phoenyxashes

"Ah, yes. There it is. Would you like to wake Ana while I get Toby?" Before she can even finish her sentence, Gwen is jumping off the bed and racing down the hall as fast as her little legs will carry her, her dark brown mess of hair flying behind her. "Be careful!" Ophelia yells, knowing it's in vain. Gwenevere is a hyperactive little one and no amount of bruises and scraped knees have ever stopped her from running through the house before. It certainly won't now.

Ophelia sits up, pulling off the bonnet that kept her fiery red curls from becoming too unruly in the night. She slides her cold feet into her slippers before opening the window, letting her ivory skin bask in the warm rays of morning, and then making her way to the opposite end of the hall than Gwen had gone.

Creaking open the door, Ophelia sees a large lump still buried under the blankets, only a sliver of sun peeking through the curtains. She gently sits at the edge of the bed, soothingly rubbing her hand over the top of the lump.

"Toby? It's time to wake up, sunshine," she speaks even more softly than she had to the toddler. The lump of blankets shifts as something pops out from under the covers. A mess of brown curls with two sparkling brown eyes peering through the locks. "There's my boy. Did you sleep well?" Tobias nods, still with half his face under the covers.

Ophelia eases the blanket down, just enough that he's uncovered to about his chest, and stands from the bed to open his curtains. Not before looking back to make sure he's ready for the intense change in lighting. He gives her a thumbs up and she opens them, allowing the warm sunlight of early morning to flood the room.

"There we are! Now, I'm going to get myself and the girls ready. First, we'll drop Ana off at school, then Gwenny will be coming with me to do some shopping in town square. Would you rather stay here on your own" Ophelia holds up one finger "or come with me today?" she holds up another. Tobias appears to think through both options thoroughly before holding up two fingers, and Ophelia grins. "Shopping with me it is then. Get ready, I'll meet you downstairs when everyone is ready."

Ophelia returns to her room to get dressed for the day as well. A simple white undershirt, 3/4 sleeves, a forest green skirt, and light brown bodice. Tying her long curls back with a green ribbon, she makes her way downstairs, where she's met with the all-too familiar scene of her mother struggling to get Gwenevere to sit still for breakfast.

"Oh, Ophelia! There you are. I truly don't know how you handle this... this devil's child!" Her mother slams the bowl and spoon onto the table, already frustrated with the children and it's hardly a few minutes into the morning.

"Well, for starters, I don't call her the 'devil's child'. She's yours. Same as Anastasia. Same as Tobias. Same as I," Ophelia scoops up the toddler that's sprinting around the dining table and sits down, holding the child on her lap. "Eat up, Gwenny. Then we'll go out for a bit. How's that sound?" She gently combs her fingers through her sisters hair as she eats.

"Yes, but you and Anastasia were always so easy. Never fussed or misbehaved. You two are gifts from God himself. Tobias doesn't do much of anything, cursed boy. Must be some sort of witchcraft or devilry that makes him-" She spits Tobias' name like it's venom, causing Ophelia, ever the protective sister, to become more angry.

"Just leave, Mother. We all know you'd rather be anywhere but raising your children anyways."

"Excuse you, young lady, but did I not raise you? And look, you turned out wonderful," Mother cups her eldest daughter's cheek, which would be a loving gesture from anyone else. It only disgusts Ophelia. "Smart, kind, nurturing. You'll make a great-"

"You know I don't want that!" she snaps, slapping Mother's hand away, causing the small girl in her arms to flinch. Ophelia desperately wishes her mother didn't know how to get under her skin so well. "Just go already. Please."

Mother grabs her bible from the counter and slams the door on her way out, causing both Ophelia and Gwenevere to flinch. Ophelia takes a moment to breath and calm herself when she hears sniffles and the labored breathing of the youngest.

"Oh, Gwenny, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled," Ophelia says, rocking lightly and hugging the toddler tight to her chest, knowing the pressure helps calm her faster. "Just match my breaths sweetheart. There you go, good job."

