing.
I found myself giddy and giggling, even after the nature of our departure.

Charles loved me.

7. The Seventh Day

I ate breakfast with a newfound sense of pep - and coyness. Every time I glanced Thomasine's way
she would give me this look- as if she knew things that I didn't want her to... And if she didn't before,
she would once she saw my scarlet blush. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard anything from this morning's
episode, and Charles wasn’t exactly being bashful while in the throes of passion. I wasn’t even sure if
I’d been quiet myself, before the screams of confusion, that is.

‘Lovely morning,’ I commented, studying her reaction.

‘Warm,’ was all she gave me in return.

‘Looks to be a clear sky, doesn’t it?’

‘Mmm,’ she agreed.

I put down my fork and stared at the table cloth beneath my fingertips. I couldn't keep the pretenses up
any longer.

‘Thomasine, today is my last day here,’ I said.

She didn't react at all.

‘Please, don’t be so distant - not today of all days.’

She stared ahead of her with her lips pressed firmly together. Thomasine knew. She knew what was
going to happen to me, and why I was leaving. Oh, she knew - she had to know. She'd worked for the
governess for too many years not to; I'd only been Elizabeth Bathory's slave for four years and I'd
known in half that time. But I remembered just how I was when I was in her shoes only a handful of
days ago; don’t ask questions and you’ll live.

How could I blame her when I did the same?

I decided that Thomasine was a lost cause and I gave up. It left a tart, metallic taste in my mouth - the
taste of regret. If it made her feel better not to get involved, even after we'd proclaimed ourselves
family after all the years we'd been together, then I could respect her needs and sever ties with grace.

I spent the afternoon in the garden, absorbing the sun and its warmth. Standing there brought back the
very recent memory of Yvette's attempt to murder me - and the horrific sensations attached to them.

But Charles came to my rescue in mere moments when I'd needed him.

I wondered how often he was near; did he ever leave? Perhaps he was staying here in the mansion. If
he slept during the day then I would be alone out here, but if he watched from the shadows, then…

‘Charles?’ I called, looking around. The trees rustled, and the flowers trembled in the breeze. Birds
flitted and chirped from branch to branch, leaves rustled, and the wind glided across the tranquil
grass, but there was no one else here except the cold face of the governess up in her tower, staring
down at me.

It was the first time I’d seen her in a week’s time, and I stared back, wondering what could possibly
be going through that cold, unfeeling mind of hers.

I turned away, preferring the company of bright daffodils, passionate gold and fiery red lilies, and
seashore mallows. My eyes noticed the legs standing amongs them. Tight, worn jeans shaped a lithe
and slim figure draped in only a black leather jacket. I admired the pants, I’d only ever heard about
blue denim but the closest I’d seen in Fremont were dungarees. The stunning vision of a man must
have gone to California to get his hands on this sleek and most attractive style.

I followed his form, up from his pelvic lines to the contours of his exposed stomach, up to his red
eyes. My heart jumped when I realized that this was not my angel, not the one with which I’d been
unified only hours ago.

‘Hello,’ the stranger said.

The wind swept his dark hair out of his sharp, angular face. He was as still as the mighty redwoods as
he studied me, analytically, like I was an equation to be solved.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t notice anyone else here,’ I breathed, trying to steady my heart. The last time I’d
stared down one of his kind was when Yvette tried to rip my throat out. This stranger could be no
different.

‘I really should be going back inside, it isn’t proper for a lady to be left unattended.’

‘What’s your hurry?’ he asked. ‘You called my name; it would be rude to leave me standing here
alone.’

‘I was calling a friend of mine, but he isn’t around,’ I explained, rising to my feet as warily as I could.
His fixed eyes continued to watch my every movement. ‘I apologize for the misunderstanding.’

‘Well that doesn’t mean that you and I can’t get to know each other, does it?’ he countered, standing a
mere foot from me as he closed the distance with a blink. There was something sinister in his eyes,
but he lifted my hand in his cold grasp and placed a gentle kiss on the back of my palm. ‘You’re
Wilhelmina, aren’t you? I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘I don’t know anything about you,’ I laughed, nervously.

‘My, my, where are my manners?’

I hadn’t noticed that I'd fallen into a trance until he had me sitting on the bench again. He perched
beside me, staring intently into my eyes.

‘Charles, but not your Charles, apparently.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Tonight is your big night,’ he said. ‘I arrived earlier than I expected to, but I’m sure the governess
doesn’t mind.’ He leaned closer and closer until he nearly hovered over me.

‘You know about that?’ I asked.

‘Of course, everyone does – it's the talk of the coven. The governess invited us all to watch.’

When I had imagined the moment in my mind, I was always alone with Charles. It had always been
something intimate and personal in my daydreams. I hadn’t considered the same treatment that Yvette
received.

‘What is it like to choose?’ he asked, curiously.

‘What do you mean?’

He ran a hand through my wild mane and studied its glow in the sun.

‘You know that you’re going to die, but you’re still ready and willing to face tonight. What is it like?’
he asked.

He waited intently for my answer, like a work of marble staring into my eyes. Even his chest was
still, no breath sucked in or exhaled, which looked uncomfortable and unnatural to me. I swallowed
hard and tried to answer as honestly as I could.

‘Terrifying,’ I said. ‘But it’s what I want.’

‘Why?’ he asked, interest piqued.

‘Because if I don’t follow through with this I’ll be dead.’ I said plainly. I hesitated as nerves
clustered and tangled my words, but I pushed onward. ‘And I want to be with Charles.’

‘But will he still want you after the change?’ the ‘other’ Charles asked brazenly.

‘What?’

‘Charles Abberdean has quite a history involving young girls and changing them. He's not the person
he presents himself to be to others - few have seen the side of him that I've seen... You may see that
side sooner than you'd expect to - if he doesn't kill you first.’

He was gone before I could reply, and although I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, I was
grateful to have survived this encounter. I remember, back in those short human days, that the feeling
of being surrounded by these strangely beautiful-yet-lethal creatures was not easy to adjust to. I don’t
think I ever did.

My stomach turned to knots as I stood at my window and watched the dangerous beings of darkness
arrive in droves, all to watch my humiliation. Were they so dark that they found this sort of thing
entertaining?

When I was finally able to tear by eyes away from the garden, wherein they gathered in the shadows
of the mansion, I saw Charles - my Charles - standing in my doorway. I smiled, gawkily, and he lifted
his mouth into a sort of reserved half-smile.

‘So everyone is going to watch.’ I opened the conversation as smoothly as I could.

‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘That’s part of the arrangement.’

‘I suppose that it’s not such a problem, but I… I just thought that, like this morning, it would just be
you and me.’

‘It is just you and me.’ He closed the distance and held me gently, softly, like our hearts had melded

through the flesh our bodies, no matter how different they were. ‘Right here and now, it’s just us, and
up until the end it will be just you and me. The others there are simply lost eyes in the shadows, but
we’re here.’

‘I know,’ I said.

Charles took my hand and led me to the bed. He laid me back and placed one hard and gentle kiss
upon my lips, a chaste and undemanding mesh of his lips against mine. When he pulled away he laid
down beside me and together we stared at the ceiling.

‘Your humanity is limited. You have so little time left as an innocent,’ Charles sighed. He rolled over
and studied my profile for a while. ‘Tell me what I can do to make you more at ease.’

‘You’ve given me what I wanted already,’ I said. I looked into his vibrant red eyes. ‘I didn’t realize
how difficult it was for you to do that until you began to lose control.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Charles sulked. ‘But most of what we do, feeding, hunting, sex, becomes
carnage. It’s difficult to keep any rational thought once instinct takes over. We behave as we are
because we are sin; lust, greed, ecstacy, etc.’

‘I wish that there was something I could have done to make the experience better for you,’ I said,
trying nervously to work up to being coy. I had no idea how to be attractive or playful, or even how to
flirt. But I wanted Charles to want me physically, and I wanted to please him. ‘We could try again...’

‘Obviously you still don’t grasp the limits of my self-control,’ he said with a small growl of
frustration.

‘It would put me at ease to know that I can do for you what you do for me.’ I tried to persuade him,
sway him from his detestation, but still he disapproved of me.

‘No.’

His word was firm, and I settled for his arms around me with my back to his feverishly warm
stomach.

‘What will you miss the most about being human?’ he asked inquisitively.

‘I don’t have much to miss,’ I replied frankly. ‘Ever since you’ve shown me what you really are this
morning, I know that you’re not a curse, you’re a godsend.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said morosely. ‘You don’t know my life.’

‘You don’t know mine,' I countered.

He didn’t protest, and I rolled in his embrace to look him the eye.

‘You left me, and my mother sent me to live here. Then she packed up and moved to Texas without
letting me know exactly where she would be, because she wanted to forget me. I haven’t seen Mary
since the night you left. I’ve been responsible for the deaths of innocent people, and I will have to live
with that forever.

‘You may not have chosen this, but I am,’ I told him sternly.

My resolve was solid, and he knew that it was final. Perhaps he wanted to see me feel some form of
hesitation or regret, I can’t say for sure, but whatever he was looking for in my eyes, he never found
it.

‘Are you angry?’ Charles asked. I stared, vexed. ‘With me, I mean; are you angry?’

‘No, I understood why you had to stop,’ I assured him. He shook his head and laughed incredulously.
‘What’s so funny?’

‘That your concerns are so base and thin,’ he said. ‘I meant to ask are you angry that I’m the one
who’s going to end it all tonight.’

‘I don’t know how many ways I can say it,’ I said. In all honesty, I could have told him in every way
imaginable and he still wouldn’t believe it. ‘I’m glad it’s you.’

I pulled him down to kiss me, but before our lips could graze each other, we heard a loud crack
downstairs. It sounded like lighting ripped through the mansion, and it made my body tense.

‘I’ll go see what that was,’ Charles said, glancing over his shoulder.

‘I’m coming’ I said. I was about to crawl off of the bed when Charles pressed me down.

‘Just stay here,’ he warned. He was gone like a shadow bathed in candlelight; there one moment, gone
in the next. His speed was so fast that strands of my hair were reaching after him, drifting slowly back
onto my shoulders.

I crawled quickly off of the bed and peaked out of the open bedroom door. I peered down one side of
the hallway and then down the other.

‘Charles?’ I called, and my voice echoed faintly as I peered into the creeping darkness of the
mansion. I heard movement, and scratches along the wall. There was a small giggle, but not from
Charles. I quickly slammed the door and ran to hide behind the rice paper divider in the corner.

I was as quieter than a hen in a foxhole. My fingers tensely gripped the wall behind me as I waited for
Charles to return.

I heard the door handle, and my stomach tensed. The door slowly creaked along its hinges, and I
waited to see if I could hear any sound from beyond. I heard scuttling and shuffling, like someone or
something was crawling along the floor, a creature that could only be described as death. I heard it
growing closer and closer until it was there, right behind the divider. Could they hear me? Could they
smell me?

I gripped the divider and braced myself for what I was about to do. If I was going to die, it wouldn’t
be in waiting. I thrust the fold-able divider aside and looked down at the floor where my stalker
should be. But there was nothing there.

I could still hear the quiet giggling, and the clawing on the floorboards, but there was nothing there
waiting for me.

My revelation came sooner than I'd expected.

Dark locks of hair slowly descended from above my head, swallowing my vision like matted curtains.

My eyes followed the strands up until I saw Yvette’s mad grin above me. Her fingers were hooked
into the ceiling and there were pockmarks where she’d dug them in and crawled across.

She dropped and landed effortlessly on her feet.

‘Wilhelmina,’ she hissed lustfully.

‘Yvette, how are you?’ I asked pleasantly. At least as pleasantly as I could while trying to control the
tremors in my stomach.

‘Splendid,’ she grinned.

‘Charles will be back soon, and we have an appointment, I’m sure you’re aware,’ I said.

‘Oh, I am well aware,’ Yvette said, closing the space between us. ‘But Charles won’t be coming back
for you, not now.’

‘What?’ I gasped.

‘Oh yes, Wilhelmina, everything is chaos. I wouldn’t be surprised if Charles was already torn into
pieces,’ Yvette hissed. She gripped my neck with her rough claws, and her grasp was tight. I felt
helpless, like I was five years old at my father’s funeral with my wicked step-mother harsh grip on my
wrist and shouting at me, telling me to stop crying.

‘Your soul is so untamed, and wild; it smells too sweet to be real.’

