Once Love, Now Destruction


“Back?” I frowned, trying to understand what she was say.

“When you or she, was taken, it changed him. He became hostile… cold towards everyone, even me. He lost every strand of human in him. I’ve seen him at his worst, but it’s literally killing him and the others around him – it’s a disease and it’s spreading uncontrollably. Alistair gets worse every time death is on his hands, and if he does pass away, I don’t want his soul to have that burden. You’re my only hope now,” she almost seemed pleading; her perfect grey eyes were saddened.

“I wish I could help you and him both, but I don’t know how,” I confessed, biting the inside of my cheek.

“All you have to do I just talk to him, that’s all I need,” she explained.

I felt a tinge of fear hit me, but I pushed it away, I had no right to be scared of Alistair Cord, “Alright.”

Her perfect smile reappeared on her lips, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

I only nodded as she disappeared into the closet next to the bed and pulled out a dark forest green lace dress, she held it up and then looked at me sheepishly, “Sorry if it looks a little outdated.”

“Not at all,” I shook my head slightly. “It will look perfect on you.”

“Me?” she laughed easily. “Oh no, dear, this is for you.”

I stared at her confused, “I-I couldn’t,” I stuttered out.

“Come now, this is the most ‘casual’ thing I have for you right now and it’s not suitable for a lady to show up at a dinner party in a ratty old uniform, now is it?” she gestured to my attire as she spoke.

“Dinner party?” I gnawed on the inside of my cheek nervously as I watched her walk out of the entryway.

“You’ll be fine,” she waved it off easily. “Brandon and I will be there, so will Nikki, Christian, Alistair, Cynda, and her father Xavier,” her tone darkened with distaste as the last two unfamiliar names passed her lips.

“May I ask who they are?” I followed a few steps behind her, trying to keep in step as we walked down the corridor.

She suddenly looked upset and I immediately regretted opening my mouth, “Xavier is a part of something called the court. The court is a group of the six highest ranking vampires below us that was established a few weeks after the attack when it was clear that Brandon and I could not assume our duties. They are the ones that make our laws; Brandon and I are the ones that enforce them and can ‘veto’ them, I suppose you can say. However we can be over ruled if four or more of the six members vote against us. That’s why when we tried to get the rule of Alistair getting married before he can take the throne revoked, every member voted no except for Christian.

“Xavier is the head of the court and was the one who established the entire committee and his daughter, Cynda is the most suitable match for my son as far as ranking goes. But if Michelle were to be found before the wedding, she would take Cynda’s place, since Michelle was- is Alistair’s rightful bride.”

I was silent for the last few steps we had to take towards an open door.

“Here you are,” she gestured towards the open space and I quickly walked inside. “Amy already drew you a bath, and I will be in the room right across the hall when you’re done or if you need anything.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” I curtsied as she started to close the door.

“Elizabeth?” she smiled at me.

I rose from my bow and looked at her expectantly.

“I would like it very much if you would call me Abigail from now on,” she continued. “Dinner will be served in two hours.”

I nodded my head and gave her the best smile I could muster up as she closed the door and it locked with a click. I carefully laid the intricate piece of fabric on the counter and then unzipped my uniform, placing it next to the dress.

I turned to the bath and carefully stepped into the water that had wisps of steam rising from it. I let the scalding consume every inch of my scarred skin. I stared up at the watery veiled ceiling and for once I let my mind wander into another life.

What if I was her? There as a 50/50 chance that I was Michelle Wither, that I actually had a life to come back to; that I wasn’t just the lost girl who only had blotches of uncertain memories. I might actually be somebody.

Somebody who, although didn’t have a blood related family as far as I could tell, had people that actually loved her like she was one of them. Somebody who had a purpose in the world and had a place where she belonged. Somebody who knew who she was and wasn’t a freak who didn’t even know what her name was or when her birthday was.

For the first time in my life, I felt hope. Even if there was a chance that I wasn’t the little girl who was stolen from her home, I realized that I wasn’t just a lost girl. Someone, where ever they may be, knew me and might even be looking for me.

But then two thoughts shattered every strand of hope that was built up in that one second. If I did have someone out there looking for me, wouldn’t they have gone to the police and filed a missing person’s report or at least gone to the hospitals? But there was no point in that matter anymore, I was going to spend the rest of my life here. And most likely I wouldn’t be here for much longer, even if I had Abigail, Nikki, and Christian’s help.

