Once she was an heir to the Darkholme Legacy.
Once she had a mother.
Everything to her was 'once' until her mother's new husband came along.
He was a nice man but he gave foolish hopes, and a younger sister.
But then he died and a new man took his place, how this man was different.
He had shadows all around him and she simply didn't know what to do.
Her mother didn't have time to speak to her anymore and then she got sick.
The pain, the agony, she thought she was dying.
Her eyes glazed over a yellow haze and her once tan skin had developed into an opaque blue.
The only think that stayed the same was her hair.
Her mothers' red hair.
But then one day she simply woke up and she was her old self.
The servants avoided her and spoke secrets behind her back.
But what did she care, she was young and never felt better.
The day grew longer and she felt more tired.
As she passed the hall she glanced her reflection in the windows glass.
What should have been her face were blue skin and those horrible eyes.
She screamed and more to her surprise the image did also.
And he had seen it all.
He threatened to turn her mother, her sister, and her to the church.
She 'was' damned after all.
She 'was' just a demon.
Satan's child.
Scared and quite confused she left and never seen that part of Spain again.
The Years passed and she used her 'curse' to move town to town.
Then slowly realized she could almost form the faces of other people.
Only it made her more tired.
But then she saw him.
Though dressed in street rags she had caught the attention of a wealthy man, a count.
He soon took her in and married her.
She was never sure she ever loved him.
But she 'was' having his child and that had to account for something.
Right.
She watched closely as a Gypsy band wandered by.
She didn't understand why but she felt she would always need them.
The lightning flashed and she screamed.
She thought she was dying.
She didn't know that was part of life.
And then the pain ended and she saw the most wonderous sight.
A beautiful boy.
She touched his soft cheek.
And carefully touched each of his hands and feet and even patted his little tail.
But in the end she knew she couldn't keep him.
She waited until the pain only numbed her and the soft fur of her babe had dried.
That's when she left.
Those moments that follow she hardly recalls.
She remembers the rain.
Her/ the infant crying.
Her husband shouting.
The dogs.
And then, a gypsy woman with a smile on her face.
She simply reached for the child and cooed him firmly in her arms.
She shouted go as the dogs got louder.
And the years passed.