The two sit just like that for a few more minutes until Anastasia and Tobias come down the stairs. Ana motions toward the door with a questioning look on her face, silently asking if she should walk to school on her own. Ophelia gestures for her to wait.

"Hey, Gwenny?" she asks, looking down at the girl still curled up tight in her lap. "Do you still want to drop Ana off with me?" Gwen pauses for a moment before responding with a very small nod. "Okay, do you want me to carry you or do you want to hold hands like last time?" Ophelia feels Gwen cling tighter at the offer of the second option. "Carry, then. Not a problem," she stands and shifts the toddler to rest on her hip before turning to Ana and Toby. "Ana, you have everything you need for school?"

Anastasia only nods, tears having gathered in her eyes. But she doesn't let them fall. She only grasps her brothers hand tighter and opens the door for them all to depart.

The four make their way through town to the schoolhouse. Ana and Toby's hands remain tightly entwined the entire walk; she knows he doesn't care for soft touch. He needs pressure. Ophelia walks a few paces behind them so she can better keep an eye on the pair. Gwenevere is perched on her hip, thumb in mouth and head resting on Ophelia's shoulder. The events of the morning tired the poor girl out. It would likely be an earlier nap time today.

Arriving at the school, Ana gives one last squeeze to Tobias's hand before letting go. She turns to her sisters, Ophelia already kneeling down to be closer to Ana's height. Ana kisses each of her sisters on the cheek and Ophelia returns the affectionate gesture.

"I'll be by later to walk home with you," Ophelia says, rubbing her right hand soothingly on Ana's arm.

"You don't have to," she replies. "I'll be alright on my own. You stay with Toby and Gwenny." Anastasia walks into the schoolhouse before Ophelia has a chance to protest, though she wouldn't have anyways. She knows that once Ana has decided to do anything on her own, there's no changing her mind. Not without making her feel like she's viewed as incapable or a burden. Ophelia would never want her sister to feel that way.

After finishing the shopping for the day, Ophelia, Gwen, and Toby return home. Exhaustion overtakes Gwen and she has no issues going down for a nap the moment she lies in bed. Ophelia takes advantage of the quiet to teach Tobias to read and write. His inability to speak means he was never given the same privilege of education as Ophelia, and now Anastasia. Though Ophelia had to abandon her education to take care of her siblings, she still makes it a point to practice her literacy, in part by helping Tobias learn outside of a formal educational setting.

When Gwen wakes up, she stumbles down the hall to join her siblings, groggily crawling into Ophelia's lap. She listens to Ophelia read an old faerie tale, Tobias' finger gliding across the page guides her words.

Anastasia arrives home around supper time, as is typical, and has to dodge the toddler racing around the house to make it to Ophelia.

"Can I help?" she asks simply, always looking for a way to be useful. Ophelia places a soft kiss on the top of her head.

"No need, sweetheart. A few more minutes on the stove and it should be ready." Ophelia notices Ana's expression fall. "But, you know what you can do?"

"What?" Ana's eyes light up again in anticipation of the opportunity to help her sister.

"I need to go out for a bit. Can you handle getting Gwenny to eat supper tonight?" A little white lie wouldn't hurt, would it? Ophelia doesn't need to go out, but she would like an hour or two to herself today.

"Yes!" she exclaims, though embarrassed about her excitement at such a seemingly small task she quickly adjusts her volume and tone. "I can. How long will you be out?"

Ophelia smiles fondly, grateful for even the briefest glimpse of happiness from Ana. "I won't be long, I'll be back in time to put you all to bed later." Ophelia grabs her small bag, containing only a book and a thin blanket. She kneels down, now below Ana's level, her voice and tone becoming heavy, but quiet so the others don't hear. "Remember, if Mother comes home before me, get upstairs with Gwenny and Toby right away. Don't speak to her unless you have to and if you do, keep it short."

"I know," Ana whispers, wrapping her arms around her sister. "We'll stay safe. You'd better, too."