‘Please, Yvette, stop!’ I cried, but her fist tightened and my words were cut short as she strangled me.

‘You were always the prettier one, always the smarter one.’ Yvette hissed as I pulled at her hot stone
fingers for air. ‘But once you’re dead, what will either of those things matter?’

Yvette’s mendacious grin twisted into a horrifying scowl as she bared teeth that grew to sharp points.

‘Yvette!’

Her attention was stolen as a brunette beauty ghosted into the room with haste. Carmilla glowered and
hissed.

‘Drop the human now, we have to leave this place!’ Carmilla growled.

‘But I want her!’ Yvette shouted.

I might have been growing light headed but I was aware enough to feel fear in the very core of my
being.

‘I want her soul; I crave it so badly it burns!’

‘Come, now!’ Carmilla screeched.

‘Just let me drain her, it will take but minutes!’ She whined and begged, but Carmilla snatched her
wrist and pulled. Yvette dropped me out of shock and I gasped for air. I thought my lungs would burst
from how desperately I heaved, but I was alive and still conscious.

I had to find Charles.

I wasted no time, sprinting from my knees to my feet andrushing down the halls toward the sounds of
thunderclaps and lightning cracks. Something rock hard flew through the glass windows of the hall
from the garden, but I didn’t bother stopping to see what it was. I had tunnel vision and needed to stay
focused on my task: finding Charles.

I ran out into the garden where I chaos incarnate rampaged, just as Yvette had promised me.

Dark creatures leapt incredible bounds and ripped through their enemies, all pale and ashen with the
battle cries of wild cats in the night. There were so many of these ravenous monsters gnashing and
clashing that it was hard to pick out familiar faces from the invaders. It looked as though the
governess’ guests were at war with an enemy clan of some sort. I had never seen so many demons in
one place.

My arm was snatched and I was being dragged back into the mansion, a death trap. I screamed.

‘Wilhelmina, it’s me!’ Thomasine shouted. ‘Come on, we don’t have much time!’

‘What’s happening?’ I asked, nearly stumbling in my bewilderment.

‘Hell’s come, that’s what!’ Thomasine said as she pulled me through the narrow corridor into the
kitchen. ‘I don’t know where the governess is, but it’s not safe for us to wait around and find out.’

‘Where’s Charles?’ I asked.

She swung me into the kitchen and closed the door behind us.

‘Never mind that demon, we have to run!’

‘I’m not leaving without him!’ I said, stubbornly.

Thomasine turned furiously, eyeing me with such incredulous scorn, but whatever rant she had
prepared was interrupted by loud screeches, more cracks, and thuds in the halls. The fight had moved
into the mansion.

‘Wilhelmina, this is a fight between demons and demons, evil clashing against itself! If you stay here,
you will die,’ Thomasine whispered. She gripped my hands and leaned in close. ‘Please, Wilhelmina,
please come with me.’

‘Running won’t help,’ I said.

I knew from firsthand experience, I’d run away from this place twice. These nightspawn seemed to
enjoy the hunt, and would even made a game of it. There were only two ways that anyone could leave
this place; to turn away from the light of day and become a part of the darkness of the night - or death.

‘I can’t go with you.’

Thomasine’s pleading expression collapsed under the heart-wrenching burdens of disappointment and
sorrow. She pulled me to a cabinet and guided me as I stepped inside.

‘Stay in here until you can’t hear anything anymore,’ Thomasine said. ‘I’m running, I can’t stay here
with the hope that I might survive.'

She held my hand tightly as tears striped her lovely dark cheeks. Then she was gone. The cabinet door

was closed and I was alone with only a few ventilation slits to see through.

The oven fire weakly lit the kitchen in a dim glow, enough to see. But vision wasn’t what scared me;
sound was the sense that haunted me as I heard everything drawing closer, growing louder, and it was
only going to get worse.

I heard footsteps echoing through the corridor beyond the door, much like the shuffling I heard after
Charles left me in the room. My heart froze; had Yvette come back for me? Had she been following
me from the very beginning?

The door of the kitchen burst open and I fought the urge to scream. I saw not Yvette, but a small slave
child instead. It was Henrietta. I was about to thrust open the cabinet door when a lone pale figure
entered the kitchen.

‘There you are...’ The man's wicked grin widened with excitement as Henrietta backed away into a
corner. He drifted around the large table until he stood just outside of the cabinet. ‘Come over here. I
won’t bite, I promise.’

Henrietta made a dash for the kitchen door again, but he was far too quick. He gripped her neck and
flung her across the table so quickly that the small, frail girl skidded across the wood like a stone
along water’s surface. She hit the opposite brick wall so harshly that I could hear her bones crack.
Though she was out of my limited range of visibility, I knew that she would be dead. The strength of
these monsters was not found in mercy.

That was enough to force me out of my hiding place.

‘No, stop!’ I shouted as I burst out of the cabinet and looked around. I saw no man where he should
have been, only an empty kitchen and a limp girl lying on the floor near the oven. I saw a fan of blood
along the wall and the floor, splattered from her ruptured form when that inhuman strength threw her
across the room. Now her lifeless face rested motionlessly on the stone floor, her battered and broken
body bleeding out from her open wounds.

I couldn’t stifle my tears, and I cried over the innocent child’s death. I sobbed out loud. Though I
covered my mouth with my hands, my cries could be heard throughout the large kitchen.

Soon there was laughter above my sobs. I looked around, anxiously trying to see where the murderer
was, but I couldn’t see anyone in the room with me.

His pale face, like a beautiful porcelain mask hiding the monstrous fiend beneath, appeared out of the
shadows as he slowly emerged from his hiding place and entered the light.

‘Luckily I got to you before one of the others could,’ he grinned that wicked smile again. ‘Otherwise I
might not have been able to bring you back to Rosa in one piece. You do look appealing.’

‘You monster!’ I picked up a knife from the counter and charged in a blind rage, blade in fist and
ready to strike. The creature didn’t flinch at my attack, he stood his ground and watched me with some
morbid intrigue. I thrust the blade and pierced the delicate fabric of his dark shirt, pushing deep into
his stomach. But when I retracted the blade, it hadn’t even stabbed through him. Instead, it was bent
and curved.

He snatched my wrist so fast that I dropped the knife, and he held the back of my neck in his sturdy

grip.

‘Rosa might decide to keep you after all. You are definitely a fighter: she needs those.’ His cold,
chilling breath snaked into my ear and down my spine. ‘Or she may simply make you desert. You
certainly smell sweet enough.’

He laughed as he took a deep sniff of my hair. I fought him as he began dragging me off into the
corridor, but his strength was too much for me to resist.

I was on my knees in the garden of the dark mansion, bathed in moonlight next to the rest of the
inhabitants of the governess’ home. The slaves, and even Rhoda, we were all equal in the eyes of the
menacing madmen and shadows surrounding us.

A large pile of pale white limbs, hollow inside like a statue, was being built by the second as the
white demons gathered up the pieces of their foes. I wondered if the governess was somewhere in that
pile.

One by one we were dragged off of our knees and taken to the ashy brown mistress of blood that I'd
known over the last few years as Rosa, one of the governess’ regular guests. It turned out Rosa was
responsible for the attack on the mansion and had her own agenda in mind with the governess and her
coven.

Her wild-looking lackeys brought the slaves up to her to examine. That is, the few slaves who made it
to her before the untamed hyenas ripped them to shreds and fed on their blood, or stopped to fight
among themselves. She would make a quick nod, and that would seal their fate. A nod to her left
meant that they were to be changed into one of them, another soldier to build her army of darkness. A
nod to her right meant that they were to become supper.

I saw that strange man from earlier staring at me, the one with dark hair and that curious expression on
his brow as he cocked his head to the side to study me. Charles, he said his name was. But he wasn’t
my Charles, who I was still searching for in the crowd.

I was gripped by my hair and pulled up to my feet by one of the many soulless drones under Rosa’s
spell, and forced to stand before her.

‘You.’ Interest sparked behind her calculating garnet eyes. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.
Weren’t you supposed to be sold to Charles and turned?’

‘Tonight was the night that he was going to change me,’ I said flatly, rage beginning to boil once more.
‘You interrupted that.’

‘Oh well,’ Rosa said, looking me from the ground up. I waited to see if I was to become one of the
damned, or another body to add to the feat for later.

‘Where is Charles?’ I asked her.

‘The one that was going to change you?’ She asked, and I confirmed. She tossed a glance over to the
gruesome pile of hands, arms, legs, torsos and heads drenched in dark demon blood behind her. My
stomach sunk and tears stung my eyes so quickly that they fell almost instantaneously.

‘There was a deep bond between you two, I can see that. That is a shame, because I was going to

keep you. But now that I know how much he meant to you, and how much hatred you must feel toward
me for killing him, I’m afraid that you are too great a risk.’

With one solid nod to her right, I was dragged off and thrown into the crowd of slaves that were just
as frightened as I was, next to the pile of demon pieces. Rosa’s watch dogs circled us like legged
vultures, ensuring that none of us escaped. I chose to fall to my knees and crawl to the pile.

I began digging and tossing aside body parts, and they crackled and rolled like chalky boulders.
Charles couldn't really be here, he just couldn’t be. I found pieces of most of the familiar faces I knew
from the governess’ gatherings. I even choked back bile as I found Yvette’s head in the pile, eyes
wide open with the shock of her death.

I dug, and dug, and my hopes were rising as I found no trace of Charles.

Until I did. I saw beautiful, tousled, dirty blonde hair beneath a twitching arm, and I pulled with all of
my strength. But still, my strength just wasn’t enough to pull him from out of the rubble.

I pulled and pulled, but he, along with the bodies piled on top of his, were too heavy to be moved by
my weak hands. By then, I had gathered an audience of observers as the slaves stared at me, confused.

‘Please, somebody help me,’ I begged.

They stood right where they were, silent. Their faces, both snow pale and dark chocolate alike, were
blank and empty of anything but fear as I pulled to remove Charles from this pile. He didn’t belong
here with the others, it wasn’t how a man of his infinitely kind stature should die.

‘Please,’ I sobbed again.

Finally, a young man knelt down beside me and took a hold of Charles’ exposed arm, pulling at his
wrist as I pulled at his elbow. Then another man pulled, and even a young woman wrapped her
fingers around his jaw and pulled.

When Charles was free, they all let go and backed away as fast as they could. I clutched his coat and
held his cold stiff body to my own as I sat there. I was horrified when I opened my eyes.

All that was left of Charles was his chest, an arm, and his head wrapped in his coat. But still I would
not let go.

Charles was dead.

There was commotion among that group of slaves around me; we, who were chosen to die. They were
done sorting out who was going to live and who was to be eaten, and apparently Rosa believed in
wasting no time when it came to satiating the thirst of her loyal soldiers. There were twenty at least,
including Rosa, who were closing in on us from all sides.

I refused to let go of Charles. If I was going to die, I was going to do it with him in my arms. That was
how I was going to die, and that was final. If Charles was not with me in the end, then I wasn’t dead,
simple as that.

I wrapped my arms tighter around his fragment of a body, burrowing them beneath his coat until I felt
something. It was soft and smooth, and cool against my fingers as it partially hung out of his inside

pocket. I fished the mystery item from its home and clutched it in my petrified fingers.

It was my red ribbon. He’d kept it after all of these years, and now, as I saw the bright red eyes in the
darkness around us close in, he was with me after all.

The first scream was followed by many, and my ribbon wasn’t as bright as it was once blood
smothered the faces around me.

8. Fire

Turmoil was the very air I breathed. Disorder and confusion were night and day, and the moon
watched over the governess’ unholy garden with nothing but apathy. Concrete claws sent bits and
pieces of flesh and blood soaring through the darkness, glimmering with lunar brilliance like
thousands of ruby stars around my head.

People screamed as they were ripped to pieces. More screams were heard beyond the veil of cries as
Rosa's chosen few writhed in pain on the opposite side of the pile of bodies, changing into something
cold and inhuman.

Something thin and razor sharp pierced the skin between my neck and shoulder, slicing into my soft
flesh like a knife, and soon I was the one who was screaming. The agonizing pain jolted through my
body like lightning.

Those sharp and fiery teeth were yanked out of my shoulder as the monsters around me began fighting
over what was left of the survivors.

A strong hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet as two furiously growling titans of rock and
ash collided behind me. I stumbled along the blood soaked grass, slipping and sliding as this
mysterious stranger and I made a feeble attempt to escape this hellish night. It would do no good, I
knew this much.

