In the dark of the dungeon, my dungeon, she screams out. Her body is writhing and twitching as she tries to hold herself together. She was pressed up against the wall holding on to it for dear life. Her clothes, ripped and shredded. Her hair is in complete disarray, covering her down-turned eyes. Those eyes, still blue, still innocent, plead with me to stop. They overflow with crimson tears falling to the cold stone floor, mixing with the blood from her back. The sweet virgin blood that I am spilling. My cat o nine tails in my left hand, and my drink in my right. I stand nonchalantly waiting to hear her say the words. The words that will allow me to stop torturing her like this. She won't beg though. She is too strong for that. Her mind is set. Thinking that she has done nothing wrong. How misdirected her thoughts are. She had to learn her place even if every drop of her sweet virgin blood dripped from her open wounds. I was the master, not she, and when I gave her orders was to obey them without question every time or there would be consequences. I must admit I was enjoying myself. The dripping of her blood, the smell of her tears, the sight of her body slumped over in agony. It was a powerful feeling, dominance.
I didn't dare drink the blood that had spilled. I would surely come undone in blood-lust if I did. It was hard for even me to resist. She clenched her teeth together as I struck her again and again. To her credit she was exponentially quieter than the first time I had punished her. Every few strikes I would get a satisfactory shriek though. Oh I was definitely enjoying myself. I stuck again, this time ripping flesh from her back. Silly girl, if she would drink blood then she could have avoided this whole ordeal. Only fools denied their instincts. Only fools starved themselves. Foolish girl. I hit her again while reaching into her mind. She wasn't thinking about the pain, how odd. She was thinking about a man. His image burned into her memory. Tall, with strawberry blond hair, braided all the way down his back. It was the mercenary captain. She was focusing so hard on him that she would barely feel the pain. That was probably due to several nerve endings being severed as well. I realized that she would eventually drink, and that it would probably be from this man. She had been punished enough for today. I threw my whip over my shoulder unceremoniously and walked over to her trembling form.
"You will drink, my simpering little evening walker, and it will be soon." I whispered into her ear almost seductively. I laughed a little as shivers of terror ran down her body, and then disappeared into shadow. She turned to find herself alone in my dungeon, and let out a groan. Then she bolted. She ran as fast as she could up and out to her room. I laughed even more seeing her this frazzled was always fun. She stayed locked up in there for the rest of the night, I suppose to frightened to see me. That sort of filled me with pride. At least I could still inspire fear in her, even if she would not listen to me.
The next night I was doing my usual rounds of pushing my master to her limits, when something caught my eye. Apparently the french-man was trying to kiss the police girl. She seemed terrified, of course, and backed away rather quickly looking rather comical if I do say so myself. I wondered if she would ever grow up and act like a real woman, not the simpering child she seemed right now. Probably not.
Weeks later we were in the ruins of London, fighting the war that made my century. The major had finally got his wonderful war that he wanted. The police girl was left protecting the mansion while I defeated my new foes. Anderson had proven especially difficult to dispatch when he had joined with the holy relics, but I grew bored with is antics. His heart disintegrated between my fingers as he said his final goodbyes to all the world around him. My mind reached out to my fledgling to see if she was also successful in her endeavors, but something was different. She was grieving at the moment. If my heart were still beating it might have skipped right then. She was holding the lifeless body of the captain in her arms, but it was not her that killed him. She had been blinded and her arm had been cut off poor girl. It seemed she was near her end. Then her thoughts turned red with anger. She was furious. Apparently the Frenchman had finally got that kiss, because she was obviously infatuated with him. The freak that had ended his life was in for it now. I smiled just a bit, as she clamped her fangs over his neck.
'Zat's my girl!' A new voice inside her head said. 'We'll beat zem togezer!' Everyone in the room changed attitudes. This tiny woman who until now seemed little to no threat to them suddenly stuck fear in their unbeating hearts. My smile grew to an all out grin. This truly was a perfect night for war.