Made in Death's Image

Thank you so much to Captain Andrews for helping me write this story. Without her help I don't know how long it would've taken me to get to this point. Their patience is immeasurable.

This is another story part of my connected fantasy world.

All persons in this narrative that are sexually involved are all older than 18 years of age. Any likeness to a real life individual is merely coincidence.

PROLOGUE

"He is your future husband,"...

Somewhere in the western most territories of the United States, in the summer of 1858.

There was a warm breeze that danced over Gracelyn. It had been a normal day for her, normal as any day of the other days. She had just turned sixteen a month ago, and her father had purchased her a young Colt for his daughter's birthday. However, it seemed she had been cursed on that day.

A week later the Colt had died from a coyote attack. It's belly was torn open brutally. She still remembers seeing the entrails steam in the cold early morning air.

Two weeks later, their rain catcher had been infected by toads. The water stank of death and shit.

Three weeks later their farm was damaged heavily from a tornado. Her father had taken her and thrown her into the cellar before jumping in after her. She couldn't sleep through the horrid howling of the wind. Her father's muttered prayers were a terrifying symphony under it all.

Now, four weeks later their cow and two chickens had mysteriously died in the night. Her father, William was at his limit with one disaster after another. He was torn inside. He loved his daughter very much and yet now it seemed her coming of age had been cursed. How could he possibly continue to care for her in these conditions? How could he continue to even feed her and himself? It would be best she'd be wed soon.

They didn't have the money to fix the farm nor did they have any money to buy other animals. All that was left was one rooster and what good was this damn farm with only a rooster?

The only blessing it seemed, was Gracelyn inheriting her mother's beauty. The girl had long blonde hair, with honey brown eyes, gorgeously shaped and somewhat thick dark eyebrows to pull you into her gaze, a cute and pert button nose, pink bow lips, and a beauty spot on her left cheek as if placed by god himself to accentuate all the perfect features she was already blessed with. Hell, had she not been wearing a tattered brown dress, and the dirt that caked her body from toiling in her father's fields, would have had anyone questing she was born of rich blood and spent all day drinking sweet tea on a plantation.

Gracelyn's visage is exactly the reason why Albert Miller stopped on the road to stare at her caked in filth from foraging. She hadn't noticed the man, she had been too busy attempting to sell the wild mushrooms she had found in the forest earlier that day, but Albert Miller, a wealthy gunpowder salesman, instantly understood what he wanted, his mind raced with all the depraved actions he could take with her. His cock hardened at the idea of taking her right there on the side of the road- he knew that girl must be his. So he schemed.

So he followed her. Learning the poor girl had lost her mother, just from the town gossip as she passed. Learning she was trying to sell these disgusting mushrooms because their farm was on the brink of disaster. All this knowledge made Albert grin, he knew well enough about the will of a poor father, and desperate- how these people were easily manipulated in those times of need. So, he approached the girl at last.

"Say child," he said smoothly, toying with his curled mustache, "You wouldn't be selling those fine mushrooms would you?"

At the prospect, Gracelyn turned. Hope blooming in her chest. She was so excited, she failed to notice how his eyes lingered on her breasts, or how his grin was as twisted as his mustache. She smiled brightly at him, and to his surprise, her teeth were in good condition.

"Why yes! I certainly am," she said in haste, her pleasant southern drawl caressing his ears- her naïveté was palpable.

He hummed feigning kindness, "How many are you willing to sell little miss? Would two dollars be enough for as many as you'd spare? Perhaps all should you humor me"

Gracelyn gasped. Two dollars was enough to fix the farm and buy a new chicken. She nodded quickly, and so the two exchanged their goods appropriately. She had let her guard down, and while she was overjoyed about the money, he turned his attention from the mushrooms to her- asking if her farm sold other goods. Gracelyn had remembered the honey that a neighboring farm had given them for her birthday. She decided she could sacrifice some gifts if it meant making Papa proud and bringing their dead fields back to life. Grace, excited to sell more goods, offered him the eight jars of honey. He accepted for 3 dollars this time, and she quickly told the man how to get to their farm.