The slave led me out of the garden and into the cover of the lush green trees. I heard both of us panting
and heaving, gasping and swallowing loudly with bits of our voices staggering out of our throats like
whimpering dogs. I knew that we had to be completely silent if we wanted to stay alive; the problem
was stopping myself, silencing these small yelps as we ran, because it felt like my body wasn’t mine,
and these gasps belonged to someone else. I just happened to be along for the terrifying ride.

The slave fell to the ground and began screaming, loudly - so loudly. My frightened mind and
wandering body were reunited when I realized the danger his outburst posed.

‘Shh! They’ll hear us!’ I hissed, but it was no use. He gripped his chest and screamed as loud as his
lungs could bellow.

‘It’s burning,’ he shouted, ‘burning like fire!’

I saw the round crescent shapes on his leg in the shadows, three demon bite marks. He kept
screaming, no matter how many times I told him he was going to get us caught. He was gone, lost. So I
ran as far away from him as I could. I ran past tree after tree, jumping over any fallen trunk or
obstacle in my way.

My lungs burned and my heart was straining itself to pump blood through my veins. Very little seeped
out of the wound in my shoulder, which stung like an acidic balm had been rubbed into the wound, but
I ignored that for the sake of survival. My legs heated up with the burn of adrenaline, and my lungs
were ever warmer.

Actually, my lungs felt like they were on fire; they were literally hot. It was incredibly difficult to
breath, but the focus on my lungs was torn away as the heat in my legs became so scorching that it was
hard to believe that it was just the exercise.

Suddenly I was in a world of pain as well, just like my previous partner in escape, whose screams
had gone abruptly silent just moments ago. I stopped running and grabbed onto a nearby tree to keep
from toppling over. My feet, my thighs, my arms, my chest, my head, my heart, they all burned. It
wasn’t fire, like the man said, it was hellfire.

Scorching hot sand scratched and scraped its way through my veins, and ten thousand blisteringly hot
needles slowly pressed themselves into my skin, harder and harder until the pressure of them all
broke the skin and set my nerves ablaze.

My mind surged with a powerhouse of shock. I felt like I should have been on fire, my body as bright
as the sun in the night, but I was still in the dark forest beneath the shade of canopy.

I clenched my teeth tightly; I wasn’t going to scream and give away my position to the deadly stalkers
in the woods. I fell back onto the ground, gripping and clawing at the cool soil, but my palms were
still holding invisible fireballs and molten iron smothered my body. I wished that the liquefied metal
would sweep me away and dissolve my flesh as instantly as I knew it should, but the iron wasn’t
really there.

I pounded the dirt, covered my mouth with my hands and bit into the grit, breaking the skin and
drawing blood - anything to stay quiet as this horrid perdition engulfed me like a tar pit.

The blood I drew only burned my throat as it seeped into my mouth. Like my very blood boiled and
each drop sizzled. It was. I couldn’t stand it anymore, this was too bewildering to withstand.

I picked up a rock with sharp edges, anything sturdy would do, and grasped at the images of my
dearest to me, pushing him through the flames and pain and into my mind. Behind my eyes, I saw
Charles. Not as he was in the pile, dead and still, but as we were that morning, together. When his
body was smooth and just as exposed as mine, and his skin was like a white night sky, faceted with
burning stars of sweat on a milky way trail down his navel and to the deepest part of him. It wasn’t
like his skin was burning with hellfire, but rather his very soul was trying to break through as we
were one.

I struck. And I struck again. And again, until I could escape this pain. I heard a crack as the right side
of my skull caved in, and my brain had been shocked into blackness from the final blow. At that point
I remember becoming disoriented, but I can’t remember much of those moments other than random
thoughts and images.

But even that desperate attempt at suicide wasn’t enough. By the next morning I had complete control
of my thoughts again. I felt every inch of my hot, burning body to make sure that the flames weren’t
real. I felt my head; it was as though the rock had never touched my temple, healed anew new.

Demons, those rogue and devilish fiends of the night that drank and bathed in the blood of my friends
and fellow human beings, were all that flashed in my mind as I rolled around the bed of leaves and
twigs, screaming, chewing at the dirt and clawing at my skin. I wasn’t sure when I’d started
screaming, but there I was in beautiful morning glory, my world completely pain, shouting and

begging for death.

The rogue urchins, remnants of a fallen king, the bloodshed of everyone in the manor, these
unexplainable flames, they were all part of the tragedy, the truth, that haunted me; I had gone insane.

I must have been crazy, out of my head, to have seen, to have endured what I was going through. These
fires, incapable of being doused, must have been my punishment from god for begging a demonchild
of the devil to thrust deep into me, loving every minute of it. I was soiled, dirty, and this was my
eternal punishment; the freedom to leave the governess’ mansion of horrors only to be licked by the
unearthly tongues of little imps as they seared and scarred my skin.

If so, then was I dead? How did it happen?

Did that bite to the shoulder kill me? Or did Charles lose control when his instincts took over, and I
was to succumb to his lust for flesh and blood at the same time? Or, maybe, just maybe, I was still
lying in the mud of the garden shed, thirteen years old and a victim of my own stubbornness, starved
and dehydrated, breathing my last breaths while undergoing the desperate delusions of a child who
yearned to live a life of fantasy, a life where she grew up to be beautiful, where she did see Charles
and he confessed that he was madly in love with her. Delusions of her guilt and sorrows manifesting
themselves as bloodthirsty monsters while Mr. Abberdean became an angel.

After nightfall, I lied still on the forest bed and stared at the sky in a helpless heap. I hadn't drawn a
breath of air in hours, let alone screamed. There was no point in screaming, that was a response to
pain one felt in the real world. But I had transcended to an entirely new plane of pain and suffering.

What good was a cry for help when I was already dead?

This pain was above and beyond screams, it was unlike anything I’d felt, and I understood why. It
wasn’t burning my body away, oh no; it was burning away at my soul. It was eating up my spirit,
everything that was me, like a fuel, like a star, exhausting on this most precious resource until there
was nothing left.

But what then?

What happened when my soul was dried up and inexistent? What happened when I was left hollow
inside, alone in the darkness of the woods? Would that mean that my hell, this purgatory, would be
done and finished with me? Would I go to heaven, or hell for being a consort to darkness, for loving
Charles?

Would I simply cease to exist altogether?

The thought of being nothing, not even a memory, was as unbearable as this indescribable agony. And
yet, as my heart raced and pumped this thick, fiery punishment throughout my body, it sounded like a
dream come true.

Time held no essence here. There was a strangely beautiful purple haze flowing along the night sky,
like a wispy river, one long and never ending cloud. The moon simply crawled along the sky while
the sun followed suit, like two lovers chasing one another, even though neither of them could ever
reach the other save once in a while, eclipsed and whole, until they were lost to each other again.
Meanwhile, I was shackled to the earth in defeat as snakes of razorblades and glass shredded my skin

and twisted inside of my belly in gyrating torrents.

I was certain, after all of the clawing, burning, and slicing, that I must have looked like a creature
from the darkest depths of a child's nightmares. A monster. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.

It was injustice.

For all their killing and slaughtering, for all their selfish, vicious, gory, cruel, bloodthirsty ways,
those who’d done this to me remained beautiful. But I would be a monster until my punishment was
served, disfigured and hideous for crimes that were not my own. Like I was the virgin priestess
Medusa, raped in Athena’s temple, and the goddess took her wrath out on me, accusing me of the
defiling her sacred grounds.

The morning sun rose again, and I knew wouldn’t feel it above the fires of penance, just like every
other day before. But there was something different this time, something I felt only slightly, but the
difference was enough to notice above the ceaseless inferno that had consumed me for what must have
been months, maybe even years.

What I felt was warmth in my open palm. I painfully twisted my head to look at the pale palm, with
fingers so white they had to be made of snow or ice, and saw the sun’s brilliance bouncing off of the
china smooth curves of my hand, sending beautifully vivid colors all around the forest and trees. As
the hot pain edged away from my palm, and cool, soothing milk poured through my veins, my forearm
imitated my hand and wrist - shifting from soft flesh to hard, smooth porcelain.

Soon my other arm followed suit, and my feet, too. Over my elbows and knees, ebbing away and
retreating into the core of my body.

My heart raced faster and ached with tension as the flames inside burned hotter and hotter, like a star
burning up the last of its essences. I was livid, frozen stiff with such a higher plateau of agony and
torture that it seemed to mesh with ecstasy. The friction of my struggling heart, beating away at the
white hot heat inside of me, was a pain so intense that my fingers curled and my legs became restless
at the sensation of the curse consuming what was left of my soul.

Climax: my heart literally burst inside of me with an awe-inflicting explosion of heat and ice cold
tingles colliding throughout my entire body, from head to toe, all the way to the ends of each strand of
hair. I was the cold hard soil and the fluidic sun at the same time, and I could feel everything, as
though every lash, every lock of my wild red hair, was a limb, a beating organism, a part of me.

I remained on the ground, wondering just where the agony, where the torture, had gone.

Just where had the hell that I was so prepared to suffer through gone?

Now there was only the warm touch of the sun’s kiss, and I smirked; maybe that’s why the moon is
always running while the sun is chasing? He isn’t exactly faithful if he’ll kiss any woodland tart on
her back. Then I laughed as I realized I’d just called myself a floozy for enjoying the warmth of a
cosmic man that was far too great for my reach.

I really had gone insane.

I was on my feet before I had even thought of moving, like my body reacted to whatever I wanted
without question, like there was no resistance from the air, or even gravity. That’s because there

wasn’t.

The woods were so lovely, dark but warm and lit; a sensual gift just for me. Dust motes and bark
fibers drifted through the air in large spiraling clouds, all around me and above my head. Spider webs
drifted on the soft breeze, their ghostly white streams streaked by beams of illustrious gold beauty that
painted the dark jade walls in the shade of the leaves.

My perception shifted, and suddenly the world moved faster, what I would consider ‘normal’ before I
died and went to heaven - or whatever this place was. Then I shifted the world again at will until
everything stood completely still, frozen and unable to move unless I deemed it fit to do so. In this
world, this reality, this new life, I was able to shift the world to my own perception, and I loved
every moment.

Then I was hit over the head by the thoughts that had remained dormant. Thoughts of the governess’
mansion, thoughts of the dismembered slaves as their debauched killers drained them dry of blood
and soul altogether. Thoughts of the pile of statuesque pieces where Charles’ body would be.

If I had a heart it would have wept for him at that moment.

I heard the snap of a twig and I turned around so quickly that there was no transition at all. I was
looking ahead of me, north, and then I was facing south, staring down a doe as she froze under the
ferocity of my hiss.

No, not a hiss – a growl. I’d been so shocked by my own predatory reaction that I couldn’t move out
of my crouch. I could feel her heart beating, as the faint thud of her neck moved the air around it so
that I could feel the pressure thumping against my own skin, yards away. I could smell her, sense her
fear, and smell her blood; it was repulsive. I stood up once her unsavory odor dissolved the mood to
hunt. The moment I moved, she jolted, galloping away at such a slow rate I could have walked right
up to her and snapped her neck.

Snapped her neck?

I couldn’t believe the thought had actually occurred to me so carelessly, as though I was thinking of
whether or not I should butter my toast.

I ran through the forest, my flaming hair whipping behind me like real fire. In fact, I felt like fire
personified – free and dangerous if anyone got too close. But I had complete control over that factor -
or so I thought. My hubris would soon become a misfortune.

It had taken me at least twenty minutes to get to where I had been in the woods when I was human, but
now, in my newfound dream world, I was back at the estate in less than a second. But then again, as
I’d proven to myself with my perception trick, time meant nothing here. As far as I was concerned,
time was no longer a concept.

I surveyed the garden, calculative and cautious. Once vivid with life, it was now nothing more than a
black burnt patch of acre in the ground. The garden shed was gone, and I felt a sense of victory inside,
but that feeling quickly sunk into the roiling despair of loss. My triumphant frame of mind was crushed
when I stood on the spot where the bodies of the governess’ old guests once were. They’d been
burned along with the garden, and I knelt down to the ground and clutched at the soil beneath my
fingers.

The wave of emotion that surged through me was far more powerful than anything I’d ever felt, more
overwhelming than what I was prepared for, and I cried out in pain like a wounded animal. I couldn’t
help it, or control it; it was the worst feeling in the world. I’d welcome back the flames of perdition,
take them and endure it for a thousand years and be grateful - anything to get rid of this horribly
morose feeling of helplessness.

