October 31, 1779
The story took place during the middle of the American Revolutionary War. The people rebelled against the crown, turning brother against brother. Friends were lost and families were divided. The townspeople of Sleepy Hollow spoke in fear of a powerful warrior who had been hired by the British to help them fight for their cause, a feral and savage man with a terrifying reputation, who was known for chopping off the heads of his victims while riding hard into battle upon a giant black horse. Lillian Waise didn't believe such a man existed, but she would soon find out the stories were true, in one of the worst ways imaginable.
Lillian was only an innocent bar maid. Nineteen years, nine months and nine days old, to be exact. Her long, wavy hair was black as raven's fathers. Her blue eyes shined like moonlight on a midsummer's night. Her face was as white as winter snow, a faint color in her cheeks. She was not an important woman, for she had no title. She had no family, no wealth. In her own mind, she was of no value to anyone. She had only her beauty, but even that was a curse.
Three men came into the bar that night and ordered several rounds of ale and beer, behaving in a way that was most unattractive to social norms. They were not Sleepy Hollow residents or even simple country folk. They looked like they came from the city just two days away. Indeed, the three men came to the quiet, little village to look for a bit of fun and acted boorish throughout the evening and kept ordering for the women to serve them.
While she was busy serving beer and ale to local patrons, Lillian looked over and noticed a shy-looking young man sitting at a table in the corner by himself and went over to refill his mug. The shy gentleman offered her a friendly smile and thanked her. When Lillian turned, she saw one of the men was trying to make uncomfortable advances on a red-headed maid named Cassandra, and went over to him and warned him that if he and his friends continued on with their unacceptable behavior, they would have to leave. The man showed a malicious smile to Lillian and told his two friends they were leaving. She hoped she would never see them again.
The gentleman sitting in the corner admired her bravery for standing up to them and didn't much care for the attitudes of the three men, either. Men of their sort didn't deserve the pleasures of being with a whore, though the chances of them catching some incurable disease from one would serve them right for their lack of manners. Finishing his drink, the gentleman mustered up his courage and stood and went over to Lillian, who was wiping down a table with a rag, cleaning up a mess of spilled beer left behind by the three obnoxious men.
"You certainly know how to handle yourself, miss", he complemented.
Lillian looked at him, a gentle smile painted her fair-skinned face. "Thank you", she said.
"Forgive me, I've not introduce myself. My name is Richard Vallingby."
"Lillian Waise. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Vallingby."
"Richard, please", the gentleman insisted. He was tall and looked to be in his late twenties, with large green eyes and long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. He was wearing a brown jacket and white ruffled shirt.
"Is there something you wanted, Richard?" Lillian asked him, cleaning a mug.
"Only for a chance to speak with you, Miss Lillian", Richard answered.
"Why do you feel the need to speak with me?"
"Because I'm leaving for war tomorrow and wish to enjoy the company of a young, fair maiden whose beauty makes even the loveliest rose too ashamed to blossom. I may die tomorrow or I may die the day after. Either way, this could very well be my last night on Earth."
Lillian blushed a bit, lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked up at him and asked, "What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Nothing of a sinful nature, miss, I can assure you", said Richard. "All I want is for you to talk with me. Will you do me the honor, Miss Lillian?"
"Lily, these gentlemen need another round of ale over here", Cassandra called out to her from across the establishment.
Lillian turned her head and looked over her right shoulder. "Coming, Cassandra!" She turned her head back to Richard and said, "I may grant you that, but only if you stop referring to me as Miss Lillian. Just Lillian will do."
"Accept my apology, Lillian."
"Very well."
It was close to midnight by the time the last patron left the bar. Cassandra told Lillian to clean up for the night and that she would see her in the morning. Richard stayed behind and waited patiently until she was finished, then escorted her outside. Once they stepped out the door, Richard felt a heavy blow to the head, followed by a quick pain. Then his body fell to the ground, unconscious. Lillian gasped and would have screamed had her mouth not been covered by someone's hand. A strong arm wrapped around her torso, holding her against the body of one of the three scoundrels who left earlier.
"You want him to live, you'll come with us and not make a sound", he whispered darkly into her ear. "You got that?"
Lillian didn't know what the meaning of this was, but nodded her head and complied to what he told her as the man dragged her away and lead her over to the covered bridge, where his two friends waited for them.
