The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 2 2: The Lady of the Vale

Centuries before humankind rose to dominance on this continent, the Vale of Mists served as one of the scarce passages connecting the fertile eastern lowlands to the barren lands west of the Umber Mountains. Numerous small streams converged within the Vale, merging into the river that people would later name the Luath.

Above, lightning illuminated the sky, and the persistent rain continued its descent, cleansing the dirt from her light blonde hair and saturating the tattered bedsheet clinging to her skin.

It had consumed an excessive amount of time for her to reach the thoroughfare running alongside the river, her progress a staggering movement from one tree to another through the dense forest until she emerged, much like a phantom in the darkness.

Now that she had arrived, however, a crucial decision loomed: which direction to take. More than anything, a powerful desire compelled her to follow the path downstream, to return to the March of Lothian where she might, in time, find her way back home.

Scattered along the riverbanks were several small hamlets, potential havens where she could perhaps plead for some clothing and seek refuge from the relentless storm. From such a place, she could… could what? Dispatch a letter to her parents? Implore for assistance to return to Blackwell County?

Owain might presume her deceased, yet someone had divulged her secret. As much as she fought the notion, the perpetrator could even be a member of her own kin. She found it difficult to suspect her father, as he was the one who had initially brokered her marriage to Young Lord Owain.

But what about the others within her family? The thought of her mother having a hand in it pained her, especially since, in recent years, her mother had lavished most of her attention and affection upon her younger sister, Jocelynn. Or could it have been Jocelynn herself?

Ashlynn found it unbearable to contemplate that either of them could be responsible. She much preferred to believe that one of their retainers or servants had unearthed her secret and subsequently revealed it upon their arrival in the March of Lothian.

Regardless of the traitor's identity, if she were to reveal herself to her family at this juncture, without knowing who betrayed her, she would risk falling directly into a trap meticulously laid by that very individual.

The alternative, however, presented an even more profound dread. Deep within the Vale of Mists, malevolent demons dwelled, presided over by a ruler known to humanity as the Demon Lady of the vale. Ashlynn had perused scant accounts detailing the confrontations between the Lothian family and the demons of the vale, and these narratives had instilled a bone-chilling fear within her.

According to the historical records, the demon ruling the vale subsisted on the blood and flesh of the young and the elderly, abducting the most defenseless under the cloak of night. She was a demonic entity capable of rending through a knight's armor with her formidable, clawed hands to extract their still-pounding hearts.

Turning towards the demons should be tantamount to a death sentence for any human, but… was a witch truly human? The Church certainly did not think so; or at least, its doctrines taught that witches were humans who had become susceptible to the corrupting influence of demonic magic.

From the Church's perspective, witches were virtually indistinguishable from demons, even if born to human parents. If this were the case, she might find a semblance of acceptance among them.

It was impossible to ascertain the truth. Alone in the pervasive darkness, chilled to the bone and drenched, clad in nothing but a soiled bedsheet, no definitive answers presented themselves regarding traitors or demons.

"If I am to d-die regardless of my choice," she articulated through teeth that chattered uncontrollably, her entire frame quivering from the biting cold, "I'd r-rather be dispatched by demons than by my own people." At the very least, she surmised, the demise would be less agonizing when inflicted by an adversary rather than those she considered her kin.

Making a resolute turn upstream, she retreated to the fringe of the forest, her bare feet sinking into the soft, moist earth as she shuffled laboriously from tree to tree, seeking meager shelter against the unyielding downpour. The evocative scent of moist soil and cedar filled her senses as she stumbled onward through the nocturnal landscape.

The very means by which she managed to continue moving, having endured such a brutal assault, was something she couldn't fully comprehend. Curiously, each time she felt her strength wane, as if incapable of progressing further, poised to collapse at the base of one of the forest's colossal trees, a few deep inhalations of the tree's rich aroma would siphon away a measure of the exhaustion from her body, granting her the fortitude to advance a few more trees.

Regrettably, this restorative process could not persist indefinitely. With each repetition, it felt as though she was purging progressively less of her weariness. Eventually, after a duration that felt considerably longer than an hour of walking, Ashlynn succumbed to exhaustion, sinking to the ground against the sturdy trunk of a magnificent cedar tree, enfolding her trembling legs that now refused to bear her weight any further.

The rain had finally ceased its assault, and the celestial clouds began to yield, unveiling a tapestry of stars and a delicate sliver of a moon.

In the distance, she fancied she detected the faint sound of horses traversing the ancient roadway, but she dismissed it as mere wishful thinking. How many times, since commencing her arduous trek towards the realm of demons, had she conjured images of her family appearing on horseback in the dead of night to rescue her from her impending doom?

Born from dire straits, wishful thinking guided her. Her toes and feet were numb from trudging through the sodden earth, and her nose and fingers felt utterly devoid of sensation. The agony of fractured and bruised ribs compelled her to draw shallow breaths, her blood pounding in her ears with each forced step her battered body endured.

However, now that her trek had ceased, the sound of horses grew more pronounced, joined by the creak of a carriage hurtling down the road. The noise emanated from downstream, in the direction of the March of Lothian.

For a fleeting moment, hope bloomed in her chest, invigorating her to lift her head and gaze towards the sounds on the roadway. Had her family truly arrived to offer salvation? Could Owain possibly regret his actions and have come to reclaim her life?

Alas, when the carriage finally materialized into view, Ashlynn's hopes were brutally shattered.

The carriage itself was capacious, designed to accommodate four to six individuals in considerable comfort. Its windows were outfitted with opulent glass and ornate dark lace shades, clearly indicating its purpose to transport individuals of the highest standing.

It was the carriage door, however, that sent an icy shiver coursing down Ashlynn's spine. On any carriage serving a noble house within the kingdom, the doors would be emblazoned with the noble family's heraldic crest.

Demons, conversely, did not employ human heraldry. Instead, their carriages, banners, and other insignias bore a unique glyph representing their demon lord's name. Though Ashlynn had never delved into the study of demon heraldry, her impending marriage to the future Marquis of Lothian had acquainted her with the specific glyph symbolizing the Demon Lady of the Vale.

This was the very same glyph she now observed adorning the door of the carriage that had just halted upon reaching her. Ashlynn's heart hammered against her ribs as a cloaked figure alighted from the driver's seat to open the door.

The instant the carriage door swung open, Ashlynn felt as though she were gazing into an unfathomable abyss of darkness. The surrounding world receded, leaving her deaf to all but the movements of the carriage's occupant. She felt detached from her own body, her own heartbeat in her ears sounding muted and remote.

Then, like a rose unfurling in the midnight gloom, Ashlynn witnessed a pale figure emerge from the carriage. Far from the monstrous effigy she had dreaded, the woman who stepped forth was the most breathtaking being Ashlynn had ever laid eyes upon.

Dark tresses cascaded in soft waves, framing a delicate visage. Her skin, pale as polished alabaster, was complemented by lush lips painted a deep plum hue. Ashlynn gasped, her breath catching as her emerald eyes met the woman's midnight-blue gaze, which glittered as if holding the very stars of the night sky.

"It appears this journey is not in vain after all," the exquisite woman declared, her voice a rich, melodic cadence. "You need not fear me, Child of the Earth," she continued, gliding forward with an almost supernatural elegance.

"Come with me," the mesmerizing woman whispered, her voice resonating as if directly beside Ashlynn's ear, though the woman had yet to descend from the carriage step. "Allow me to offer you aid. You do not belong amongst those who would torment you for the innate gifts you possess."