The pain did ebb away, very slightly, as I heard a carriage in the distance. Instantly, effortlessly, I
found myself standing on the front lawn without even a bat of my lashes. I heard the hansom, yes, but
when the horses came into view it was still half a mile down the road at least.

Then I smelled him. The rider, ripe and young, smelled so mouth-wateringly delectable that it made
my throat burn like a black-flamed viper snaked down into my stomach. It was only a faint echo of the
fiery pain that I’d tolerated, but still very tangible.

The wagon came this way and I held my body as still as possible. My mind drifted so slowly that the
world around me sped up so; birds were bullets and trees seizure in the wind. When the cart finally
arrived I let everything shift into its natural state of motion.

‘Good morning,’ said the man on the wagon with a smile.

I noticed every flicker of his eyes as they gauged my figure, and the thrumming heartbeat beneath the
tight skin of his throat. His heart accelerated as his eyes drifted lower, and I couldn’t help but feel a
little wicked as I found his blatant desire amusing.

A new sensation flushed through me, and I felt something alien. Something strange. I didn’t feel like
myself anymore. It was like my mind had grown much more massive, and new sides, shades, and
versions of myself had moved in without my notice.

This new shade of blue rising from the depths of my bosom desired this young man as much as he
desired me, only my desires were a little different than his.

I hungered for his soul.

He hopped down from the hansom and patted his snug uniform, straightening out his short jacket and
hat. He walked around the restless horses with a letter in his hand, and I smirked. Well, the other me
smirked. Ah, I thought, the infamous postal boy that I’d heard of when I was locked up in that shed.
Well, he was a postal man now, young and strapping, thin but sturdy.

I studied his movements – the slight switch of his hips, the outlines of his body in the slim fitting
uniform. But it didn’t feel like a sexual assessment for me, not like with Charles. No, this was like I
was watching Thomasine walk out of the kitchen with a juicy tenderloin in her hands. I wasn’t sizing
up the man for his sexual prowess, but sizing up his build and how much he could slake this hunger.

It was an unfair and iniquitous tactic on my part, but I knew just how to lure him to me. He was too
busy reading the ink on the envelope to see what was coming. When he looked up he froze.

He stared, eyes wide and dumbfounded. I heard his heart speed up as blood pumped from his upper
body to his nether regions, and I knew I had him lined and hooked with my game.

He couldn’t resist my naked form standing there before him, shining in the morning sun like an angel
as fire and flame slithered visibly beneath my skin. I was an angel, his Thanatos.

‘Come here,’ I cooed, and part of me was distracted by the sound of my voice. Not only had it
changed, but my hearing had improved in so many ways that I heard the distinct prowess and power
within its coy and high-pitched whisper. It sounded like a cat’s meow mingled with the trill of a harp,
along with a smooth crystalline echo.

He was mesmerized, dazed, but his feet brought him closer. His eyes were locked on my navel, the
curves surrounding it, and its irresistibly alluring display.

I could see the vein in his neck pumping away as he took a nervous gulp. He dropped the letter and
was in no way shy about touching me when he was near. The moment his fingers stroked the side of
my breast, he was in my grasp, screaming in agony as my razor-sharp teeth, stronger than iron and
tempered steel, sank into his flesh with ease. I struck with precision.

But his scratchy howl resonated in my new-found ears, and I snapped his neck to silence him.

I gorged myself in his hot blood, and felt revived. And then I placed my drenched lips over his, and
what happened next was instantaneous. I saw light inside of his throat as something cool and
breathtaking shot through his mouth into mine. We were connected, and I could feel everything inside
of him, I could feel who he was, and he was a good, kind man.

If I felt new and invigorated before, I was a goddess now. His soul had awakened so many neglected
sides of me, and pieces of who I used to be. Those I’d buried, and those I didn’t know existed,
clawed their way into the light as I drained every last drop of his life, drawing his vitality into my
very bones.

I dropped him, and though I didn’t need the air I heaved like I did. It was just a reflex of my old life,
what my body used to do when I was overly excited and aroused.

I was indomitable, strong, and Indestructible. I was divinity incarnate, and my name was death. As I
licked my lips I saw myself, the usher of heaven and hell, in his eyes. I was so wicked, in fact, that the
vibrant red reflection in his eyes had even scared me.

That’s when those shadowed claws reaching out of their pristine depths receded into hiding and I saw
the situation as it really was.

I was standing naked, covered in blood as it ran down my torso, over the innocent man I had just
slaughtered for no reason other than the fact that I could. I didn’t know who or what I was at that
moment, because I definitely wasn’t the young woman I was before, not at all. I wondered, as guilt
climbed out of my empty and hollow shell of a body, if I’d lost everything in exchange for this
unconquerable form.

Where was Wilhelmina, and who was I?

I smelled the stalker before they could surprise me, and I faced the trees surrounding the mansion. I
crouched so low that my hair grazed the grass, and I saw someone walk out of the trees.

‘It’s all right,’ the man said, hands in the air with caution. ‘I am not going to hurt you.’

Hurt me? I wanted to laugh at the thought that anyone or anything could possibly hurt me now, but the
only thing that escaped my lips as they curled up and over my sharpened teeth was a low, feral growl
as it rippled its way out of my throat. The man stopped immediately and put his hands down.

‘Can you understand what I am saying?’ he asked.

I didn’t move, I didn’t blink, I just stared and waited for some sort of advance or attack.

‘I’m surprised that you survived. I thought for sure that Rosa would have been thorough about her
cleanup, but once the governess got away she became a bit reckless.’

‘The governess?’ I gasped, rising out of my crouch. I hadn’t thought about her at all, I’d just assumed
that she was dead and burned at the bottom of that pile.

‘Yes. Elizabeth fled, running far from here. Rosa doesn’t know where she’s gone though, but I know
more than people give me credit for, much more.’

I instantly recognized him as I stood upright and moved a bit closer. Though my memories as a human
child were unbelievably fuzzy, the angular face underneath his dark hair and olive skin was not
exactly forgettable, especially after the last time we’d met; set on his lap and about to fall prey to his
lust for innocence.

And the punishment I suffered for his lies wasn’t easily forgotten.

I hissed again.

‘I’m not your enemy here,’ he said.

Still, I curled up my lips and dared him to step closer so that I could exact my revenge in the weight of
his stone flesh.

‘I am Gregor. If I remember correctly, you are Wilhelmina.’

‘Where is she?’ I asked.

I didn’t care about what he’d done years ago, or what I’d been put through because of it. I didn’t even
care that I was standing there naked, prepared to defend myself, or strike first. My mind hadn’t been
made up yet. All I cared about was finding her.

As far as I was concerned, Elizabeth Bathory was responsible for the death of my love, my angel,
Charles, and she was also responsible for the hell I’d survived. I was going to rip her in every which
way I could, and burn every inch of her like Rosa had done Charles.

‘Take me to her.’

9. Cold

The world was cold. I felt the warmth of the sun, and I could feel the crackling life of the wooden
chair burning in the fireplace, but nothing, no matter how bright or hot, could replace the cold
darkness inside of me. My body was as hot as a midsummer day, but I was drowning in this freezing
abyss. I wished that it would swallow me up and end it all, but I didn’t have the power to die
anymore. I was above death, and beyond human.

Well, not quite – I could still be killed, though I wasn’t exactly sure how one would go about doing
so.

But that amounted to nothing because Charles was dead. This life was comparable to being trapped in
a gilded cage of gold and jewels when all a bird wants most is the sky.

Even Charles, the man with beautiful tousled curls of gold, and skin as pale and strong as elegant
bone, had succumb to death in the end. Charles, who had kept me company inside of my stepmother’s
compound during those darkest years after my father had died. Charles, the selfless saint who’d read
to me when I was sad, held me when I cried, and always came back the next week. He was
dependable, and he was all that had survived of my heart. Without him, I couldn’t seem to feel a beat
inside of my chest anymore.

I sat at the governess’ kitchen table, staring at Henrietta’s dead and drained body near the oven. The
first time Charles and I finally made love was the last time we would ever be together. The concept
on never feeling his hard body wrapped around my soft flesh for all of eternity was harder to deal
with than the fact that I was in hell. The absence of him was hell.

‘Rosa killed almost everyone that was here that night,’ Gregor said as he calmly stood near the
kitchen entrance. ‘But Elizabeth managed to get away.’

‘Who is Rosa? Why did she do this?’ I asked him, though he only shrugged.

‘Who can say for sure?’ He sighed. 'I believe it was jealousy, but I could be wrong.'

‘Jealousy?’

He drifted to the side of the table, running his fingers along the surface.

‘After Elizabeth’s unfortunate run in with Pontius years and years ago, she fled to America. Here, she
wandered the plains and forests, exploring and studying the unique customs. She learned English, and
settled in Texas. There, she met a young woman with whom she became fascinated. Now, the reasons
as to why she damned that young woman are unclear; some stories say that she was so lonely that she
was desperate for the company, while others say that it was the beginning of her auctioning enterprise.
But whatever the reasons were, Rosa was the first that Elizabeth had ever damned.

‘Their past is both shaded and best left untouched…’

‘They cast aside immunity when they took my life, and his,’ I said. Gregor’s face was still calm, cool,

and collected, but his eyes were weary. He did not mistake the anger in my voice for anything but
what it was. ‘Now tell me; do you know where she is?’

‘I might,’ Gregor said. ‘That is, I’ve heard rumors. I can’t promise you anything, but if any of the
stories are true then I think I know where she’s run off to.’

‘What stories?’ I asked, suspiciously.

‘If they aren’t stories then you will know soon enough,’ Gregor said. ‘When would you like to leave?’

‘Now,’ I said.

I saw the pale grey ashen face of Henrietta. She was innocent, a child born into slavery, and yet she
still smiled every day. Her life would have been lived on a leash of empty servitude, and she would
still appreciate all that life had to offer. Now there was nothing ahead of her, nothing for those empty
eyes to look forward to.

I felt my anger rage so tremulously that, if human, my body would have trembled with tremors of
wrath, a wrath waiting to be unleashed on the governess like a bullwhip.

‘You should wait a while, maybe five years or so,’ Gregor said.

‘Five years?’ I asked sharply. I didn’t want to wait five seconds to rip her torso apart like Rosa had
done to Charles, let alone five years.

‘You are young, and fresh. Yes, you do have much strength within you now, but it is uncontrollable. If
you were to fight Elizabeth in the state you’re in now, you would become easily distracted and things
would end very badly for you, very badly,’ Gregor said.

He took a step closer, but paused cautiously when my eyes caught his advances.

‘What happens to me shouldn’t matter to you at all,’ I sneered. ‘You don’t even have to come along if
you’re too scared to look her in her eye. Just point me in the right direction.’

Gregor didn’t say anything as he gauged my eyes. I could only guess at what went on inside of his
head as he studied my unyielding stance, but he was wasting time, precious time, and that anger, that
monster inside of me, was beginning to grow restless.

‘I’ll find her myself,’ I said impatiently.

‘Wait,’ Gregor sighed. ‘I will take you to her, but you have to promise me that you will not endanger
either of us with reckless impulses.’

I didn’t owe him anything but immunity from the wrath coming for Elizabeth Bathory. For now, at
least. Once I evened out the story with the governess, I would have no further use for him. I didn’t
even want him around on the way; I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, my memories of Charles,
and my anger. But solitude would have to wait.

I went through the governess’ wardrobe and disgustingly admired her gorgeous hoops and garbs. I
found one to my liking, an emerald green gown with an elegant frill to the fringes. Quite frankly, it
was a piece of art. I slipped it over my obstinate flesh and felt the silky materials hug my body. It was
the first time I’d felt normal, free, in quite some time.

We left shortly after dusk, and he led me into the nearby town where he taught me how to hunt like a
skilled predator. He took me to a motel where he waited outside in the darkness as I waited for prey
to come to me, and when I found what I was looking for I was supposed to follow said prey into his
room and feed on him there.

Gregor was off to the saloon since that was where he was likely to find a suitable meal for himself.

Standing there on the motel porch, underneath the red kerosene lamps hanging from the rafters, it was
hard to believe that anyone would simply be ‘drawn’ to me. No male visitor of the governess’ estate
had ever shown much of an interest to my presence. Her lawyers, her workers and servants, they all
thought me unmentionable. But surely enough there were men gawking in awe as though they had just
seen a fallen star. I didn’t know why. I hadn’t seen myself in a mirror, but I knew that I was still the
same old Wilhelmina I’d always been; wild hair and an awkward stance.