She stumbles out of the bedroom and into a long corridor, completely devoid of any light. No windows or lit candles lining the walls. Making her way through the labyrinthine passages, the aches in her body never having subsided and the hunger slowly returning. She just needs to get out but each hallway or staircase only seems to reveal more of the house. Never an exit.

Until she comes to a large set of double doors. Ornate carvings cover the wood top to bottom. She reaches for the silver handle. It burns her skin on contact, resulting in no more than a wince as she tugs the heavy door open.

Cassandra is greeted by the fading light of day. The sun, no longer visible in the sky, leaves only thin stripes of pink and violet on the horizon. Just off the path leading to the house, she finds the carriage driver leading his horse to the stables. She storms over, grabs him by the throat, and lifts him into the air. Cassandra stares into the eyes of this weak human as she holds his life in her hands.

"Take me home," she demands. The man's eyes glaze over with a slightly pink glow. Cassandra releases him, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he climbs back to his seat at the front of the carriage. The driver stares straight forward and waits for her to climb inside. The entire ride, she can hear his heart pumping, blood pulsing and reverberating in her skull. It's painful, her hunger steadily returns, but she contains herself. She has to get home.

When they arrive, Cassandra gets out of the carriage and looks back to the driver. He holds his head and slowly looks over at her, no longer with the pink-tinged, cloudy gaze he had when they left. He now looks terrified and before Cassandra can do anything else, he speeds away as fast as he can. Cassandra turns back to the small, run down cottage she once called home. Clutching the edge of her skirt, a million thoughts race through her mind What will they think of her? Will they be happy? Will they try to send her back? Can she even call this her home anymore? Nevertheless, she knocks.

The door opens and her mother is standing there. Her mom immediately puts a hand over her mouth, tears start streaming down her cheeks. "Cassie?" she asks, sounding unsure.

Cassandra throws herself into her mom's arms and sobs with relief, her eyes screwed shut as if when she opens them, she may find herself waking up in that horrid bed again.

"Oh, my baby, what happened to you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so-" her mother's frantic apologies are cut short as she feels a sharp pain in her shoulder.

As happy as Cassandra had been to see her mother again, the fledgling's hunger consumes her. She cries as she drinks, feeling her mother slowly go limp in her arms as the blood slides down her throat. Cassandra sinks to the ground, still holding onto her mother. She pulls her fangs away.

"Mama?" she whispers. The woman doesn't answer. Cassandra hears her heart beat for the last time. She hugs her mother close and just screams. As loud as her body will allow.

"Charity? Is that... you?" Cassandra's father comes around the corner. Frozen in terror at the sight of his wife, pale as a ghost, lifeless on the floor, and his daughter hunched over her with blood spilling from her eyes and mouth. Before she can think, Cassandra has him pinned to the wall so violently a framed family photo crashes and shatters on the floor. Cassandra doesn't- no- can't care and drains him dry, too.

Now full, and more clear headed, she fully realizes what she's done. More bloody tears and screaming follow. The girl collapses to the floor again. "They can't die, they can't." Her fists pound at her skull. "Think! Think! Think!" Each chant emphasized with a punch.

Cassandra looks at her mother's lifeless body and is struck with an idea. Crawling over and kneeling next to her, Cassandra grabs a piece of the broken picture frame, slices open her wrist, and lets the blood drip into her mothers parted lips. She doesn't know how much it takes, but eventually moves over to her father's body, slits her other wrist and does the same with him. They remain lifeless on the floor, but she remembers passing out when she was turned.

Cassandra stands on shaking legs and makes her way to the door. They'll need something to eat when they wake up and, though she doesn't know how long it will take, she doesn't want them hungry for long. Not like she was. Cassandra returns home a while later, just before sunrise, with a few rabbits she'd caught. She places one rabbit by each of her parents before pulling all the curtains in the house closed and going to sleep on the couch.

Once the carriage was out of sight of her parents' small home, the man attacked. Latching onto her neck, he began drinking. Cassandra could feel her blood being drained from her body, numbness crept up her limbs, from her fingers and toes, up her arms and legs, her eyelids felt heavier and heavier. But just before she blacked out, he pulled away and sliced his own hand open with a small blade he'd stashed in his pocket. He put his hand over her mouth, positioning it just right so the cut dripped crimson blood onto her rosy lips.

