~The dark and terrible past of the one everybody shuns for who she is...~
(still in progress)
Edit (22 May 2011): Oh man, this mini-story is horrendous! Barely anything is correct here history wise. This'll probably never be finished but meh, whatever.)
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My name is Female Siofra Strong-in-the-Heart Wildclaw, White Pelted Great Fang of the Towering Mountains of Ireland and of Blood Battle. Alpha Female of the Purefang clan.
My human name... is Kimberly Austuden, the only daughter and spoiled child of The Austuden Riches family.
Some may wonder on where I cam from, where I origionated, where I took my first breath of my neverending life. What did I first see and hear? Did I like to talk? Was I outgoing? Did I ever feel love, and was I ever held?
The only thing people ever really see of me, are my tears and my white, beastly face that holds a fearsom history of my kin. I am hated by all who ever first set their eyes on me, no matter what they say afterwards. I can see it in their eyes, my reflection casting a dark fear inside brave hearts. Even the ones that call me "Love" and "Mother" have a fear of me, I just know they do. I am to kill and eat any human that steps in my path like I was created to do, to devour and consume their blood and flesh for my own gain. For that, human kind hates me and every other creature who breathes the air and exhales the tainted breath of the darkened blood from Hell and below. To the darkest depths that go beyond the Earth's core and everyother planet in all galaxies.
When I am hungered into a dangerous situation, even the one's who trust me are foolish. They all are my meal, they all are my prey that are too simple minded to even know or pay attention to what I am.
I am a werewolf.
My story I shall tell shall be a brief summary of my five-hundred-and-ninty-four days that I have breathed this air others call Life. I call a tormented tourture. I cry about it every night no matter how happy I was before going into my restless dreams of agony and despair, a recall of something I want ended.
I use to live in Dublin, Ireland, living in a grand old house with many people a foot. My day of birth was on September fifteenth, fourteen-thirteen, the day I took my first breath and cries of life to my mother Mary and my father, Joseph Austuden. I lived a grand old life of luxury, constantly cared for by maids and nurses while my parents prayed to the O Lord God above, happy to have me as their own as they held me and cooed affectionally. I was baptised in a large white church with a golden altar, to keep all bad spirits away from me and so that I could life a long and healthy life. As a human. Many evil spirits and demons walked the lands of Ireland, preying on the weak and feasting on the strong. But because I was baptised by the holy water of God, I was protected from it all unlike the ones who didn't and weren't Christian and Catholic and didn't believe in God.
I turned fifteen and everyone in my house rejoyced, for it was the age of decisions and adulthood for a "woman" such as me. The entire year I was showered in gifts and gold, money for myself and my blood family only, was my thought. I was clouded by judgement from being so spoiled, wanting and needing everything that I saw or heard of. I had to be the one. I hated the other girls who had someone to love, none of the guys looking at me no matter how much I flurted and payed them. They would not love me. Even rejecting my money! How dare they?! I would think. How could they do this to me?! I had everything, except for someone to love me and call me sweety-pie or even "schnukums".
It was a cold December day, I don't recall the day, the snow had been falling heavily for hours while I stayed dressed up in clothing that was called, "British fashion" with a large bonnet and a beautifully sewn dress. Green as I recall the color. A small knock came to my door as I stomped over to it, the dirty blonde curls in my hair bouncing up and down with every heavy stride. I swong the door open wide as a chilling gust of wind blew in, gripping onto my bonnet so it didn't blow away. "'Tis isn't the time for knocking on people's doors!" I shouted out into the face of the knocker. "Go back to the place 'ye call home!" The person by the door winced painfully at my demanded shouts, the old man boney and lacking much clothing. His grey beard collected the snow that fell from the sky as his matching grey eyes looked glazed and watered from the piercing cold.
"P-Please, ma'am. 'Tis awefully cold out here and was wonderin' if someone was to be as kind as to let me stay till the snow stops," the one man told me. Immediately I could feel the hot steam of my anger blowing out of my nostrails, stepping out onto my stone porch as the old man receaded back in fear. I waan't as tall as him, but my fierce rage reflected into his aged eyes, clutching his thin cloak as he backed to the top of the stairs. "Back off 'ye old createn'!" I bellowed into his face, pointing over his shoulder down my large stone stairs into my courtyard below. "I do not want someone such as 'ye in my house! Go away!" The old man suddenly fell to his knees as I was surprised that they wouldn't break, cupping his hands together as he pleaded for mercy and graceful whim from me and God. I couldn't take it anymore, why wouldn't he just leave? Why didn't he listen to me like everybody else should?! I became infuriated as I lifted my hands and violently pushed his chest back, the old man suddenly loosing balance as he waved his arms in the air. He fell back off his knees and onto his back, bouncing like a ragdoll down the many stairs, my eyes holding nothing towards him but anger. He needed to be taught about respecting her from now on. The man kept falling and falling, my ears catching the faint sound of bones shattering and painful gasps from his old lungs. I kept watching until he landed in a dislodged mingle with bent arms and legs, strange white things out of his body. I snorted in pleasure and cupped my hands around my mouth shouting, "Now go away!"