I had plenty of offers, but I felt strange standing there as a small crowd of men gazed at me like a
slattern on display at the whorehouses of New Orleans. That, and they all seemed much more…
revolting. The small details I would have overlooked before were suddenly amplified, even on the
young boys I would’ve swooned over just weeks ago. I felt sick, and suddenly their souls were the
last things on my mind.

That is until I saw brilliant golden curls draping over a young chiseled face. A young boy, maybe my
own age, rode up to the crowd on a large mustang and beamed down at me with a sweet smile on his
lips. I was not drawn to him with my eyes, for they alone spotted dozens of imperfections, but it was
my heart that drew me through the crowd of onlookers to him as he heeled his horse to a halt.

My heart was nearly leaping out of my chest because those blonde coils and dimples reminded me so
of Charles.

‘You look like you need rescuing,’ he winked.

‘I’ve never needed rescuing in my life, I can handle myself all right,’ I smiled back.

I heard his heart stop when he caught sight of my smile, and I batted my eyelashes as if on instinct. I
felt warmth radiating from his body in waves, and he swallowed nervously as I approached. He
smiled again, weakly, and nodded. He swung his leg over and got down from his horse as one of the
motel attendants came to take the steed to the stables. As it walked by, it bucked a bit as I tried to
stroke its mane. It didn’t seem to like me.

‘I’m Zachariah,’ he said as he took his hat off of his head and held it to his chest.

I nodded, at least I thought I had, but my movements were sorely muted now, and most of the time it
looked like I hadn’t moved at all. I followed up with an exaggerated nod, more of a bow, and his
smile grew.

‘I’m Wilhelmina,’ I said.

I panicked for a moment, wondering if I should have given him a false name, but he held out his elbow
for me to take his arm.

‘A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Would you care to have a drink with me?’

‘I would love one,’ I said.

I slunk my arm through his. A jolt shot through his body as he felt my warm hands, and his heart beat
erratically, but I tried to concentrate on his eyes and smile. I longed to rip his head off right then and
there, but his smile and those tousled bangs saved his life every time the urge arose. I couldn’t fathom
killing anything that reminded me of the man I loved. I was sure that my smile must have faded as I
cried inside for Charles’ arm to hold, but if it did Zachariah never noticed.

On the way inside the motel, all of the men were whispering and wondering just how a scrawny boy
like him had managed to sweet talk me so quickly. How grateful would they should be, I thought.

‘I hear tell they have an impressive bar at the Long Branch Saloon across the way,’ Zachariah offered.

‘Actually..’ I moved awkwardly since I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about bringing up the subject,
and the words sounded so horribly cheap running through my brain that I wasn’t sure I could squeeze
them through my teeth. But I soldiered on as the burn in my throat began to overwhelm my senses. ‘I
was hoping for a different kind of company tonight.’

‘Ma’am?’

I wanted to back down that very moment. Damned I was already, what would it matter if I went on
thirsty? The burn in my throat couldn’t even compare to the cracks in my hollow heart as I mourned
inside at the sight of those dimples and his golden hair. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Gregor,
standing just outside the entrance and watching intently. He was expecting me to finish this encounter
in blood.

‘Why don’t you get a key and I’ll entertain you properly,’ I said.

I sounded like a common streetwalker. If I could vomit I was certain that this would be the moment.
He was stunned for a moment, but then eagerly made his way up to the desk to ask about rates.

‘Don’t think of them as human, not anymore,’ Gregor whispered in my ear after ghosting to my side
like a shadow. No one else seemed to notice his swift appearance. ‘They are food, they are no longer
equals. Just kill him and make it quick.’

Gregor was gone by the time Zachariah came back with the room key. He took my hand and led me up
the stairs, past the grand chandelier in the lobby, and up to the second floor. Alone, I could hear his
heart beat faster, taste his sweet skin and salty sweat; I almost lunged forward to claw open his neck
right then and there, but then I saw those broad shoulders and darker curls at the nape of his neck and I
froze.

He opened the door quickly and stepped aside for me. The room was already lit by candlelight, and
the balcony was open with a clear view of the shanty town alight in the night.

‘It’s a lot smaller than the rooms back home in Baton Rouge,’ Zachariah said as he locked the door
behind him.

‘Spend a lot of time with girls in hotels?’ I asked.

‘No, ma’am, not at all,’ he said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at his feet.
‘You’re my first.’

I turned to look at him as he hung his head a bit and looked up at me through his blonde hair.

‘Ever,’ he whispered.

I smiled, this time genuinely and tender. He was me, mere days ago as I asked Charles to prepare me
for this life of mine. I could see the eager youth and innocence in his eyes.

‘Why me?’ I asked.

‘Ma’am?’

‘Out of all the pretty young girls in town, why did you stop your horse to talk to me?’ I asked.

Zachariah sat on the edge of the bed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He held his hat earnestly
and looked me in the eye as he told me something that stuck home.

‘Well, to tell you the truth miss, I thought – think – you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my entire
life. A man could marry you and never know another woman existed because he’d never look away,’
he said.

I laughed a bit to myself and stroked his face.

‘You’re a sweet boy,’ I said.

My fingers grazed the pulsing veins on his neck; his blood called to my senses like the Sirens of old. I
licked my lips and drew in his masculine musky scent as he took off his coat. I grabbed his wrist and
stopped him as he began unbuttoning his shirt. He stared into my eyes, questioning my sudden change
of heart.

‘You should wait. Wait for a sweet girl who’ll make you happy… Don’t just go for any harlot
standing outside a motel,’ I said.

I granted him a small parting kiss on his forehead and left him aroused and dumbfounded on his bed as
I exited the room. Something inside of me just couldn’t go through with the kill. The monster was
aching, starved for blood, but something stronger stayed its hand from carrying out the deed. What that
strength was, and where it came from, I couldn’t even begin to guess, but that was the last thing on my
mind as I left the motel as quickly as I could.

Once I was on the street below, blending into the crowd like a black feather on a raven’s wing, I
looked over my shoulder up to the balcony where Zachariah stood, watching me. He waved with a
small smile, and I vanished out of sight. I ran through the town and into the surrounding forest, ripping
through soil and bracken like a beast.

I sensed Gregor chasing closely behind, and I stopped to face him as he caught up.

‘If I am to travel with you I need you focused. You can’t concentrate on what’s important if you don’t
feed.’

‘I couldn’t do it,’ I admitted.

‘Why not?’ Gregor asked. ‘That boy is no one, probably a small town idiot farmer.’

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. I knew why I couldn’t kill him; it wasn’t just because he loosely shared

some of Charles’ features, but because he reminded me of myself before the governess took what life
was left inside of me. He reminded me of a side of myself that I never wanted to forget again.

‘Then this is a suicide mission.’

‘Like I told you before: if you don’t want to come with me then just tell me where to go and what to
expect instead of keeping me in the dark,’ I growled.

Gregor sealed his lips and began to lead the way once more.

We tore through the dark wilderness, passing all manner of dear and wild cats like blurred ghosts in
the night, I wondered just what was in this for him. It had never occurred to me to ask, but he was
strangely determined to come along on this dangerous ‘suicide’ mission. I didn’t think about his
motives for too long. I was far too fixated on finding the governess and clawing that eye right out her
socket before I ripped her apart. I wanted her death to be as brutal as she deserved, and more.

We crossed the state line and crossed over from Louisiana into Texas. We ran along rivers until they
ran off on their own courses, and crossed the Sabine Pass to head into the mainland. We passed sign
after sign as we ran through county after county; Folks, Bell, Fayette, Edwards.

Gregor finally slowed down in Pecos County, and by the time we got to a town called Upton we were
walking. We stuck to the shadows as we observed the night life in its toil and play. He led me swiftly
into the residential area, and then into the trees once more.

Suddenly I could smell something sharp and fetid. It was her, I knew it was. She was here
somewhere.

‘There,’ Gregor said quietly.

He pointed to a large manor that stood separately from the other homes with a large black iron gate.
So, I thought, she had a backup plan to start over here in Texas. I was about to set out at a run, but he
gripped my arm and held me back. ‘Don’t underestimate her, Wilhelmina. Elizabeth Bathory is strong
and cunning; she can still win this fight if you’re not cautious.’

As much as I wanted to force my way into her home for roaring rage and boisterous carnage, I
listened to Gregor simply because I’d never been in a fight, and I had no idea just what Elizabeth
Bathory could do. We snuck around the gates and into the back yard where a garden that was nearly
identical to the one at her Louisiana estate bloomed in the night. How fitting that she should die in the
very scenery that Charles died; the place that she’d broken and shattered my life since I was thirteen
years old, just because I was human and she thought she was above me.

Lights burned in the sitting room. I couldn’t smell the governess here, at least not as strongly as I had
when we arrived. Gregor urged against it, but I was too curious. I peered through the windows of the
home.

What I saw shook everything I thought I knew about Elizabeth Bathory.

10. Taken

‘Auntie, what are you doing here?’

A young woman with long blonde hair approached the fireplace with a platter in her slender hands.
She sat the platter on the coffee table and lifted the kettle. She poured two cups and sat in a chair
across from her visitor.

‘Why come all the way here in the middle of the night? You could have woken up the children.’

The woman’s blue eyes were critical, somewhat distant as she picked up her cup of tea and gazed
upon the lithe figure before her. The black veil only allowed the sight of half of the face of her visitor
as it hid the other in shadow. The governess picked up her cup as I watched outside the window. She
was here, mere yards away from me.

I heard a swift rustle behind me; Gregor was gone. Once he knew that Elizabeth Bathory was here he
ran away like the coward that he was.

‘I came here to warn you and Jonathan to take what you can and leave this place,’ said the governess.

‘Why?’

‘Evonne, you never asked more questions than you needed to, which is something your mother liked
about you,’ the governess said. ‘This is one of those times when I need you to go upstairs, wake your
husband, take your beautiful daughters and run from here. I’ve already made preparations and a
carriage will arrive here shortly.’

‘Auntie, when you dismissed me from your service four years ago I didn’t ask questions, not even
about the children under your care. But now you’re involving my children,’ Evonne said.

‘A war may be heading to your doorstep,' the governess said.

‘The war is over, Auntie, for months now!’ Evonne said.

‘An old acquaintance of mine knows where you live, she’s followed me here a few times already,’
the governess said slowly. ‘She has a personal army of her own and she will bring it here shortly.’

‘You upper socialites make personal wars against each other over your old fashioned aristocracy,
dragging everyone else in your lives down with you!’ Evonne stood up, pacing the room, while the
governess sat still. ‘Well I’m not playing along anymore, Aunt Elizabeth. I have a family now, and I
have a life here.’

‘Which you started with my money,’ the governess said sharply.

‘Jonathan and I never touched your money. It’s still sitting in the bank, and if you’d like to we can go
there in the morning and you can have every penny of it back,’ Evonne said. ‘You made me believe
that I was only worth what someone would pay for me, that to be auctioned off was my only hope at
happiness – well you were wrong! John loves me. He loves me, and that is worth more than all the

money you could offer.’

‘You never understood why I wanted you to be a part of my world,’ the governess said. She almost
looked genuinely sorrowful. Almost.

‘Why would I want to be a part of a world where children are abandoned by their parents and sold to
the highest bidder to be a sex slave?’ Evonne asked, disgustedly.

‘I was trying to secure your future, for eternity! You were my favorite niece, you were practically a
daughter to me. And then you met him, and had children, and ruined what I tried to give you.’

‘We don’t need you,’ Evonne said. ‘ I don’t need you, or your money, or your help. So you are going
to take your things, and your cash, and your carriages and all of your plans and leave this house right
now.’

‘Evonne if you deny my help now then I cannot protect you from what marches to your door,’ the
governess said. ‘I am begging you, at least wake the children.’

‘You might have watched over our family, but I don’t need you,’ Evonne said coldly. ‘After learning
who you really are, I never want to see your face again.’

‘This is your final word?’ the governess asked.

Evonne set her jaw and crossed her arms with a sneer. The governess rose from her seat and nodded
fluently. ‘Then you are but ghosts to me.’

‘You were always dead to me,’ Evonne said.