The two went their separate ways after the promises of a future transaction. Grace watched as he effortlessly mounted his black horse and trotted away. Grace raced home excitedly, she knew she had done well, thinking that in some way she had lifted her curse that destroyed her life. In her head she made a list of tasks to prep the mustached man's goods.

"Papa!" Gracelyn said quickly, finding her father behind their farmhouse.

As Grace approached he took a final swing and the sound of severed flesh and bone rang in his ears. He looked up, his bloody axe in one hand and the now headless rooster in the other. She paused for a moment, her eyes wide. Gracelyn had never realized how exhausted and sad her father looked. Her eyes pricked with tears as she realized now that he had murdered their final farm animal.

"Oh papa," she choked, rushing over to hug him.

He patted her back, "Don't cry my little angel. Don't cry. I'll sell the chicken tomorrow in town, and buy some seeds. Autumn is only a few weeks away but I'm sure we can get a few foods to preserve. Jeb even offered me some wheat we can make into flour."

"Papa look," she said, pulling away.

He gasped loudly, his eyes almost popped out of his head at the two dollars, "Where did you?"

"A man bought my mushrooms! He's on his way for the honey."

As if on cue, the two turned to see the man sitting upon a black stallion. William rushed over to greet the man. Gracelyn saw this as her prompt and moved into the house to retrieve the jars of honey, heaving the basket of jars back to the front of the home. There, the mysterious man was off his horse and William had dropped the rooster's body onto the dirt.

"Papa," Gracelyn said nervously, "That won't sell if it's bruised." Then she saw her father's face. A sensation of fear shot up her spine at Albert's sinister smile.

William looked over to Gracelyn, his face darkened and tears began to brim to the surface, "Gracelyn. Go pack your things."

"W-What?" she spouted in confusion. She knew that her life just passed her by but couldn't believe her father would just toss her away for money.

The man smirked, "Gracelyn. What a beautiful name. Fit for my future wife."

Gracelyn gasped, the basket falling from her grip, the jars shattering against the hard ground. She tried to run but her father grabbed onto her before she could even take a step. Instead she hid behind her father's back, only now seeing the ill-intent of this man. Her father, however, sighed softly and falsely. It pained him to give his daughter away.

"He is your future husband. Don't be afraid, my little angel." His voice was broken and his eyes wet.

Hot tears dripped down her face, Fear and pain filled her, "F-Father please.", she clutched the sleeve of his shirt tightly, "Don't make me go with him- I wanna stay here on the farm with you, Papa."

William turned to press his lips to his daughter's forehead, "He is right. Your future is not here. You deserve such a bright and long future. He can give you that. I cannot anymore my sweet" she trembled under his affection.

Gracelyn was crying hard now, her vision blurry, "Papa please!" She cried, now clenching her fathers arms. Her nails digging painfully into his flesh

He turned away, yanking his arm from her grasp, tears dripping down his face as Albert took her. Gracelyn was still struggling, screaming and crying. She batted her hands brutally against Albert's chest and when he hoisted her on to the horse grabbing her full hips she slapped him. A rage filled Albert's eyes but eventually he mounted the horse as well. After some riding and the sobbing from Grace abated they reached the end of the forest path--well out of the sight of the farm. There, her new husband, Albert Miller grabbed the girl by her throat. The sudden brutality of it caught Grace's sobs in her throat.

"You'll do well to shut up," he hissed in her ear, "You're worth nothing. You are a thing, my thing. That father of yours was easily paid off. You are but an object for my use and a womb to make my heir. You will be silent or be silenced. Understand little bitch?" Those last words felt like daggers and his grip on her throat only tightened.

Gracelyn gasped for air, she was terrified of this man, nodding her head quickly fearful of what would be next. He let her go, his façade of a gentleman gone and in its stead-cruelty.

Three years passed under this facsimile of a husband's abuse. Gracelyn grew from a budding young woman of 16 into a 19 year old- a proper woman now. She was like Albert's prisoner. A wife he paraded around with false love. She was forced to wear long sleeves on her dresses and no low collared dresses were permitted to show the bruises he had given her chest and neck. Soon Albert had forced Gracelyn with child. To Albert it was glorious, for Gracelyn it was a constant reminder of the nightmare she now endured. Albert's beatings only continued and her mother-in-law had grown angry that such a lowly woman was to bear her son's child. In her despair, she also learned her father, William, had died of the disease that was tearing its way through the west. she had heard rumors that war brought it here. Within the years she was under Albert's thumb the South succeeded from the Union and with that a war unlike any other began. Albert was drafted into said war within months. Then they got the news a month later: Albert Miller had tripped in one of the trenches and accidently shot himself in the face.

