The Children of Darkness
The world is full of misgivings, the facades that people so perfectly portray marking their eminent end; not of body, mind you, but of spirit and identity. At what point does one lose track of the masks they conceal themselves with? A change of name, constant relocation to forlorn and rural lands; does it not all exhibit the signs of cowardice? Or maybe it could simply be titled caution, precariousness, anticipation, but never bravery. The brave do not run from the foes lying in wait on the hero's extensive journey, nor do they succumb to the darkness residing within their own hearts.
Then, by strict definition, Abigail Barshinol would not be deemed brave or a hero of any accord. Hiding, sinking into the background, and blending into her surroundings; those were her fortes, characteristics of a prey desperately trying to survive in such a forsaken place.
The predator of sorts was a dark-witted man born with the identity of Lucius Hunter, a sadly ironic twist in his personal namesake as if the fates were marking him for glory within the short centuries after his birth. He made Abigail the monstrosity she saw herself as, taking away her already limited freedom as a feeble human to live life eternal. To him, Lucius saved her life from the horrific end of scarring rope burns and swinging like a porcelain doll from the hanging tree. Abigail's mother and sister had met the same bitter end at the hands of paranoid humans desperately searching for a scapegoat from their recent loss of crops and heavy death toll. Lucius took her into his warm embrace, sheltering her from the horrors of the world around them. Abigail changed that night, and not for the better. She became a monster, living off of the life of those around her. Just barely escaping the unchecked wrath of both the mob and her savior, Abigail lived the next three hundred years in solitude, always fearing the day when Lucius would once again return and claim what was rightfully his.