The growing ache in my chest –from the lack of oxygen to my lungs or something else, I did not know – jolted me out of the safe confines of my quiet watery barrier. I sputtered as I tried to remove the small amount of water that had managed to enter my lungs, leaving my throat irritated and raw.

I sighed, reaching for the neatly placed soap and shampoo, and scrubbed my skin and scalp until small droplets of blood appeared on the surface of my skin. I looked down at the murky water that was filled with the dirt that was on me like a second skin and the blood that was caked over my wounds had been dissolved and was now present in the lukewarm water that surrounded my body.

My hand glided across the smooth bottom of the tub until I found the stopper. I twisted it and the water immediately started to gurgle down the drain. I quickly stepped out of the tub, nearly slipping on the slick tiled floor in the process. I grabbed the towel that was folded neatly on the granite counter top, but frowned in confusion when I realized that it was too small to wrap around my abdomen. I circled around the room and found a plush white robe hanging on a wrought iron hook next to the glass shower.

I wrapped it around myself and twisted the smaller towel around my hair and rested the bundle on top of my head. I turned back to the mirror to see what damage had been done.

I could still feel the gash on my scalp from my father’s beer bottle and the edge of the staircase. I pulled the robe’s sleeve and saw that there were dark bruises scattered across my face and arms, both by Alistair’s hand. Old scars had been mixed in with the new freshly healed ones. I glanced down at my right hand, examining the large pink scar that covered most of my hand. I traced over the smooth slightly upraised imperfection in concentration. The scar was a range of a dark purple to a soft light pink that faded into my natural ivory skin tone. The silver ring glistened as the small droplets of water ran across my hand.

There was a large assorted amount of makeup ranging from kohl eyeliner to tinted lip balm. I ran the pads of my fingertips across the non-healing bruises that decorated the surface of my skin. I gnawed on the inside of my check wondering why these creatures of perfection would have make-up.

“That’s for you,” a calm voice spoke behind me, causing me to flinch. “Sorry.”

I glanced in the mirror and saw the woman who took Hara, I steadied my heart as I spoke, “It’s alright.”

Amy looked away from me immediately after I had made eye contact with her, “Abigail sent me to help you,” she explained in a strained voice.

“Help with what?” I asked quietly, confused by what she said.

“Getting ready for the meeting,” she walked over to the counter careful to avoid me, and grabbed a handful of the beauty products.

“Well then I’m going to need all the help I can get,” I added weakly.

She let a small smile crack through her emotionless façade. She unscrewed the top off one of the glass bottles and dabbed the liquid contents onto a white rectangular sponge, proceeding to cover my face with the foundation.

“You might want to close your eyes,” she warned me, setting the bottle down and replaced it with a brush and compressed powder.

My eyelids immediately fell shut as she applied the powder. I choked on the airborne remains that were caught in my throat. I felt Amy run a small brush that had what I thought to be lip gloss across my lips. And then something tugged on my eyelashes, fast and painful.

“You may open them,” Amy said quietly.

I obeyed and locked eyes with my reflection, the bruises had disappeared under the cover of the foundation. My lips looked fuller with the assistance of the light pink balm that matched the blush that was spread across my cheekbones. My eyes looked brighter with dark lashes framing them.

“Thank you,” I smiled at her, as she unraveled the towel that was placed on top of my head and started untangling the knots in my hair.

“Your hair is very pretty,” she spoke, trying to make conversation.

“It can be a pain sometimes,” I laughed, brushing some of the damp strands away from my face.

She gave me an empty smile, and I suddenly realized why, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She only then looked me in the eye, and her expressionless face turned confused.

“I can tell that you are upset when you’re near me, and it’s because of the girl, Michelle, isn’t it?”

She started shaking her head that was lowered, “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway and I’ll try to make it easier for you, for all of you,” I promised, shaming myself for bringing pain everywhere I went.

Amy looked at me speechless for a moment, but shook her head and plugged a hairdryer, continuing to brush my hair until it was dry. She proceeded to open a box of bobby pins and twisted locks of my hair, and pinned them to my scalp. She appraised her work after about half an hour and then sprayed hairspray across her work.

“What do you think?” she asked me, smiling slightly.