The governess took one last bow and left the room with silent grace. Evonne took her seat and placed
her head in her hands. When she looked at her tea kettle, she saw something there on the surface. Then
she looked over her shoulder and jumped when she saw me through the window.

I lifted the frame to see if it was unlocked. It wasn’t, but I hadn’t realized just what strength I
possessed in my new hands and the latches broke from the inside. I lifted it effortlessly. I climbed
through and stood before her in my dirty and tattered dress.

‘Oh my god,’ Evonne gasped. ‘Wilhelmina?’ she walked right up to me and cupped my cheeks. She
jumped when she felt my burning face. She took a few steps away when she looked into my eyes. ‘So
that’s how you survived, then. You’ve become just like them.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

She nodded behind me. On the wall, opposite the fireplace, was a tall mirror. When I saw myself I
stopped breathing. The eyes staring back at me weren’t mine, they were monstrous and frightening.
Two crimson orbs gazed back into my own, and I saw myself for the first time since I’d walked out of
hell.

My skin was snow white, my hair far more vibrant and red than it was when I was human.

When I looked over my shoulder I saw Evonne crying

‘I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t know this would happen to you, I thought that you would find

some way to get away from it all.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘After you left, the governess cut off my hair and made me her slave.’

‘My aunt is a cruel woman, and for that I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Yes, she is. More than you will ever know,’ I said bitterly as Charles flashed behind my eyes. ‘She
took from me something that mattered more than life and eternity itself.’ I felt a strange feeling in my
eyes. I was crying, but no tears came; it felt bizarre to experience agony without tears.

‘But she has kindness in her. She’s watched over my family for generations,’ Evonne pleaded. ‘I
realize why you must be here. Please, don’t kill her.’

Suddenly I realized that the governess wasn’t Evonne’s aunt, she couldn’t be. Gregor’s tale would
make her much older than that. I recognized the scent in Evonne’s flesh and I knew that Elizabeth
Bathory was much more than a distant aunt; Evonne was her flesh, her bone. Elizabeth must have had
a family before she was changed. When she came to America she brought her descendants with her.
She took care of them, watched them grow, and supplied them with money by selling orphans to rich
demons.

The heavy situation made me sick. And Evonne had the nerve to ask that I spare this woman, this
Succubus that raped me of hope. My life had been taken because she was evil, vile, and cruel.

‘Don’t kill her?’ The rage inside of me clawed inside of my ribcage, tearing its way to freedom. ‘She
ruined my chance of being with the only man who understood how I felt and made me feel human. He
was all I had, he was all that was life to me. He came back for me when you and everyone else left
me there to die.’ I approache Evonne and she cowered away from my menacing eyes. ‘No, I won’t
kill her.’

‘Then why did you come here?’ Evonne asked warily.

‘I thought I came here to face her, rip her into pieces, but now I realize that justice brought me here,
not anger,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to kill her, oh no. I’m going to do to her what she did to me. I’m
going to take away what matters most to her.'

Before she could scream I held Evonne’s throat in my hand. I forced her eyes to look into mine so that
I could see the fear in her eyes. She deserved this, they all deserved this for being the reason that me
and so many other girls lost our lives and futures. How many of us hadn't survived? How many of us
had been abandoned by our makers after they were done with us?

If Elizabeth Bathory’s family didn’t exist then none of us would have been auctioned or turned into
what we were. Evonne and her family was the cause of the governess’ business, and so I would end it
here.

One quick stroke and Evonne’s scream turned into a gurgle. I wasn’t going to snap her neck before I
drained her, I wanted her to feel every ounce of blood leave her body. I wanted to hear her whimpers
and feel her squirm as she received her punishment.

Everything was her fault. No matter how kind she acted toward me she didn’t care. Her leaving me
there in a shed to run off and live happily ever after was proof of that. But I was about to rectify the
curse of the Bathory bloodline right there and then.

After a few moments her struggle slowed down to nothing, and eventually her heart stopped beating as
her blood grew thinner in volume. Her heart finally had a spasm and collapsed. By the time I had my
fill, she was dead.

I dropped her like a dead fish, because that’s all she was to me. Her life meant nothing more to me
than a trophy of revenge. Her pale face, staring at the ceiling on her back, was more than she
deserved. The monster inside of me was enraged, stronger for it, and at that moment I felt that I wasn’t
even me anymore. I was someone else, a completely new Wilhelmina.

This Wilhelmina had no regard for human life, or anything else for that matter. What happened to the
world was no longer Wilhelmina’s problem as far as the monster was concerned. I was powerful, and
my rage could no longer be ignored like the rest of my existence; I would be heard. I would be felt.
My wrath would tear anyone asunder.

And I liked it.

I was silent as I made my way upstairs to find the husband. I made sure that he was awake and aware
before I pushed his head to the side and bit down. He only had time to squeal for a second before I
ripped out his windpipe. His blood I could afford to waste, he wasn’t of Elizabeth Bathory’s
bloodline. I made no din as I left the master bedroom, only a dark and slick trail in my wake.

As I followed the strong scent of ripe blood, and listened to the sound of racing, frightened hearts, I
immediately knew where to go. They must have heard something to alarm them. That didn’t matter;
they wouldn’t be able to outrun me. They would be nothing but slow little creatures running away at
the speed of a snail riding a turnip, just like that doe I saw when I awoke.

However, I ran into a wall of that burning scent. It was her. She hadn’t left at all, and as I opened the
door to the children’s bedroom I saw her standing with a small toddler clutching her gown. She tried
to hide a crib in the corner, and she knelt low to urge the toddler back toward it.

‘Listen to Auntie Lizzie and go to the crib, okay Abby?’ Elizabeth said.

‘Wouldn’t everyone have liked to know that you were hiding a family? That you have a human
family? It would be huge news in the estate. Except for the fact that everyone is dead because of you.
Thomasine, Henrietta, everyone – dead!'

'It was a mistake to confide in Rosa that I had great, great, great grandchildren. Now that she’s
declared war, she’ll come for them,' Elizabeth said coldly.

'The one person you trusted the most with all your most treasured secrets, the one you loved most as
your proclaimed child and friend – the one who was devoted to worshipping you until you cast her
aside - is going to rip your head off.'

I was delighted to watch the governess, this witch, in such a bind.

'That’s so tragic it’s hilarious,' I said.

'Where is Evonne?'

I licked my lips and grinned.

'She's joined the others. Now she can stay at your estate like she was supposed to,' I said wickedly.

'So you want to kill me, is that it?' The governess asked sourly.

'No, I’m going to kill your grandchildren and rid the world of your plagued-offspring,' I said, fiercely,
and I watched every reaction on her face as it morphed from anger to shock to fear. 'Once I knew you
had some semblance of a heart inside of you somewhere I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to break it.
You are going to watch me take away what you cherish most, starting with her.'

I pointed at the toddler.

The governess paused and her head slightly inclined over her shoulder. She could sense the same
thing I had; a strong presence marching quickly through the woods behind the manor. Rosa’s army had
arrived and the governess was trapped. She was going to watch me finish taking what was mine, and
then Rosa could exact her jealous vengeance.

The governess hissed and flew at me with a rage so furious that flames could have flared through her
nostrils at any moment. She grabbed my hair and pushed me through the wall and into the hall. I
grabbed her wrists and a surge jolted through my body; I broke them. I broke her hands off of her arms
like taking a sledgehammer to concrete, and they gripped my hair like vices until I pried them off.

She screeched as she flew toward me again. I grabbed her veil and tore it off of her head so that I
could see the half of her face that she had left when I twisted her head off of her shoulders. She
rammed me through another wall and onto the floor the floor of a study. She couldn’t grab me without
her hands, but she proceeded to beat my face back and forth with her nubs. A swift head butt had her
off of me in no time, and I was quick to get onto my feet and crouch for the attack.

She got to her feet just as I thrust myself off of the ground. I soared through the room before she
realized I was coming and gripped her head in my hands. My feet landed on her shoulders; I thrust
again and jumped from her shoulders, through the gaping hole in the wall, back into the hallway. Her
head came with me.

I heard her body topple over in confusion as I held her brown hair in my tight fist. I glanced over my
shoulder and saw her vile form crawling around. Even her hands tried desperately to find one
another. It sent chills down my back; could nothing kill demons?

I walked back into the playroom and dropped the head of the great, great, great grandmother before
Abby’s feet. I made dead certain that her eyes were facing Abby and the crib so that she could see me
complete my mission. She cried out, but I silenced her quickly. I made sure to be swift about the deed.
They may have been Elizabeth Bathory’s offspring, but they were still children. They would feel no
suffering.

When I checked the crib for a baby, it was empty.

‘You,’ I heard.

I faced the doorway and saw her there, in the shadows of the hall, watching me intently. It was Rosa.

‘I thought you died.’

‘I did, but I survived long enough to finish what I came here to do,’ I said.

She took a step closer, and I crouched as a warning bark shot from behind my exposed teeth. She
stopped in her tracks as she gauged me and the situation. I picked up the governess’ head, gaping like
a fish out of water as she looked around with a panicked eye.

‘She’s yours now,’ I told Rosa as I showed her the head. ‘Her body is in the other room, it’s still
alive. You can put her back together and determine her fate for yourself.’

‘You don’t want to burn her yourself?’ Rosa asked curiously.

‘I've already burned her in the worst way imaginable,’ I said. I wanted to reiterate the fact for the
governess to hear as she rested, powerless, in my hands.

‘Very well then – we will burn the pieces immediately,’ Rosa said. ‘I am sorry about this. If you hold
no grudge against me, then I hold nothing against you.’

I simply answered by walking right up to her and handing over Elizabeth Bathory's head.

‘My lust for blood is over, for now,’ I offered as parting words.

Rosa looked down at the head as the governess looked back and forth between the two of us. Rosa
was just as quick and destructive as lightning as she snatched the governess’ eye right out of her face.

‘Here, take this as a token of our truce. Let bygones be bygones.’ Rosa said as she held the eye out for
me to take.

‘You keep it. Consider it a reminder. If we ever meet again I’ll take it from you,’ I said with an
impious grin.

I walked by her in silence. When I walked out the back door of the manor, her army was waiting.
Many of them were the governess’ slaves, chosen and turned at the estate. They would each want to
take a piece of her if they could. They parted and let me walk by.

I was vindicated and justified in every sense, and the blood on my lips served as a sweet victorious
treat, but soon that wore off. Regret began to seep into my conscience in the deep darkness of the night
as I wandered aimlessly through tree and wood until dawn.

11. In Faith

Being alone was worse than hell. Being alone with my thoughts was even worse than being alone.

Every step I'd ever taken, every defiant breath and glare, had always been for Charles. I’d been
determined to find my way back into his world, to see him again. I didn’t have to be a resident in
Charles’ heart; I would have been just as happy being his moon, a satellite of his kind heart. But
Charles was dead, and nothing could bring him back, not anymore.

I was empty. My purpose had been taken away from me. I was more like a pet to Charles than a lover,
kept on a leash of daydreams. Existence was nonexistence. Life was death.

And for the first time in my life I realized just how pathetic that really was.

Where could I go? What purpose had I in life, or death, now that he was dust in the wind over
parishes as far as the state of Louisiana spread?

I was a lost, soulless, and hollow creature now. Charles was lost to me.

I pulled my red ribbon out of my hair and clutched it in my fist in smoldering anger. I was enraged
because when it came to settling business with the governess it was a possibility; she was a tangible
problem to be solved, and I could touch her with my very own hands and had done so already.

But Charles could never be touched again. And the thought of eternity without the feel his presence,
the sound of his voice, the sight of his smile, or his glorious compassion made me feel even more
powerless than I already was. This riddle couldn’t be solved by any force on the face of the earth. His
beautiful benevolence was but a distant memory, cold and still.

This ribbon was all that remained of him. He had kept it on him for years, even when he thought he
may never see me again. That alone meant that I was worth something, even if only worth a passing
thought. I was worth something to Charles Abberdean and that was all I had ever hoped for.

And now, as I mourned over Charles, I remembered everything he stood for. He was the face of
forgiveness, of courage and persistence. He was the face of charity, of admiration, and the very
essence of munificence and love.

What would he think of me now if he could see me?

My hands were crusted over by dry, sticky blood as I held the ribbon in my hands. My dress was
covered in an innocent man’s blood as his wife’s life sloshed around inside of my gut. Their
daughter’s head was twisted backward on her shoulders as her cold dead body lie in her play room.