"Drink, child. Can't have you dying on me yet."

And she did. She had no other choice. It was either listen to this man and drink or die. She drank as much as he allowed before he pulled his hand away with a hiss.

"Rest. And when you wake, we'll have much to discuss."

Cassandra listens, though again not by choice, she simply couldn't find the strength to keep her eyes open any longer.

Cassandra wakes up in a bed softer than any she's ever known, thought far too cold. She feels like she should be shivering, despite the weight of the high-quality blankets and sheets that cover her up to her chest. The side of her neck is sore from where blood had poured out of her. How long ago had that been? Hours? Days? Regardless, her whole body aches, most of all her neck and stomach. Slowly, she opens her eyes, only for the dim lighting of the room to burn her too sensitive retinas. Cassandra squints for a few moments, allowing her eyes to adjust. They were never this sensitive before, were they? The room is illuminated with candles on the walls and on the edge of the large bed sits him. Her attacker. Her maker.

From his clean and dapper appearance, one would never guess him willing or capable of sullying his own hands. The perfectly tailored crimson suit, his dark hair streaked with sparkling silver combed back, leaving not a hair out of place. Noticing she’s conscious, his gaze meets hers and he flashes an unsettling smile, displaying his sharp fangs. Last she remembered, they’d been pierced deep into her flesh. His voice cuts through the air like a butcher’s knife. 

"I see you're awake. How do you feel, fledgling?" Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound causes her to flinch, tearing her eyes away from the man. Is he even a man? Or is he something far more monstrous? A wretched thing, really.

“Hurts,” she responds simply, sitting up and clutching her stomach. Each second that passes, the pain intensifies and she feels her mind slipping away. She still cannot bring herself to meet his piercing gaze, and opts to instead focus on the blankets draped over her lower half.

He reaches out to cup her cheek, turning her head back toward him. “Yes, it will.” Faux pity weighs heavy on each word. She remembers the hand on her cheek. It’s the same one he’d sliced open, he’d forced her to drink the blood spilling from the wound before she passed out. It had been a deep cut, but now there’s not so much as a scar left. His skin perfectly knit itself back together, leaving no trace of what had transpired. However, the pain in her neck is enough for her to know the whole event wasn’t some horrible hallucination. “I can fix that,” he says. “The pain. I can make it all go away.” He tilts her head up so she’ll finally look at him properly.

"Hurts," she growls with an animalistic rage Cassandra didn't think herself capable of until now as her mind and sanity slip further from her grasp. The frustration carves itself into each wrinkle on his forehead, the crease between his brows.

"Yes, you already said tha-" the man starts, sounding annoyed, but he's cut off by Cassandra grabbing his arm and biting down, tearing through both cloth and flesh, and gorging herself on his blood.

"Ungrateful rat! Let go!" He uses his free arm to shove her head back, a futile attempt to get her to release. But she holds on, like a Cane Corso trained to hunt and protect, using all its strength and bite force against its target.

The man had made the fatal mistake many sires make of underestimating his fledgling's strength. Though young and often starving, a young vampire's strength is not to be tested. They are not yet accustomed to their new powers and are unable to control them, often using one hundred percent of their new strength with every movement.

He grows weaker as she steadily gulps all the blood she can get from his arm. Growing tired of his useless flailing and pounding on her head and back, Cassandra easily throws the man to the ground, positioning herself on top of him before biting into his neck. She can hear what’s left of his blood slowly pumping through his veins, causing her mouth to water and providing a harsh reminder of the pain in her stomach that has yet to subside. Her fangs pierce his throat and she drinks with the same ferocity and apathy he’d shown her, sinking deeper with each gulp. The blood is cold and bitter, not at all appetizing or enough to satisfy Cassandra's overwhelming hunger. She drains him of every drop, leaving him a haunting, sunken, skeletal thing on the floor.