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I've deleted a couple names to reduce the knowing-too-much factor, so hopefully that helps. Keep it OOC--I do miss being able to do Death Posts and couldn't resist penning this one, even if I'm severely limited in who I can send it to. See, while the post contains no true details, there are still characters who don't know she's dead...
The Soul of a Child
(With apologies to Ambrose Bierce--the fleeting last thoughts of a ghoul)
A song playing, somewhere in the distance:
You kiss me
With your kiss my life begins
You're spring to me
All things to me
You're life itself
(Wild is the Wind)
Idiot worthless bodyguards, backing off at the slightest threat. Don't they know? 9/11 changed all the rules.
They don't fear him. This will have to change.
She rolled out of the car when she felt it stop at the traffic light, sparing just a second to peek out of the corner of her eye. Witnesses. Good. It would stop him from using his powers to bring her back in. She ran. She ran like the devil was chasing her. Somehow, was it the shadows or had the Dragon's lessons finally worked? Somehow she vanished out of his sight; he looked right at her and did not see her. She held her position until daylight, listening to the chatter of dogs and morning birds and even alley cats for a sign, any sign, that one of the family had come looking for her. This morning though all they would do was chatter.
She walked through the sprawling suburbia knowing that her Saturday night dress would look odd on a Sunday morning. No phone, no wallet, no change of clothes. She was a fugitive, and there was only one place to go. She found a phone book and got the address of a battered womens' shelter. It was a long walk, but short of meddling Dragons she had time.
She'd made friends there, well-meaning friends. They'd heard of Pale so she wrapped her story around that, keeping the masquerade. They didn't believe her, clearly. They'd heard too many lies, too many fabrications, and they kept her there gently hoping for the truth. (Her regnant's brother) became (pseudonym), not a vampire but a drug dealer. She hoped he'd approve. (Regnant) became Henry, a variant on henwyr, her old affectionate name for him, "old man" in her native Welsh. Her friends asked a lot about him, but it was hard to tell them.
Then Sherman's army came marching, the lack of vitae began by crawling and soon became scratches. It was different this time--the last time she'd starved out it was an all over pain. This was more localized, like ropes binding at her limbs, blades slipping through her torso. There was no denying it. She pleaded to go back but instead they offered methadone, which might as well have been aspirin for all the good it did. Lies would mean nothing if she aged before their eyes.
Yet somehow she didn't, and the hunger passed like a storm. She was fine. She was free. She hated vampires more than ever, the lie they'd told to keep her in line. (First regnant's) conditioning began to slip too, and memories came back. She'd had a father, dark-haired and brown-eyed, adoring, protective. The twin sister was real, and they'd been close until the sister was Embraced. But more than this her father had been the son of a ghoul who'd walked away from it, who'd fought all his life to give his daughters their freedom.
And yet somehow she still loved (Regnant). She saw his mourning that even he did not see. When she got back there'd be changes. She sent the package to (Brother's ghoul, and friend) with half-truths for instructions, carved the code on the crochet hook, and went back to (the) Tower. She let herself in and locked the place down.
When (Regnant) awoke she greeted him with as much warmth as he'd allow which was never, ever enough, then told him what he had to do. She'd trapped him in his own tower, had all the codes and keys, could duplicate the signet. She would run the family, ghostwrite it, until he could convince her that he could take the reins. She could do it, easily, impersonate the master. She would lead her beloved (Regnant's family) back to glory, her regnant at the head, unity, strength...honor, discipline, ferocity. The world would fear the (Regnant's family) again, ensuring no one else would dare take her again. She would save her own life, and the glory of that family she had chosen, because her own family was so long dead.
(Regnant) was furious. It was a gamble--could she tell him about the codes before he frenzied? No matter, he'd figure it out or be locked in his Tower forever. He had to know that......but a Beast can't be bargained with, and she was a minute too late. He felt his claws slice into her, and even as she tried to escape she knew bliss. It was one thing to die alone as a stranger's captive, quite another to die at the hand of your beloved. He'd starved her for his voice, his attention, but she would have his wrath. His beautiful (killer)'s hands. And she did.
She didn't expect St. Peter to be Jewish, but it made sense. She was torn...this was Heaven, that couldn't be right. "But I killed children." "No dear, you took dying children and gave them some happiness. Is the Kiss not a kind death?" "But I served vampires." "To do otherwise was suicide, and you know that's a sin." "But I loved demons, loved them because they were evil." "You loved the unworthy, as God does." "But I was a bi----!" "You stood up for yourself; how rare is that?" And St. Peter shushed her, and would accept no objections. Still, she had one more.
"I won't see them again, since they're going to Hell."
