1 ✽ The Nightmare

                                    

                                          
TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide starting in the paragraph "This was the life of Hosts..."

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
SIX YEARS AGO.
Neva stood at the foot of Gwyneth's bed, paralyzed by the sound of her piercing cries, the blood between her legs, and the cruelty of the Kusat.
"Silence, little witch," said one of the Kusati women. "The child was never yours. You have to let it go; half-breeds are born to die."
But Gwyneth's laments only grew louder, as she pleaded to be able to hold her child, at least one time, before they buried her. Neva didn't have the courage to object to the cruelty of lying to her, to tell her all of her children were born dead. Neva knew, despite the Kusati's lies, that Gwyneth children's were alive. 
She knew the children were being used as pawns, gifts to other vampyr clans every time a marriage took place. The children would grow up to be Hosts, prey for a vampyr to feed on. Just like Gwyneth, like Neva.
"Please, Mother, it's my fifth child; it can't be that all of them are dead!" Gwyneth cried through hiccups. "I heard her cry! I know she's alive, please, please. Let me hold her, I just want to touch her, please."
But her pleas fell on deaf ears, and soon Neva, who had assisted her birth just like the last three times, had to leave to wash the blood off her hands. Though no matter how much she scrubbed, she couldn't leave the feeling of Gwyneth's warm blood on her fingers, the weight of her child on her arms. 
This was the life of Hosts; the right to their children was non-existent, they were just objects to be owned by one of the Kusati. Gwyneth would experience two more pregnancies in the next four years, until the size of her grief rivalled the castle she was trapped in, and decided to end her life by slitting her own throat when she found out she was pregnant for the eighth time.
Neva would be tasked with disposing of her, and upon seeing her abused body, the stretch marks that looked like claws across her belly, the fang marks all across her body that went deeper and deeper, she would realize she was living on borrowed time; soon she would be another Gwyneth—forcibly impregnated, her children stolen.
It occurred to her, as she celebrated her 20th birthday, that dying would be a better option than being assigned to one of the Kusati.
——————✧◦♚◦✧——————
PRESENT TIME.
Her quick footsteps echo across the silent hall; Neva is running late. It had become a habit of hers—not by choice, though. She had become more lethargic since her marking ceremony, and thus she slept past her waking hours. 
Once she arrives to her Master's chambers, she didn't even need to knock before the doors flew open; now that she was bound to her Master by the mark on her neck, the castle's old magic recognized and reached out to her. She could feel it on every step she took, bubbling under her bare feet.