He would not be returning to Grace's delight. She spent a whole night crying tears of joy. Being sure to stifle her exuberance in front of Albert's borderline deranged mother.

Hope filled her chest once again like that day a year ago. Gracelyn hugged herself tightly. Her baby, once a reminder of Albert's cruelty and abuse, now gave her a new hope. She'd be a good mother for her child and if a son, she'd teach him how to be kind like her father but with the moral fiber to not sell his own children off one day.

Time went on but Albert's cruelty was now doled out by his mother...

"You little bitch," Agnes hissed, yanking Gracelyn awake by her hair.

Gracelyn screamed in pain, hot tears dripping down her face. Anges had no problem yanking the girl down the stairs of their large house before throwing her into the kitchen. Like every morning prior to this one, Gracelyn whimpered, struggling to stand and checking her stomach for damage before making the woman breakfast. The maids would watch this poor pregnant woman stand on the cold morning floor barefoot and cook. They dared not help her lest Agnes turn her ire towards them.

Then the disease hit this home. One of the maids had gotten sick, and it quickly burned through the rest of the household, including Agnes and Gracelyn. Every doctor they contacted refused to visit the home, no matter how much money Agnes offered. It seemed life was worth more than money.

One night, Gracelyn awoke to a fever and harsh, sharp pains in her stomach. She gasped, feeling a sudden warm gush between her legs. Not caring how Agnes would beat her for pissing the bed, she stumbled to the bathroom when the first scream tore from her lips. Her shaking fingers moved between her legs only to come up red. The horror set in as she realized what was happening. The smell of fever, blood, and sickly piss filled her nose. The only hope she had for the world was now also being ripped away from her.

"Help me." She cried, keeling over as the pain intensified.

Agnes threw open the door moments later, her eyes widening at the horrible sight. Everything was covered in blood. Gracelyn, sitting in the tub held the underdeveloped fetus in her arms, the umbilical cord still attached between her legs. Her white nightgown also stained red, and yellow. The old hag noticed here was a clear blood trail from the bed to the tub.

Agnes, delusional and feverish from the disease, just laughed at the sight.

"You really are a curse, bitch." The old woman cackled callously

Gracelyn sniffled, a numbness filling her as she placed her dead son's body down in the tub and pulled the cord from her body with a harsh yank and a wet tearing sound. She then looked over at the mad Agnes, stepping from the tub she smiled coldly. It truly felt like nothing remained in her heart.

"The only curse," Gracelyn said slowly and wearily, "Has been your family. Your blood is tainted, it is tainted by those your gunpowder has killed, it is tainted by your evil. There is no doubt your son's death was God's vengeance. Your sickness is repayment, and the death of my child is restitution. Your family line ended in that bath.", Grace hoped every word would cut so deeply it might kill that crone.

Agnes stopped laughing. Her eyes widened and a sudden rage filled the old woman's body. She let out a roar, grabbing Gracelyn by the hair and wrenching the girl to the ground. Gracelyn let out a cry of pain, but Agnes was not done. She grabbed Gracelyn by her wrists next, dragging her across the floor, down the hall and finally throwing her down the stairs.

Despite her heart feeling nothing, Gracelyn felt the physical pain vibrate throughout her body. Her head slammed against the steps, her spine, arms and legs bruising while the ache of premature childbirth throbbed through her stomach. When she landed, She sobbed softly, curling into a ball at the bottom of the stars in the atrium of the large home.

"Oh Albert!" Agnes sobbed, his mother sobbed as her malicious exterior gave way.

Gracelyn lifted her head softly. Despite the pain she felt, she smiled. She would not allow this woman any pleasure from her suffering. Smiling brightly up at Agnes, the older woman only became more delirious and more enraged.

"Oh Albert!" the old woman sobbed, "Left in the tub by this whore." She made her way down the stairs holding herself.