"I've thought of that too dear." And with this he showed her to her rest, to the farm where her father was reunited with his wife, her mother, in a world without vampires. He promised her he could watch over her (Regnant's family) if she still wanted to, and then took her in his arms, pushed her hair back from her face, and held her until she found peaceful sleep, so very long denied.
They don't fear him. This will have to change.
She rolled out of the car when she felt it stop at the traffic light, sparing just a second to peek out of the corner of her eye. Witnesses. Good. It would stop him from using his powers to bring her back in. She ran. She ran like the devil was chasing her. Somehow, was it the shadows or had the Dragon's lessons finally worked? Somehow she vanished out of his sight; he looked right at her and did not see her. She held her position until daylight, listening to the chatter of dogs and morning birds and even alley cats for a sign, any sign, that one of the family had come looking for her. This morning though all they would do was chatter.
She walked through the sprawling suburbia knowing that her Saturday night dress would look odd on a Sunday morning. No phone, no wallet, no change of clothes. She was a fugitive, and there was only one place to go. She found a phone book and got the address of a battered womens' shelter. It was a long walk, but short of meddling Dragons she had time.
She'd made friends there, well-meaning friends. They'd heard of Pale so she wrapped her story around that, keeping the masquerade. They didn't believe her, clearly. They'd heard too many lies, too many fabrications, and they kept her there gently hoping for the truth. (Her regnant's brother) became (pseudonym), not a vampire but a drug dealer. She hoped he'd approve. (Regnant) became Henry, a variant on henwyr, her old affectionate name for him, "old man" in her native Welsh. Her friends asked a lot about him, but it was hard to tell them.
Then Sherman's army came marching, the lack of vitae began by crawling and soon became scratches. It was different this time--the last time she'd starved out it was an all over pain. This was more localized, like ropes binding at her limbs, blades slipping through her torso. There was no denying it. She pleaded to go back but instead they offered methadone, which might as well have been aspirin for all the good it did. Lies would mean nothing if she aged before their eyes.
Yet somehow she didn't, and the hunger passed like a storm. She was fine. She was free. She hated vampires more than ever, the lie they'd told to keep her in line. (First regnant's) conditioning began to slip too, and memories came back. She'd had a father, dark-haired and brown-eyed, adoring, protective. The twin sister was real, and they'd been close until the sister was Embraced. But more than this her father had been the son of a ghoul who'd walked away from it, who'd fought all his life to give his daughters their freedom.
And yet somehow she still loved (Regnant). She saw his mourning that even he did not see. When she got back there'd be changes. She sent the package to (Brother's ghoul, and friend) with half-truths for instructions, carved the code on the crochet hook, and went back to (the) Tower. She let herself in and locked the place down.
When (Regnant) awoke she greeted him with as much warmth as he'd allow which was never, ever enough, then told him what he had to do. She'd trapped him in his own tower, had all the codes and keys, could duplicate the signet. She would run the family, ghostwrite it, until he could convince her that he could take the reins. She could do it, easily, impersonate the master. She would lead her beloved (Regnant's family) back to glory, her regnant at the head, unity, strength...honor, discipline, ferocity. The world would fear the (Regnant's family) again, ensuring no one else would dare take her again. She would save her own life, and the glory of that family she had chosen, because her own family was so long dead.
(Regnant) was furious. It was a gamble--could she tell him about the codes before he frenzied? No matter, he'd figure it out or be locked in his Tower forever. He had to know that......but a Beast can't be bargained with, and she was a minute too late. He felt his claws slice into her, and even as she tried to escape she knew bliss. It was one thing to die alone as a stranger's captive, quite another to die at the hand of your beloved. He'd starved her for his voice, his attention, but she would have his wrath. His beautiful (killer)'s hands. And she did.
She didn't expect St. Peter to be Jewish, but it made sense. She was torn...this was Heaven, that couldn't be right. "But I killed children." "No dear, you took dying children and gave them some happiness. Is the Kiss not a kind death?" "But I served vampires." "To do otherwise was suicide, and you know that's a sin." "But I loved demons, loved them because they were evil." "You loved the unworthy, as God does." "But I was a bi----!" "You stood up for yourself; how rare is that?" And St. Peter shushed her, and would accept no objections. Still, she had one more.
"I won't see them again, since they're going to Hell."
"I've thought of that too dear." And with this he showed her to her rest, to the farm where her father was reunited with his wife, her mother, in a world without vampires. He promised her he could watch over her (Regnant's family) if she still wanted to, and then took her in his arms, pushed her hair back from her face, and held her until she found peaceful sleep, so very long denied.
Her green eyes turned skyward, open, unafraid of the gaze they met.
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