I became the very opposite of what Charles stood for. I was right when I assumed that I was no longer
Wilhelmina. I was a monster, marred on the inside for the horrible deeds I’d done on this night. And
this monster was laughing on the inside as it rode the rising tides of boiling anguish until I could take
it no longer.

I saw Evonne’s fearful eyes and I screamed. I saw her husband’s confused face and my shriek took the
place of his as the memory of my hands mutilating him came into view behind my eyes. I dropped to

my knees at the thought of murdering poor, helpless Abby in cold blood without a second thought, and
I cried. I had no more tears to shed, but I sobbed.

I heard a crackle and tear.

I opened my eyes and looked down into my hands where the ribbon had been torn by my inhuman
hands, ripped apart. I panicked as I destroyed the only piece of Charles I had to hold onto.

The silky shred of my innocence slithered pitifully through my cold hard fingers as the last two
strands of the ribbon gave up. The rest had frayed outward and away; the damage had been done. Just
Charles and I had been one and then separated, I was holding onto the memory of him when it did me
no good. I just needed to sever myself from him completely and continue through the world as half a
being, half a ribbon.

That was my resolve until I realized that this was not all I had left of Charles.

The last time I saw Charles as a girl of only thirteen, the last time I was under my mother’s roof and
my Abby was smiling and cooking for me, he gave me a present in exchange for my ribbon. He sat it
on the counter, and there it stayed because I had forgotten to take it with me.

If Abby knew that Charles had left it for me then surely she would’ve put it somewhere safe so that
she could give it to me when her niece got me to her through the railroad.

Abby was alive, Thea said so herself. She said that Old Lou Girthwright had gotten her safely to the
next home in the path to the north. Maybe, by the scrape of my teeth, that box had survived. If I could
find her then maybe I could find the only earthly presence of Charles I had left.

I had direction, even if it was miniscule and literally hanging on two strings of a dream, and that
feeling alone made me feel like a child again, sitting by my small window beside the vanity waiting
for Tuesday evenings.

Though I had figurative direction within my grasp, I had no earthly direction. I was alone in a thin tree
line bordering a clear desert as far as my new eyes could see. I had no idea which direction was
which. I had always been told that moss grew on the north side of a tree, but there was no moss here
to reference. The trees were bare, nearly leafless, and there was no wind across the barren sands.

I was lost. I had no idea where to even begin.

As I trudged along the line between the empty desert and the thin trees, there came a clatter. A horse-
drawn cart slowly made its way along the flats. There was an older gentleman riding point, nearly
asleep in his seat as he encouraged the horses to keep pushing on. As I drew closer I could see his
weathered features, his crow’s feet and the other crevices along his face, as well as his exhausted,
bloodshot eyes.

‘Woah,’ he reined in his steeds when he caught sight of me standing in his path. The horses reared
back frantically, they didn’t dare come near. ‘Jesus, woman, where on god’s green earth did ye come
from?’

His Irish brogue carried the scent of his last meal, which turned my stomach. My first instinct was to
leap forward and snap his neck, and for a moment I felt my body tense for the strike, but I willed my
bones to bind themselves for the time being. I needed him.

‘Lord almighty, what happened t’ye?’ he asked. He saw my bloodstained gown and wild, ragged hair.

‘Please,’ I began, but my voice was higher than usual. I adjusted my tone before I pressed on, and he
quickly hopped down from the wagon. ‘Can you help me?’

‘Of course darlin’, just tell me what happened,’ he said. ‘What happened t’ye? What are ye doin’ out
here on yer own?’

‘I was… attacked,’ I said.

‘It’s those damned injuns, innit?’ He growled. ‘Let me take ye into Thomas Town,’ the man said.

‘Thomas Town?’

‘Well, the new folk’re callin’ it Lubbock, but ye’ll find help there. Are ye hurt? Is that yer blood?’ he
asked.

‘No, no, I’m fine. I just need to know which direction is north and south,’ I said. I could be on my way
much faster if I didn’t have to ride with him and his slow horses.

‘Listen here, ye’re in no place or position t’be wanderin’ around on yer own. Now let me help ye on
the cart an’ that’ll be the end o’ that,’ he said.

I didn’t argue because I didn’t want to accidentally kill him. I had no problem slitting another throat,
and I was disturbed by that fact alone. I had no problem with killing people, men, woman, and
children alike, and that bothered me.

I sat on the bench of the wagon and he climbed aboard. The horses were off as soon as he rolled the
reins along their backs with a crack.

‘Was there anyone else with ye?’ he asked.

‘Everyone else is dead,’ I said. I saw the faces of Evonne and her family. Yes, everyone else was as
dead as dead could get.

‘What’s yer name? I’m Thomas Saltus Lubbock Jr, merchant extraordinaire. Me Da, he’s the one who
settled Thomas Town. Great man, he died 1862, year o’the drought, god rest him.’

‘Wilhelmina,’ I said.

I tried to concentrate on the fluent motion of the four horses moving as one, the heavy struggle of their
plodding hooves through the sea of sand, but all I could hear was his beating heart. I could smell his
blood, and his flesh.

‘Well Wilhelmina, we’ll be in town by sun up. I’ll be blowin’ through, just droppin’ off a shipment,
but I’ll stay long enough t’make certain that ye’re taken care of.’

‘Where is Thomas Town?’ I asked.

‘O, a little further north,’ he said.

‘Then we’re heading north?’ I asked.

‘Northeast.'

‘Do you have a map?’ I asked.

‘Aye, in me satchel behind the bench. Ne’er leave home without it, can’t afford to. I travel far too
much for a man at my age. Thirty five is too old t’be a roamin’ dog, I tell ye that, too old.’

Thomas Saltus Lubbock Jr spoke his last words as I reached over and crushed his neck. It was purely
impulse, I hadn’t even realized that I had killed him with the flick of my wrist until I was nearly done
draining his body of blood. I felt so full, and slushy inside as I sat back and looked at his head sitting
atop his mangled neck, staring back at me. His eyes lulled as his body died with him. The horses were
too busy running to panic properly. All I could hear were their cries and jeering.

'I'm sorry, Thomas,' I said. I meant it - though his rambling wore my patience thin, I didn't want to be
this creature of death.

I snatched his satchel and leapt off of the cart, landing effortlessly on the cool desert sand beneath my
feet. I unfurled the map, trying to get as little blood on it as possible.

North, south, east, and west. I compared the tracks in the sand and gained some sense of familiarity
with the directions. The map only covered a very limited region of the western Texan planes, but it
was enough to get me started on my journey back to sweet Louisiana.

I was going back home, to my father’s house in Fremont. I hadn’t been there in four years, but it felt
like a lifetime. Because it had been just that; a lifetime. I lived a new life as a different Wilhelmina,
one who had been tamed and broken to servitude. My identify held no traces of the child I used to be.

I would be just another stranger there, like any other passerby.

Though my body felt odd and full, like I’d consumed too much human life and it was on the verge of
bursting through my tight skin, my journey was a swift one. I wasn’t making anywhere near a timely
schedule as Gregor and I did on our way to the Governess’ secret family home, and that was because
I didn’t know just where I was. I also knew that I would be reaching the edge of the regional map
soon and flying solo in the dark. As long as I knew the direction I was pretty sure that I could make it
on my own. I knew that I could, I just knew it.

My hair was wild and free, whipping swiftly behind my shoulders. I could feel the winding serpentine
coils meandering as they rode the wind like fiery ghosts in the night. Once I came across the great
watery bed of the Sabine Pass the terrain became somewhat familiar. The proverbial willows and
marshy wetlands of my homeland was something I could recognize in an instant.

I ran through the daylight, wondering just when I would feel the need to sleep. Would I ever sleep
again in purgatory? Or was this the dream, an undying vision pieced together by all of the secrets and
memories in the depths of my soul?

I finally passed through parishes I’d never seen before, as well as familiar parishes like the accursed
woodlands of my imprisonment during the last days of my life. I ripped into my Fremont, my beloved
hometown and childhood queendom where I was the weaver of my own world in my chair beside the
window.

But Fremont had practically become a ghost town. I hadn’t expected this, not at all.

I walked through the once lively town, once occupied by farming families and plenty of land-rich,

bankrupt aristocracy, who reveled in the misfortunes of others to make themselves feel validated. It
was strange to see dusted business windows and abandoned buildings.

I had forgotten that everyone had abandoned Fremont at the news that the Union army was pushing
south into Louisiana. Somehow, in my head, things hadn't changed here. Now all that remained here
were dead memories.

It was eerie, how fresh everything looked after four years of loneliness. Because it had only been such
a short period of time, everything was still in top shape, nothing was rundown or decrepit.

And there it was, Old Lou Girthwright’s cottage on the western edge of town, very nearly floating
above the swamp itself. I was a bit wary about approaching his home. What if he didn’t live there
anymore? What if he’d run away like everyone else?

There were no lights on in the windows, and the porch was dark. Everything was just as still as the
rest of Fremont. That was until I heard a faint heartbeat inside. As I drew closer I heard labored
wheezing.

The door was unlocked.

I was deadly silent as I stepped inside the pitch black home. I followed the strong, tangy odor of the
old man; it practically burned the hairs right out of my nose. I held my breath and instead chose to
follow the sound of his heart. Standing in the doorway to the small room in the cottage, I could see an
old woman lying in her bed.

I stared, wondering where her husband may be. She stirred in her sleep and jolted upright. She looked
around the dark room in a panic.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked. Her voice was worn and hoarse. ‘I know you’re there.’

I caught sight of her eyes in the darkness. Overrun by cataracts; she was completely blind.

‘I’m looking for Lou Girthwright,’ I said, calmly. Her heart jumped at the sound of my voice. ‘Do you
know where I can find him?’

‘He’s up on Rue Hill,’ she said. I remembered Rue Hill, it was where the Fremont Cemetery was. He
was dead. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘I’m Wilhelmina Shepherd, I used to live here.’

‘I know you,’ the old woman said. ‘I know who you are. You were that witch’s daughter.’

‘Step-daughter,’ I said moodily.

‘No, child, I mean your mother. There’s something… off about you. I can sense a lot of things; you’re
a strange one,’ she said.

If she only knew.

‘I bet I know why you’re here. You’re looking for the nigger woman, aren’t you? The one that kept
writing, asking about you.’

‘She… she wrote about me?’ I asked. If I had a heart it would have jumped right into my throat. ‘What

did she say?’

‘Lou always said that she was asking if you’d finally run away from somewhere. But when news
reached her that her niece died of a horse-riding accident she stopped writing.’

‘Horse-riding accident?’ I asked furiously.

Thea’s death was passed off as an accident, and no one cared enough to question it. Elizabeth Bathory
could’ve said that Thea was carried away by a hundred hummingbirds and dropped into a watermelon
river and they wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

‘Well I ain’t got nothing to tell you. My husband died when the Confederate army found out he was
helping niggers get up north, and nobody cares to write here anymore. All them letters he got from the
coloreds was buried with him,’ she said.

She laid her weary bones back down, mumbling to herself, and I left her to her sleep.

I walked through the empty streets, wishing I could have seen it when Fremont was still alive. I never
really got to leave my father's house under my step-mother's rule. Irony hovered heavily over me as I,
a dead soul in a dead body, was the only thing alive here.

I stopped when I saw my father’s house on the east end of town. A rush of visions hit my eyes as I
saw the large willow in the front yard with the rope tied to one of the high branches. I remembered
swinging on that rope while I played in the yard with Abby. I remembered reading by my small
window to the summer sunlight. I remembered waiting there, seeing Charles as he strode across the
lawn and through the front door. Watching him take off his coat and smiling up at me. His beautifully
curved and coy smirk was the best part of Tuesday nights.

Then I noticed something. At first I thought it was just another vibrant memory come to life, but once
the nostalgia began to wear off I realized that what I was seeing was reality.

My window was lit brightly in the night like a star above the town. Candlelight flickered behind the
curtains. I couldn’t believe it, someone was actually here. Someone had to have stayed behind, but
who could it be?

I rushed across the lawn in a blur, and quietly crept through the door.

The once glamorous sight of the entrance lit by the grand chandelier was gone. Darkness and dust had
settled into its place. I blew up the stairs like a breeze and caught a scent that smelled deceivingly
sweet and floral; it reminded me of Gregor and the Governess. Behind that saccharine scent was the
unmistakable stench of death. Whoever was in my room was not among the living, they were the
damned, undying, like me.

