The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 1 1: A Shallow Grave
The sky wept cold rain, slicking the ground as a brutalized woman forced herself from a shallow grave. Her bleeding hands scrabbled at the dirt, finding purchase on a nearby tree's root as she heaved her head out of the damp earth.
Bit by bit, Ashlynn Blackwell surfaced from the sodden soil, gasping for air the moment her head broke free. A faint emerald luminescence pulsed around her mangled hands and arms, flowing from her body into the tree roots she desperately clutched.
The roots, with agonizing slowness, began to contort and coil, wrapping around Ashlynn’s arms. Agony shot through her shoulders and every aching inch of her battered form as the tree started to pull her from the shallow pit where her husband’s knights had unceremoniously dumped her.
As Ashlynn battled to escape the mire, her thoughts swirled with a conversation from merely twelve hours prior, when her mother had promised this would never occur.
Ashlynn had been a picture of pure anxiety in the bridal suite, adorned in a breathtaking white gown and the finest jewels her family could bestow, all while preparing to wed Owain Lothian, the eldest son of Marquis Bors Lothian.
“Mother, what will happen if he discovers the mark?” Ashlynn whispered to the sole other occupant of the room, nervously plucking at the lace trim of her sleeves. “How can I conceal it when we…”
“Just do as I've instructed,” her mother sighed, crossing the space to cup Ashlynn’s hands. “Lower the lights in the bridal chamber and slip into your bed before you remove your shift. It’s your first time; he won’t suspect a thing if you’re particularly modest about revealing yourself.”
“Once you unveil your chest to him, he'll be far too eager to ravish you to scrutinize the rest of your body,” she added, her tone confident and seasoned before her blushing daughter. “The most crucial thing is to bear him a child as swiftly as possible,” she stressed.
“Owain is a decent man,” her mother offered reassurance. “He wouldn't harm the mother of his child, even if she bears a witch's mark. Once it’s too late, he will safeguard your secret.”
“But, what if I simply confess? I’ve never wielded my powers, nor have I learned anything about witchcraft,” Ashlynn countered. “Shouldn’t I be truthful with my husband if we are to spend our lives together?”
Back in Blackwell County, life had seemed so much simpler. She had reached her twenty-first birthday without a soul discovering her secret. Truthfully, she had spent most of those years confined to her family’s estate, content to delegate social obligations to her younger sister while she immersed herself in the vast family library.
Now, however, she found herself on the very frontier of Lothian March. The charming nobleman, whom she had met only at two formal balls, was soon to be her lifelong husband.
For two years, they had exchanged letters monthly, but how well did he truly know her? The affection they had cultivated felt tenuous, too fragile to bear the burden of her secret. Now, on her wedding day, she feared it would all crumble into dust.
“My dearest daughter,” her mother murmured, gently placing a hand on Ashlynn’s cheek. “If you reveal yourself tonight, before the marriage is consummated, matters could turn dire. Lothian March lies far closer to the demonic realms than Blackwell County.”
“Young Lord Owain and his father have personally battled the demons, so their dread of witches surpasses even that of our homeland. If he perceives you as akin to the demons he’s fought, he will not hesitate to condemn you to death,” she stated, her voice hardening.
Should her daughter falter now, should she confess before securing her future with Young Lord Owain, the consequences would extend far beyond Ashlynn alone. Witnessing understanding dawn in her daughter’s emerald eyes, her stern facade softened, and she continued.
“Only by bearing his child can you avert such a fate. I have done everything within my power to prepare you,” she said, her tone gentler. “Now, compose yourself. Your father will arrive shortly to escort you down the aisle, and you must not let him witness your anxiety,” she advised.
Just twelve hours prior, the joyous peal of wedding bells had filled the air as she processed down the aisle, greeted by the lords and ladies of the March of Lothian and their esteemed guests, en route to marry the man of her dreams. Standing before the High Priest as he recited the sacred rites, her heart had soared when Owain placed an antique ring upon her finger.