She sculpted my hair into an elegant up-do, letting the thin shorter hair frame my face. She let my ringlets hang down at different lengths, and bounced with even the smallest movement.

“I love it,” I answered with a smile in return.

“Let’s get you into your dress,” Amy unfolded the floor length lace dress as I hesitantly removed the white robe and stepped into the fabric. She helped me zip the back of it with one smooth motion of her hand. The dark forest green lace contrasted against my fair skin, making it look at least somewhat presentable. The dress had a slight train in the back and a less than subtle plunging sweetheart neckline that caused me to blush.

The door opened then and Abigail glided cross the floor and stood by Amy. She was wearing a classic ball gown, the ones that were only spoke of in fairytales. It was a milky silver color with crystals sown into the fabric. Her hair was slightly curled and let down with her crown placed on her head.

“You’re perfect,” she smiled widely at me. “Thank you, Amy.”

“You’re welcome, your majesty,” Amy replied with a smile of ease as she curtsy and left the room.

“Are you ready, dear?” Abigail asked me, offering her hand.

I nodded slightly as I took her hand and she lead us down the hall.


(Gellion’s P.O.V.)

“What have you recovered from the girl’s home?” Gellion asked the new occupant of his study seriously.

“I think you will be very impressed with what we’ve recovered, my king,” the red head spoke quietly.

“Oh?” her employer mussed. “What have you brought me, my love?”

The red head silently crossed the cold dark room with a large wooden case in her arms that she struggled to support under her tiny frame. She kneeled down in front of her employer and offered him the large chest.

Gellion Lyall ran his index finger across the surface of the aged wood until he reached the wrought iron lock that sealed the casement. He wrapped his scarred hand around the seemingly unbreakable latch, and with one simple clench of his fist the lock turned to dust. The chest then swung open with ease revealing something that unsettled the king.

There folded perfectly with a slight coating of dust were the remains of a dress. The fabric had been severely singed and was covered in soot, but he could clearly see the past life of the garment. It was as black as ebony with a pure white sash around the waist. It was small, like a child would wear it.

And then he smelt it.

The distinct scent of human blood, it was faint but there was no doubt in his mind whose blood had spilled on the dress.

“Where is she?” he snarled at the girl, clenching the ruined dress in his hand.

“S-she has disappeared, your majesty,” the servant stated, shaking slightly in fear of what her ruthless ruler would do.

“What do you mean ‘She has disappeared’?” the venom in his mouth had seeped past his lips.

“The authorities are blaming her foster father, but I saw Christian Staten at the girl’s apartment,” she confessed.

“Dammit,” Gellion paced back and forth in front of the roaring fire in the hearth, the light casted sinister shadows across his scarred flesh. “Leave my sight.”

“There is something else you should know, your highness,” the girl spoke hurriedly. “The girl is going by the name of Elizabeth Ford and does not know where she came from.” And then the servant gave a quick curtsy and bolted out of the room, her long fiery hair trailed behind her.

“Orin,” he spoke his brother’s name under his breath and almost immediately appeared by his side. “We have a situation.”

“I heard,” his eyes flashed red with anger.

“What have our… spies reported?” Gellion asked, frustrated.

“They have not sent word since last week.”

Gellion ran his hand down his face, his sharpened nails dug into his skin, “This ruins everything.”

“Not necessarily, brother,” Orin walked over to his brother, taking the signed dress out of his grasp and fiddled with the ruined hem. “We can use this to our advantage.”

“And how is that?” Gellion questioned.

“The girl does not remember who she is,” he started. “She doesn’t know who Abigail, Brandon or Alistair is, and odds are they won’t think of her as Michelle Wither because of that. And our informants would have sent word if she had been discovered. We have proof that Michelle is still lives and the leeches are still out there looking for her even when she is right in the center of it, going unnoticed.”

“What are you saying, Orin?”

His younger brother grinned, “Tell me, when was the last time you contacted Isadora?”

“The witch? I thought we were done with her services,” Gellion tried to piece together what he was saying.

“I’ve got an idea that will bring the parasite kingdom to its knees; we’re going to bring ‘Michelle Wither’ back.”
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Sorry to leave y'all on a cliffy xD

I'm also sorry it took forever, but it's here so yay! Chase you need to udpate now :)

And happy a-day-early four months to me and my boyfriend, David, even though we're both sick <3