My room was empty. Where someone once stood, there was only loneliness. They must have left
recently. The room was bare, the walls were stained, and the floor was dusty. Nothing from my
childhood memories had survived. All that was left was a single, burning candle in the middle of the
floor, and a small white envelope.

I immediately noticed the name on the envelope and could hardly contain myself.

From the desk of Mr. Charles E. Abberdean.

I wasted no time in ripping the envelope apart to get to the note inside.

To my dearest Wilhelmina,

I am so terribly sorry that I could not save you from a fate that I wish I hadn't accepted myself. I
fought to spare you the damnation, this affliction, and instead he put you in an early grave. I know
that you will never read this because you are dead.

Papa always told us that candles are guiding lights for the dead, and writing a letter by
candlelight seemed the most appropriate way to tell you how much I love you. I pray to God in
heaven that you can find your way home, and that you get a chance to read this.

I promise that I will find Charles and hand out justice for what he's done to us. I will not rest until
both you and mother are avenged.

Freedom is something that you’ve never known. You’re free now, Wilhelmina.

Forever,

Mary E. Shepherd.

I dropped the letter onto the floor and stared into the candle.

Had Charles known our mother?

I held my red ribbon in my hands and thought only of the exchange between Charles and myself. The
smile in my memory made the pit in my chest ache.

What did he have to do with our mother's death? What did Mary know that I didn't?

Dawn was quickly approaching. There was no address on the envelope, and therefore no way of
knowing just where this 'Desk of Charles Abberdean' was.

I realized that I would probably never see a familiar face again. My step-mother and Dinah could
have been anywhere in Texas. I had absolutely no idea what Mary had been up to since last we'd met,
and she could have been anywhere in the country by now. Her scent still lingered here for me to catch,
but the wind outside would have blown any trail of her away. And the last but not least, Mary now
believed me to be dead, and therefore she would never return here, never search for me.

I was forgotten, alone and loveless. And it seemed only right that things should end this way. After
all, I'd traded Charles for revenge.

The sun began to rise over Fremont, shining through weeping willows and dancing off of the swamp
water. Light dazzled across the walls of my old, small bedroom as fire writhed beneath my skin.

The firelight inside of my flesh made me think back on the carnage of my wicked vengeance and how
merciless I’d been. I would never be able to absolve myself of those sins, of this I was certain. And if
there was a heaven, my mother and father were surely disgusted with my very existence now.

It was a hard reminder that my life, from the moment that my father died, held no meaning for me.
What friends I had were gone. What love I held dear to my heart was tainted.

I was free, finally free, and I could only taste the dull, rusty flavor of my own misdeeds. I was hereby

shackled to my own miserable, lonely existence.

As the sun began to set, the flare of the flames beneath my skin faded into a softer peach glow. I
walked west of Fremont in the night. No rush, and no hurry, I simply walked. Since becoming a vile
succubus I'd felt invincible, infallible, and unstoppable. But walking made me feel somewhat human.
My heart was still just as weak and vulnerable as it was when I was human, so it wasn't a very far
step from being the girl I used to be. But my grace had long since fallen, and I was on a journey
straight into the fires of perdition.

The sun rose over the horizon again. I simply continued to walk through the trees. Sorrow and
heartache consumed me, and that's exactly how I preferred it to be. I didn't want to feel cheerful, or
hopeful. If I did, then little Abby's memory was just another memory. She deserved better than that,
since I'd denied her the right to live.

I walked until the sun set, and rose, and set again.

I came to the sea and I stood atop high cliffs, overlooking the ocean tides. The jagged rocks below
roared back as violent waves crashed against them in anger. The gulls in the sky hovered, and the sun
watched my every breath as it raced across the sky.

I held my ribbon in my fist and cried out the name of an angel that no Christian could claim to have
known as I had. I let my body fall forward and soar through the rush of wind that swept past me until
finally plummeting into the cold, dark sea like a stone.

I sank, quickly, yet for all the water that rushed through my hair and smothered my bones, it took a
long time before I hit the sandy depths. I sank so deep, in fact, that the sun vanished from the water's
surface and all I could see was darkness.

Charles told me that I was immortal, undying like him. But he'd been murdered. So it must have been
possible for me to die as well. Maybe I would drown. I prayed that death came soon as I thought of
Charles and waited for Charon's icy grip to pull me from the ocean and into his river.

In this watery womb, my aqueous tomb, I could dream of Charles until death came to collect me. It
was as close to Heaven as I would ever come.

In dreams, I slept, waiting. But death never came. I despaired, stuck in this eternal quagmire.

That is until one day I felt two warm, solid arms pulling me out of my murky grave. I wasn't entirely
certain just how long I had been there, but it had been long enough for me to forget just how to move
my limbs. But they soon recovered, and when I opened my eyes I looked into the eyes of my rescuer.

It was the first time I'd seen him since the garden in the governess' estate. It would be the first time he
put his arms around me and carried me to safety, but not the last. For in this man, who had been sent to
find and kill me, I instead found a guardian.

His name was Charles Whyte, and we were about to change the future of the entire world, both human
and demon alike.

We, the dreams. We, the immortal. We, the undying.

To be continued...

'Ms. Shepherd, the Nightmares have returned.'
I looked up from the book I'd been skimming through as my loyal servant, Mr. Gryce, stepped into my
study. I rose, adjusting my gown. Mr. Gryce stepped aside, and two of my trusted guards escorted a
very irate looking individual into the room.

'Presenting Mr. Charles Whyte,' said Gryce.

This Charles wasn't nearly as intimidating as his reputation made him out to be. He was much shorter
than I'd expected, mere inches taller than I was. I could smell the liquor on his breath, a strong
bourbon mingled with traces of oak and sweet aromas. He looked at the two black-clad, rifle-toting
guards, my Nightmares, at his side and then his eyes focused on me.

'Please, leave us,' I said. I nodded to the Nightmares and to Gryce. The Nightmares shrugged and
strutted out without a care. Gryce, however, seemed a bit more reluctant to leave me alone with this
vagabond that I'd worked so exhaustively to find.

'It's all right, Mr. Gryce, he won't hurt me,' I assured him.

'I'll be right outside if you need me, Ms. Shepherd.'

Mr. Gryce closed the doors behind him. Whyte smirked and raised an incredulous brow.

'You're pretty confident that I won't hurt you, miss,' he said. He waltzed up to my desk as I walked
around to meet him. 'I assume this kidnapping business is your doing.'

'Yes, I had my soldiers follow you, study your habits,' I said.

'And after all of this, you're still confident that I won't harm you?' He laughed.

'Yes, I am. You're predictable, and I minimize risk wherever I can.' I poured him a glass of whiskey
and handed it to him as a peace offering. 'If I wasn't confident that you wouldn't harm me, we wouldn't
be having this conversation.'

He accepted that answer for what it was and took the glass from my hand. He swallowed the drink in
one swig and sat the glass onto my desk.

'So what is it that you want of me? Do I owe you money?' He asked.

'I have money,' I said.

'Ah, well... If it's pleasure you're after, I'm sure we can negotiate a fair price for the both of us,' he
said with a wicked grin.

'The pleasure I'm after can't be found in you, I assure you,' I said. He found my scornful answer
amusing, but I didn't waste any time begrudging his rude demeanor. 'However, I believe that you can
help me find that pleasure. And if you're quite finished being a horse's ass, to be blunt, then we can
move onto business.'

'All you had to do was say the word money and I'd have put on my business face, ma'am,' he said. He
helped himself to the crystal decanter of whiskey on my desk, drinking right from the bottle rather than
pouring himself a serving. 'So what is it you think I can do for you? It must be something important if I
had to be dragged out of the pub against my will.'

'I've been told that you were once a well sought hunter,' I said.

'If it's procuring you're after, I no longer taking on dirty work for rich hellions who don't want to get
their hands bloody.'

'What I want you to hunt for me is less lively and much older,' I said.

I drifted right up to his side and took the decanter from his hand, setting it back onto the desk. I stared
right into his eyes, drooping and bloodshot from his drunken binges. Had his reputation as a hunter not
been so esteemed among those of our kind with power, I would have sent him out of my sight. But as
it was, I needed someone whose reputation didn't involve risky behaviors and numerous failures. I ran
a finger down his chest, trailing down the groves of lean muscles I could feel through the shirt, which
captured his full attention.

'I need you to find someone for me - a certain immortal who prefers to remain in hiding,' I said.

'Why don't you have your lackeys find this immortal for you? They tracked me down well enough,' he
said, picking up the whiskey and brushing past me.

'Because well-enough is not going to find Pontius,' I said.

His head whipped around, eyes fixed on my satin-draped frame.

'You're bloody insane,' he said. 'That's not tracking an immortal, that's tracking an ancient - a
particularly dangerous ancient who tried to have our kind eradicated, in case you didn't know!'

'I'm well versed in the history of the damned,' I said. 'Pontius, the first progeny of the All-Father. As
the story goes, he was imprisoned for his crimes, somewhere no one would ever think to look for
him... And unfortunately for me, that's as far as my resources can get me. But you have certain gifts
that can find him for me - if he still exists, which I'm not entirely convinced that he does.'

'Then you'll understand why I won't be going anywhere near him. I certainly won't be trying to make
him go anywhere he doesn't want to,' said Whyte.

'You don't have you make him do anything, you simply have to find him for me,' I said. I looked up
into his eyes and held his gaze with mine, locked him into my entrancing stare. 'If I am wrong and you
do find this ancient, you don't have to speak to him, you don't have to engage him - you will do nothing
but report back to me and disclose his location. My men and I will take over from there and you will
walk away with more money than you'll know what to with.'

He tossed around the idea in his head as he emptied the decanter and sat it on the nearest bookshelf.

'I only have to find him?' He asked. 'I won't have to lead you to him or anything after I've found
wherever he's hiding?'

'I give you my word,' I said.

'What's he to you?'

'He happens to be the maker of a man who died many years ago; a man with whom I have unfinished
business,' I said. 'Only a maker can bring one of us back from the dead. It's what makes us truly
immortal.'

'I'm guessing you and this bloke didn't exactly get along,' he said.

'He killed my family,' I said. I balled my fists and fought against the rage that began roaring within me.
'He made me what I am.'

'Why bring him back to life, then? Shouldn't his death be enough to make you happy?'

'If I didn't need him, it would make me very happy. And once our business has been concluded, I will
put his dead body to rest in a place that even his maker won't be able to resurrect him if he wanted to.
But before I can make him suffer, I need him to do something for me...'

I drifted around my desk and took my seat, leaning back in the chair and staring into his debating face.

'Do you want the money or not?' I asked.

'I get by on the money I have; but there is something else you can bargain with,' he said.

'Which is?' I groaned, annoyed, and looked down at the pages of my book. Everyone always wanted
to haggle, wanted something valuable. They wanted notoriety, or power.

'I want your word,' he said. He walked up to my desk and leaned his body against it, hands on the
surface and shoulders squared. 'I want your word that, should I find this ancient, you will introduce
me to the Sovereign.'

I looked up from my book. This had most certainly captured my interest.

'What makes you think that I know the Sovereign?'

'Because I know who you are, Mary Shepherd, and I know about your past,' he said. 'I also knew your
sister, and I know why you want Pontius to bring Charles Abberdean back from the dead.'

'Then maybe you know too much,' I said.

'Perhaps... But I also understand how important this is to you. How long will it take you to find
another hunter with my talents? Two, three decades? A century?' He sat on the edge of my desk and
that cocky half-smirk returned. I didn't like it. 'What is one little audience compared to having all of
your desires realized?'

'If you find Pontius, your reward will be in currency,' I said.

At that, he grunted irritably and stood up, heading for the door.

'But if you find Pontius and convince him to come to me, then I will give you your audience with the
Sovereign.'

Whyte sauntered right up to my desk and placed his hands on his hips.

'Oh, I'll bring you your ancient Maker; just make sure that you can keep up your half of the deal,' he
said.

'I'll deliver on my promise when I have my ancient.'

He held out his hand, and I slipped my fingers into his rough palm, shaking on the agreement.

I knew that what I was doing was incredibly stupid. The chance of Pontius ripping out both mine and
Whyte's throats was far greater than him helping me. But my strong desires clouded my better
judgment. I was doing this for vengeance, to give Charles Abberdean everything that he had coming to
him after what he did to my mother. But most of all, I was doing this for my sister.

I would bring Charles Abberdean back from hell if it meant that I could have my sister back again.