Even six hours passed, long after the grand feast and the enchanting ball, the lingering sensation of his lips on hers remained as she readied herself for her inaugural night with her husband. Visions of joyful children and a loving family filled her mind. She was fully prepared to surrender her entire being to Owain.However, the moment he entered the bedchamber, her cherished dreams were brutally shattered, torn away as readily as her bridal undergarments.Someone had revealed her secret. By some means, he had discovered the truth. This disclosure must have occurred after their wedding vows were exchanged. It could have been during the lively ball or the sumptuous feast; she had no way of discerning the exact timing. Regardless of when it transpired, the words whispered into her husband’s ear had irrevocably sealed her grim fate.The Owain who strode into their chambers was transformed, appearing as if a powerful entity had taken possession of him. The potent aroma of strong wine wafted from his breath as he bellowed at her, demanding the truth. Fierce tears streamed from his eyes even as flecks of spittle flew from his lips.When she attempted to protest her innocence, his demeanor turned menacing. He forcefully pinned her against the wall, ripping the delicate fabric from her body until the damning truth was laid bare.There, adorning her hip, taking the distinct shape of an ancient ash tree, lay the unmistakable Mark of a Witch. Even as an infant, her father had tried to excise the mark, even attempting to sear it away with a scorching branding iron, but the mark would invariably reappear.From her earliest recollections, her mother had strictly cautioned her never to reveal the mark to anyone, going to great lengths to bathe her child personally, forbidding any servants from assisting.It wasn't until many years later that she truly comprehended the significance of the mark. Once she reached an appropriate age, she solemnly vowed to her parents that she would never embrace the path of a witch, never covet the divine power belonging solely to the Holy Lord of Light.She had diligently strived to be an obedient and devout daughter, wholly devoted to her family. On the night of their wedding, she was prepared to offer that same unwavering devotion to Owain.Yet, no matter how fervently she sobbed or how desperately she pleaded, Owain refused to listen. Blow after relentless blow from his powerful fists rained down upon her body once he laid eyes on the birthmark on her hip. As she collapsed to the ground, his punches transformed into brutal kicks and stomps, Owain unleashing the full torrent of his hurt, betrayal, and incandescent rage upon the body of the woman he had just taken as his bride.To Ashlynn, the relentless beating felt like an agonizing eternity, a period fraught with piercing pains and heart-wrenching sobs, before Owain finally summoned two of his most trusted knights."Take her away," he commanded, his voice laced with fierce intensity. He turned his back, unable to bear the sight of Ashlynn lying crumpled on the floor, a broken heap, as if he could not stand to witness the devastation he had wrought with his own hands."Transport her body to the Vale and commit it to the flames there," he ordered, his voice hoarse. "I will not permit a witch to be interred upon my father's ancestral lands. Scatter her ashes to the unforgiving winds and pulverize her bones. Leave absolutely nothing that could potentially haunt us in the future.""Should we not present her to the High Priest?" inquired Sir Tommin, the elder of the two knights, addressing his lord. "The Church…""The Church will undoubtedly launch a full-scale inquisition if they discover I have wedded a witch," Owain retorted, spitting the words out. He rounded on his loyal retainer, his eyes blazing with a fury he believed he had fully expended when he savagely beat his wife."See that this is handled discreetly, and never utter a word of this again, or you shall find yourself sharing her fate in the Vale," he hissed, barely restraining himself from shouting loud enough for others outside the bedchamber to hear.What recourse did the knights possess but to acquiesce? Within a decade at the very most, the aging lord would likely abdicate and transfer the dominion of the march to Owain. To defy him now would not only spell their own demise but that of their respective families as well.Ashlynn was swiftly enshrouded in a simple bedsheet and transported away from the lord's manor. The knights conveyed her into a cart and hastened along the ancient, winding road that hugged the river's edge, their journey continuing until they had crossed the borderstone and entered the territories still under the dominion of heathen demons.The night was bitingly cold and devoid of moonlight. The rain, which had been a mere drizzle when the knights departed the manor, had escalated into a torrential downpour by the time they reached the dense forest of the vale. Now, despite their efforts to drench Ashlynn’s motionless body in lamp oil, they found themselves utterly unable to strike a single spark to ignite the flames."She is already deceased," declared Sir Broll to his companion, delivering a forceful kick to her body as incontrovertible proof. "Let us simply bury her and conclude this matter."That singular moment of perceived negligence proved to be Ashlynn's unexpected salvation. Despite the brutal, harrowing beating she had endured, a faint ember of determination had begun to ignite within Ashlynn's heart.It cannot end in such a manner, she thought fiercely. She refused to let her existence be extinguished when she didn't even know who had orchestrated her betrayal. More than that, she vowed to die only after ensuring Owain met a similar fate.She couldn't. She refused. Stubbornly, she clung to the last glimmer of life within her chest while she was jostled along the road in the cart. She did nothing as she was kicked and beaten before the knights dumped her into a shallow grave. Even as they began to cover her in damp soil, she did nothing until minutes had passed since she felt the last shovel full of earth dumped on her body.
When she finally began to struggle her way free of the earth she clawed at the earth with more than just her hands. Fueled by hurt and anger, she tapped into the long-dormant power slumbering in her chest, forcing it outward with her struggling hands.
She didn't know how to properly use that power. At the moment, her mind was too clouded by pain and soul-wrenching grief to think clearly about what she wanted her power to do. All she knew was that she had to escape this grave, and the trees responded to her desires, using their roots to help pull her from the earth.
Now, free of the shallow grave, Ashlynn clutched at the dirty bed sheet she'd been buried in and staggered towards the ancient road. She wasn't sure where she was going or how she would survive but she knew one thing and she repeated it over and over again in her mind as though it were a magic spell.
She wouldn't die tonight. She wouldn't die tomorrow. As long as there was breath in her body, she refused to die until she dragged the people responsible for this night into a grave along with her.