"Well, well, who do we got here?" Asked one man.
"Just about the prettiest little thing you ever seen", his friend answered.
The man handed Lillian over to them, each one grabbing hold of her arms as she struggled to break out of their tight grip. Right away, she understood exactly what they were planning on doing with her.
"No, stop! Let go of me!"
Lillian was knocked unconscious by the first man, who then lifted her over his shoulder, as the three of them headed deep into the Western Woods. They needed somewhere dark and private, somewhere no one would think to look for them or catch them in the act of which was about to take place.
They came to a clearing at the end of the Indian Trail and the man threw Lillian down onto the forest bed. He wasted no time in straddling himself on top of her, letting out a devilish laugh as he tore open her blouse and forced a kiss onto her lips. Lillian regained consciousness and groaned in disgust and attempted to scratch his cheek, but this only made him angrier and caused him to punch her in the face. She cried out from both the impact and the forced, unwelcome entry into her virgin sex while he held her down. His two friends watched in sadistic pleasure, waiting until his time was up and they could each have their way with their female hostage.
The pain was unbearable and caused Lillian to scream into the dead of night. She begged him to stop, but he refused to do so. The autumn leaves on the forest floor decorated her hair into a mess of black tresses as he continued to thrust into her against her will. She could feel his rough and not-so-gentle hands touching her in places she wanted no man to touch her. Lillian was helpless. Nobody would be able to hear her out in the middle of the woods. This was to be the end of her, she knew it. Nobody would be able to save her. Soon as these bastards were done, they would leave her to rote all alone and be left for dead. Maybe even kill her.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, there was an encampment of British soldiers. They were strong in numbers and proud to fight for the crown, but there was one among them who was not of British blood, one who could care less about king and country. He was a German mercenary who came to their aid and took part in joining their side, simply for the lust of killing. He was not in this for profit, but for the love of beheading a man and watering the American soil with the blood of her soldiers. With one swipe of his mighty and powerful sword, the Hessian was a nightmare to those who ever laid their eyes upon him.
At the moment, the Hessian was nowhere near the camp. He was galloping through the woods, hunting down two Patriots who managed to escape. He sliced the head off of one and took an arm off of the other. He pulled on the reins and came to a stop in the middle of the path, looking down at his prey before lopping off his head. The Hessian looked at the blood on his sword for a moment, then heard someone screaming far off in the distance.
He turned his head to his left and listened, recognizing it was a woman's voice. Her terrified screams were like a banshee announcing the death of a loved one, but this was not the case. Her cries were desperate and were followed by the sound of wicked laughter that belonged to three men. It was of no concern of his what these people were doing out in the woods in the middle of the night, but the Hessian knew something was wrong. The pained cries of the woman were more than enough to convince him she was in need of rescuing. Leaving his sword unsheathed, the Hessian turned his horse around and quickly made haste to her aid.
The three rapists did not hear him come galloping behind them on a dark horse, as the Hessian sliced the head off of one man, then the other. The third man, who was currently having his way with the female victim looked up in time to see his second friend decapitated by a blade of cold steel. The horse reared and neighed as his master roared ferociously, showing two rows of razor sharp teeth. The third man screamed and removed himself from the young lady without any hesitation before starting to flee, only to feel the impact of an axe to the back of his head. His body fell face down onto the forest floor. The Hessian dismounted from his giant black steed and walked over to retrieve his axe from the half-dead man, then raised his sword once more and claimed another life by slicing off his head with a bite of his steel.
When he slew the last of the three rapists, the Hessian heard the pain-filled, heavy breathing of the young woman lying on the ground and turned around, drawing his attention over to her. He sheathed his weapon and walked over and knelt beside her. He stared down at the young woman, his concerned eyes carefully examining over her injured body. She laid before him half-naked with her blouse torn open and her skirts bunched around her, exposing below her waistline. There was blood between her legs, and bruises on her arms and on her thighs. Her clothes were shredded into rags. She was pale and fragile as a snowflake, her tear-stained face streaked with dirt. There was blood flowing from her nose. Her tear-filled, glittering blue eyes stared up at the sharp-toothed man dressed in dark armor, though she could barely make out his form. Her vision started to darken. The next thing she remembered was entering into a world of eternal blackness.