Name: Daniella Greyson Occupation: Owner Bone and Thistle Age: 678 Sexuality: Lesbian Species: Vampire Hometown: ÄŒachtice, Slovakia Relationship Status: Single Personality Traits: Dismissive, critical, protective, loyal, generous
The story was meant to begin in 1346, born to two immigrants traveling west for a better life. Their small daughter would be fed, their son would be fed. A better life? Yeah that was rich. Her life, the true life, won't begin until the winter of 1448, forever 25 and finally free of 77 years of servitude to a monster. Traded for a sizeable amount of coin the track the Baron's castle upon the hill had seemed like a new venture, it would be hard work, but she could manage it.
He was reclusive, only surfacing to walk the grounds at night, a cruel man. She wouldn't catch his eye at first, but once she had it seemed her job would only become more grueling. As if he were pushing. As if he were testing limits. The night he requests her to his table, the memory is locked away. Her death, her transformation. The beginning of the true horror.
The blood maidens, that was what he called them, that was what she was now. There was no running, the sun would be her end. Chained deep within the cellars, fed the poor, forced to gorge. To fill themselves near bursting until the life seeped from their victim. Then bled just upon the cusp of desiccation before being locked away. He says the blood from their kind, secondhand, is the way he liked it best. They were his to use as he pleased. And thus it goes she never ages, she never sees light. Eyes adjusted to the never ending darkness until that faithful winter's day.
The castle is stormed, by whom she never has known, they shout and clash. Daniella thrashes and fights against the chains that bind her. Weak from lack of food. It's when she hears the rasp of a stuttered breath, focusing on a weakened heartbeat. The boy is young, she hesitates, and then she is on him. She'll beg for forgiveness later. The last dregs of his blood is just enough. She stows away in the dark, leaves the others behind, her sole focus is herself. The sewers is where she finds herself. Covered in muck, disgusting, reeking. But it is safety, it is freedom. She can hear as the hounds ravage, as the men shout and destroy. 'Good let them die…' she thinks to herself. At nightfall she pulls herself out, weak and disoriented. It's the first time she's felt fresh air on her face in what feels like ages. In what has been decades. No mother. No father. No home. A beast finally free, but forever cursed.
Time feels sluggish and altogether too fast, she feeds the way she knows at first, but with bodies comes suspicions. And the thoughts of cruelty. Thoughts of rasping breath from a dying boy. So she finds alternatives. Cattle, sheep, rats. Anything to quench the thirst.
She travels far, hiding in inns and dilapidated forgotten places in the day and picking through roads and fields in the night. The night she imagines is cold when the old woman finds her, huddled against a stable, drinking from a bull with strong hands. She says nothing of the sight of her, but beckons her to follow. This is the first witch she meets. A kind old woman lost of family and coven. She isn't disgusted by the blonde's appearance. Of her nature. She bathes her, clothes her properly and offers shelter for the days. In return she only asks her help. With chores, with business. It's simple enough and the vampire learns. They are companions the old woman tells her. And on her death bed she makes her final request. An old tome, a grimoire of a family now dying. Take it and keep it safe.
When she leaves the next night after giving her dear friend a proper burial it is with new knowledge and new purpose. From town to town she goes, cities and countries. Woman after woman, witches young and old. She learns and helps and grows. Taking their histories with her in passing, building her collection.
The trials become a reality though, witches are being killed and she feels as if the world itself is burning. Covens are collapsing, no one is safe. She tries to keep herself scarce, tries to help those accused safe. They call themselves The Brotherhood. Claim themselves noble and Godly. Speak of cleansing the wicked. Murders are what they are. Cruel men set out to take what they want by force. And if they don't get it? Death. It breaks her undead heart. Leaving is harder this time, abandoning those who have raised her. But she must survive, her life, even false, was worth living. She doesn't turn back and when talks of a new land across ocean is spoken of she seizes the opportunity.
The Colonies are so vastly different, surrounded by wild land, that it's both simple and difficult to move about. It is smaller here and harder to hide, but she knows the way of those that taught her and eventually settles far at the edge of town, there is yet talk of witchcraft here and the Hunters as they call themself seem nowhere in sight. It'll be long before a soul finds her and this one meeting will throw her into a final tailspin.
Emily, her dear Emily. A witch with a coven and a name and eyes that dance with a light so addicting the vampire can't help but be drawn forth. Their building is slow at first, the witch comes first to sell to the one the village warns about. The daughter of a blacksmith, a witch of greenery. Her coven stretches back further than she says she knows, Ironwood, Her family titled with the surname Mors. She feels a bond grow. The witch slipping into her home each night, bringing her trinkets and jewelry, she says they are warded and in exchange the blonde shares her tomes. Teaches her of the centuries of knowledge she's learned in her travels. The connection grows rapidly.
As the years tick by and Emily grows Daniella becomes entangled with the rest of the family, with the coven. With Emily's word they seem to welcome her and she is loyal to them. It feels like this is where she belongs.
When her witch comes to her it's in the peak of summer, she has done something forbidden, a tome sworn to protection, there is no sign of who it belongs to, but the coven will notice. They flee in the night, cart full of anything the vampire can carry and the books of her past. They don't make it far. Hunters, sent by an angered beast of a coven. She fights, she struggles, she kills. But it isn't enough, even as her teeth tear through the last shreds of sinew of a man's throat Emily lets out a rasped breath. She's at her side, she cradles her close, tries to make her drink from her own wrist but the witch refuses. It feels like if she has a soul it is being ripped from its very seams.
On dying breath, a last command. "Take them, take the books and run, never be found. Take the grimoire and don't let them find you."
And thus it goes, constantly on the move, ever traveling, her tomes all stored away in safety save the two she keeps with her always, Emily's and the one by an unknown author. The draw to Port Liery had felt confusing, She had been meaning to leave the country again. Instead she finds herself in the city. Finds herself settling and sending for her legacy and building a home in the gloom of the North West.