The man didn't move, the howling of the wind suddenly increased as I held onto my blouse and shivered. I waited for a while in annoyance that he didn't leave my property. Sleeping on my property? The nerve! I marched back into the house as I slammed the door behind myself, stepping back out and dressed in thick beaver furs from France as I made my way down the stairs in my beaver pelted boots to match the outfit. I walked down and down till I got to the man and stood by his side, tapping my foot in the snow with intemperance that he still wasn't going away. In rage, I kicked his side hard enough till he flipped over onto his back and faced the grey sky above, the light completely gone from his eyes as his forehead was completely exposed to the brain from the harsh fall. I immediately screamed but it was drowned out by the wind, lifting up the bottom of the dress as I charged back up the stairs and slammed the door behind myself, my heart racing with loud thumps and a ringing in my ears. I had killed a man in childish annoyance.
I remember after that, the old man's body was covered in snow from a very heavy snowstorm and kept me and my family inside for days until it slowed. They were greatly upset with me and that was the most I have ever cried in my human life. When the sky finally stopped it's frozen tears, my father went outside to dig out the frozen corpse. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, a large hole was dug into the snow and the corpse was gone, large wolven footprints surrounding the frozen grave. Blood was everywhere as it indicated that the body was eaten and thick blood trails led away from it, the wolves dragging the man with. The winter was the harshest of seasons for any living creature to survive out in, my dad having to come back inside only a few hours of being exposed to the frozen Irish snows. I felt like I could die for what I did, laying in my bed for hours and staring at the ceiling. The man could not have a proper burial and was terribly frightened every night for fear that his restless soul would be staring at me from a dark corner of the room, the wind against the windows speaking for his mournful cries.
I am twenty-seven years old and my stubborn and childish attitude has lessened greatly since the death of the old man. I think more clearly and my anger has been bottled up inside, the men that I use to be greatly interested in now looked at me and would actually speak to me. I have never really talked to anyone like I had in my younger teenage years, forcing them to speak to me about anything I wanted to hear. They would laugh about those older days, about how much of a b***h I was and how much better I am now. My hair had grown longer and I comb it naturally to fit my more mature expressions then the curls that would bounce around my head. I wore finer clothing that would fit closer to my body and to show my beautifully thin body and perfect brests. I would go to town now to get whatever I would need instead of what I wanted. I became interested in the knights and their brilliant armor that would glisten in the sunlight and move like graceful gods, riding among brilliant noble war steeds as they would clop down the cobblestone roads. I would once in a while visit the armory just to watch them, how they mastered their swords, how they would ride and shoot their arrows. Even though it was forbidden for any girl to join an army or fight, I would sneak into my father's armoury and practice with myself, hiding the small cuts and bruses that I would cause with stupid thoughts and moves.
I am now thirty-one and times were hard. Attacks from the Normans have become less frequient but more violent, and people from England are trespassing onto Irish land. My parents grew greatly concerned for me and would tell me to stay indoors until they gave the OK to go out, with guards that is. There also have been strange reports of a large black dog killing people and taking their bodies away. Others say that it must be a large black English bear raiding people's homes and the victims just got in the way for being so stupid. Because of how curious I am, I always try to sneak out at night to get a look at this beast, to see if the rumors were true but I am always caught by the guards patroling the gates and the one's posted under my window. I always had the thought of something that could take a shot of the creature, something that you could look at like people painting a picture. I even had my own little name for my thought, the "Shot-Spotter". The creature kept on attacking and even the knights that I so longingly admired were being slain, coffins for the dead more frequient and filled with the person's merchandise then their bodies. My parents are very old, my mother is 42, my father 43. People were much younger then for they didn't live as long and I was concendered old at thirty-one. Though many men tried proposals towards me but were all turned down. They just wanted the riches and my parents understood. Parents like that, that would allow their own child to disagree marriage were a blessing to me. They always talked of grandkids though, and I felt bad because none of the men were worthy enough for me.
Except for James Hothier.
He was a rich boy, well mannered as I was told when he came into Dublin in early spring, late enough so that the ice between Ireland's and Britian's shores melted away to let boats sail smoothly through. Unless hit by and early storm, but even in spring, the air was still cold. Hothier came into town from Emgland, hearing of a maiden who wouldn't marry. He was twenty-two.
Times were strange for love, weren't they?
He came up to my gates, smooth talked the guards so well that they relaxed at his words, but still didn't let him through to his amazement. They did send a guard from the gates up to speak with my parents and I was to come out as well. I remember walking out on the bluest day yet of that year, the air smelling of wild flowers from the gardens and smells of spring baked goods in the market breezing in. Under my parents orders Hothier, two guards in white armor, and a messanger, walked in as the boy looked at me. He was a very muscular boy, looking as if exercising and working out were the top priorities in his life. He had dazzling silver eyes with flat, golden hair shaped beautifully to around his ears. Not looking like a coconut head like most princess from England, who were totally brainless.
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