Gracelyn's vision blurred as she tried to stand. The overwhelming pain and exhaustion would surely kill her if she didn't get off this cold floor. Suddenly, Gracelyn gasped in horror at the suddenness of Agnes standing above her again.

The old woman grabbed Gracelyn by the hair again as she spoke to herself. Agnes opened the front door calmly before tossing Gracelyn out like trash. As she did, Gracelyn could hear the woman occasionally muttering about having to finish bathing baby Albert.

Laying on the cold ground outside covered in dirt and her own blood, she curled up in a ball. Gracelyn could feel exhaustion and pain washing over her body. She sighed, feeling a peace fill her. It would be so easy to allow her story to end here. No doubt the diseases would take her if she didn't bleed to death or freeze in the cold mornings. And yet, Gracelyn couldn't help but fight.

"Live," she whispered in the vacuous cold of the town street.

ONE

The night was quiet, despite the lights and sounds of the city. It was an eerie quiet only felt by a busy mind. Perched on the edge of the roof, Grace looked down at the bustling humans. The Vampire often found herself wondering about the people below. She was a being beyond time and most certainly was beyond them. Yet she couldn't help but wonder how her life could have been had she been born in such a time of bright lights and modern technology. Then again every new decade made her wonder with more and more curiosity. This wasn't a new sensation but more of a hold over from her mortal life.

"Haha we should go to the steak house tomorrow!" One human laughed from below. The nasally tone only annoyed Grace.

She tilted her head, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled. Instantly, her nostrils flared with the scents of blood and warmth. She salivated at the smell of the humans down below, it reminded her how hungry she was but she denied herself for now.

"I don't know man," the other human sighed, "I'm meeting Kate later on."

"You're so whipped." The nasally one chided

The two laughed.

Grace seethed at how banal the conversations were, but there was a small ache in her chest where her heart sat, cold and still. If she was born twenty years ago, could she have been Kate too? With her boyfriend wanting to spend harmless time with her and not his best friend? She'd imagined if she was Kate, they'd get married and work good jobs. Then, she'd become pregnant and have children. Her children would laugh and go to school to learn about the great horrors of America's past. Perhaps, they'd all even laugh about the infamous death of gun powder trader Albert Miller. The thought of Albert's death still made her smirk. As pleasant an idea as a human life was- it was only a fantasy. She enjoyed the power immortality gave her.

Her fantasy was broken as the two voices faded away. She sighed, pushing such silly thoughts from her mind. She has business to attend to and someone to meet, her maker.

There was a breeze behind her, but she was all too well aware of who it could be. The scent of her Maker wafted into her nose. She buried her fingers into the hem of her dress, and refused to turn. She kept her head high, and her body tense. Codrin was never unpredictable but if the slightest thing weren't to his specifications he'd mostly certainly lash out. He rarely premeditated any of his violence and control.

From behind her, Cordin hummed, and silently he stared at his favorite creation. She wore a tight crimson dress, her chin length blonde locks styled up and curled lightly and she wore a pair of delicious red heels. He knew despite her back facing him, that those lips were painted red. Hell, It took every instinct inside him not to bend her over the railing of the roof and fuck his beautiful little vampire. To feel her supple pale flesh between his fingers. Her venusian frame always made it difficult for him to focus on the task at hand before her.

"Why're you late?" she asked coolly, "Doubting my abilities?"

He chuckled, she had turned so cold over the years. He was quite fond of the depths of her coldness and brutality that he had imparted to her all those years ago.

"Not at all dear, I know you love the sight of human beings below you, " he replied slyly' "Why not let you enjoy it a little longer?"

It was true. She had all this anger and she could so easily take it out on them. She had shown her how to be so cruel over the years. She felt so powerful being able to stand above things like that. She had a modicum of gratitude for the power.

Cordin inspected her and always wondered why the vampire favored the colour. He would have liked it if she wore it due to the chaos she caused in his name but he knew better. He suspected she wore the colour as a reminder of her will to live, like a blooded warrior. A warrior's potential is what drew him to her. The desire to live at any cost.

"It's almost time to move," he reminded her, "Our people's revenge is so close. With every Hunter we learn of and rid from the world- the sooner we are to take our place."