KansasSlayer524
Townie
A Dusty Pile
California, 1899
Utter silence.
She stood on the banks of the river; her flimsy shoes were buried in the sand. Stones littered the ground, along with sleeping men. Every race you could think of. She had run from the L'Exposition at merely two in the morning. Her show shoes gave her little support and protection. The stones slipped into her shoes, digging into her shoes, or even creating small holes into the soles. The men that had been working earlier had decided to keep their ale in glass bottles, and she crunched over them, shattering them. They cut into her feet and toes, letting fresh blood run free. But it didn't last long. They healed quickly, and didn't make her wince at all. The shards pushed themselves from her skin, and slipped from her shoes again. She stood still in her outfit, which was barley covering her. Black and lacy was what Miss Sabrina has recommended. The wind passed through the designs of stitch and chilled her skin. The nights in this territory were chilly. But the days were warm.
She is strong. Demons and vampires fall before her, in dust and blood. She conquers over all of them.
In her hands she carries two weapons. In the right was a large axe, at least four feet high. The blade was large, and could easily slice the head off an on coming creature from a distance. It had strange carvings on it, that supposedly symbolized power and they also charmed the axe. It was currently anointed with oils and potions, for more protection. The blade had been anointed with holy water, and it was still dripping. In her left hand was a filthy wooden stake. It was twelve inches long, and made of a crisp cherry wood. It too was anointed with holy water. When she had made it long ago, she dipped it in holy water every so often, so it would soak into the wood. She had been using it for three years, and it was now almost black. Burns stained the tip and base, all vampire dust.
For some reason it feels strange to hold these weapons. Whenever she had held these two weapons she felt stronger and wiser. But for the first time, she felt weak against them. Her hand felt limp with the axe, for it hung low at her side. The stake was still lightweight, as it only being a thick shark of a branch, that had been finely carved for some three years. She is now eighteen.
The wind blows against her body for the second time. She is simply Annabelle Kavanaugh. She began to remember again.
She's ten again, and still in Ireland. Her mother is a maid for someone very important, it's hard to recall. Annabelle and her sleep in the guesthouse. They moved in when she was six, because her mother needed a larger place to stay and the family was nice enough to allow her to have the guesthouse. Annabelle had gone to work with her mother everyday since she was born, probably. Her mother had been working for the family since she was fourteen years old, which was when her own parents had kicked her out, for getting pregnant. They didn't want a whore being in their house. Her mother was only fifteen when she had Annabelle. And she had been named after her great grandmother, who was a wonderful person supposedly. But at ten, Annabelle didn't think so. If her great grandmother had been such a wonderful woman, why was she letting her granddaughter and her child work for her friends?
She plays with the family's children at time. They see her as a friend, while their parents think of her as help or slaves. But Annabelle is not a slave. She refuses to be such a thing. She could slave at any time. She said on the lawns that look over the great lake that lies in their acres of land. She wore a small white dress that went to her knees. She didn't bother with shoes. She didn't like them. She was told to stay out of the way because someone very important was visiting the family. The children were off with their tutors, leaving Anna alone. Anna wanted a tutor. Alls eh could do was read and write. Her mother had taught her. She snuck into the large house's library at night. She was surprised when no one ever caught her. That was another thing about Anna. She could move swiftly and abnormally quiet. She always placed the books back the night after, and got another book. So the family never noticed that books were gone. For such a high placed family, they were extremely dumb.
"Anna? Where is that girl? Please, sir, wait here," called a voice. It wasn't her mother's; it was another maid, Tarra. She had long black hair, which was swept into a French tie. She was a little older than her mother, and very nice. When Anna heard her name being called, she stood and ran across the lawns to meet Tarra. The woman smiled at her and gently took hold of Anna's hand. "Now, a gentleman is here to see you. You know, the one that was supposed to be coming to meet with the Michael's?" She nodded her head, her red curls bouncing. "Well, he has come to see you. Oh, dear, wont you ever where shoes?" Anna shook her head. She didn't like to talk. "Here we are. I'm sorry to keep you waiting sir." She pushed Anan in front of her. "Anna, say hello to Mister Peter Wright." Anna simply held out her hand. Mr. Wright smiled, kneeled and shook her little hand. His brows furrowed and pulled his hand back.
"Quite a grip you've got there, lass." He smiled. Anna didn't think he should be calling her lass, he looked her mum's age or maybe younger. Why did he need to see her? "I just wanted to see your face before I speak with your mother." He said mother strangely. He said it like mith-er. Her mum had said that some people from Northern Ireland said it like that, instead of how they said it down south. She put on a lopsided frown and watched him stand. He patted her head and walked inside, where Anna saw her mother, in a dress that wasn't her maids dress.
"Anna, I'm going to go inside, you stay out of trouble." Tarra smiled and went back inside. It was now the time to put her skills to use. She slipped inside, her feet seemed to barley touch the floor. As if she glided. There was a long velvet curtain that she could hide in. Anna smiled slowly got onto her stomach and slid herself behind the curtain. She stood up and pressed her body against the wall. She slowed her breathing so it wouldn't be as noticeable. She listened close for their voices. "Your daughter"¦ destiny"¦ slayer"¦ one in all the world"¦ vampires"¦ evil"¦" That was all she heard from Mr. Wright. Her ears were terribly. She sighed. What did all that mean? She heard her mother's voice, "Are you sure"¦ what will happen"¦ death"¦ short lived"¦" Anna let out a tiny squeak. She tore herself from the curtain and ran back to the lawns. Left, right, left right. Her feet didn't stop moving. She finally reached the great lake and stopped in her tracks. She knew now what was happening. Her mother was sending her away with that man. She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands. She heard footsteps from behind her, but didn't turn around. The person stopped behind her, and she turned her head to see a man. He was very pale, and was grinning.
"Hello little girl, why are you out in the night?" He asked. His voice was smooth, and didn't have a flaw. His accent was unbearable, though. She shrugged her shoulders and looked back into the water. She saw her face, and she saw the dark sky. But she did not see the man. Anna turned her head ands aw that he was still there. Her eyes went wide, but quickly regained her past expression. She stood and looked at the man, he smiled wider. She was stupid, a stupid little girl. She tried to run. She slipped by him and darted toward the hill, but before she even got half way there, she collided with the man's body. She fell onto her back in the cold grass. She looked up to see the man still smiling. "Now, now, running from a man is very rude. Did your mother not teach you a thing?" He smiled and grabbed her arm and held it tightly. With his pointer finger he tilted her head to the left. He hissed and leaned over, his face changing, and mouth opening. Two-inch fangs appeared and he went for her neck. They barley grazed her when she heard a scream and millions of particles fell onto her. She opened er eyes to see Mr. Peter Wright, standing in front of her with a two-foot branch in his left hand.
"That, my dear, is what you will be facing for the rest of your life."
To Be Continued"¦
Xin Rong
Hey i liked it please continue