I think I sealed my fate, along the way I may have lost my mind.

Moments of clarity. They are few and far between. Those moments though...they're enough to make me realize why my mind is in such irreparable shambles. A window that looks into a horrid scene of lunacy and massacre. Why would anyone want to look through that window? I don't.

I don't want to be this way. I love it. I need it. I crave the tug of my blade parting flesh. Feeling my fingers squeeze a throat until I feel the windpipe shatter. Bathing myself in the blood...the blood. All that blood. I need it. But, I don't want it. That's what he wanted. I hate it. Why, even though I eradicated the monster, my maker. He still lives. Exists. Festers. I am what I destroyed. The scars he inflicted, the scars I bear, the scars I deliver. He made me into the perfect beast. A beast that could surpass him. While my maker could scarcely pass for anything but a killer, I have all the necessary attributes to slither into humanity in a way he never could. A candy haired, baby faced monster. Kindred and Kine alike don't perceive me as a threat. Until I want them to. Until I am.

I smile and charm. Keep the storm of insanity to a quiet roar. Try to take cover when the storm breaks. Hide it. Is that humane of me? When I feel the warning signs of hysteria creeping in like a fog, I run. Why do I run? What's stops me from exploding like a bomb and leveling those near me like so many fragile buildings? Who. Who stops me?

Little Maddie is still in there. Oh, she's buried deep. So deep. Sometimes I can't tell if she's buried in the madness...or if I'm holding her under, waiting for her to die. She's so weak. She wants to be in charge. Stop hurting them, she says. Care, she says. Open up and let someone in, she says. No. It's what I am now. Theres enough fissures in me without all that. Fissures that could be cleaved open. Exposing me, red and raw, to things I can't tolerate. No, Maddie's plans for me are just as destructive as my maker's. He wants a monster, she wants a human. What do I want? Human or monster?

You're now a slave, until the end of time here. Nothing stops the madness. Turning, haunting, yearning.

In my coffin for the day. A restless, pink haired figure in the dark bedroom. A face that should be a composed death mask contorts in reaction to the reveries flowing through an inanimate brain. Small whimpers escape from the cold lips.

Dreams.

Walking home from school. Nose in a book, my feet know the way. I hear the sounds of a scuffle around the corner of a long abandoned restaurant. The shouts are familiar to me. Jason and his bad news crew. I sigh and stuff my book into my bag. Setting eyes on the scene, it's Jason and three of his greaser buddies roughing up nerdy little Davie Alcott. By all means, I should just keep walking, but something lights a fire in me. I drop my bag on the ground and approach the boys. "Hey! Why don't you leave him alone you bunch of jerks!" 
Jason stops and turns to me, his fist in mid air, grimed with dirt and Davie's blood. "Mind your business, you dumb skirt. Unless you want a piece of this knuckle sandwich." The other boy's laughter trails off when I square my shoulders and step forward in front of Jason.
One of the taller boys, Steve, grabs me around the forearm. "You're cruisin' for a bruisin' there, doll. Why don't you buzz off?" 
I shake his hand off and something in my face makes him back off. Before I can turn my attention back to Jason, his fist flies at me, landing a stinging blow against the side of my mouth. I feel the blood dripping from my split lip. Davie's in the gravel, eyes darting in his bruised face like a snared rabbit. Someones gotta put this punk in his place. Without a sound I rush forward and tackle Jason into a row of trashcans. I hear his head bounce against the pavement as I pummel him in a fury. Another of his crew tries to pull me off and I hit him with one of the steel trash can lids, the metal bong-ing loudly and vibrating up my shoulder. The other boys back off. Jason struggles to get up and I plant my foot in his stomach knocking the wind and the fight out of him. Holding a bloody knuckled hand out to Davie, I help him to his feet. "Listen up you cheap, dime store hoods. You're going to leave Dave alone from now on, or else everyones going to hear about how you all got creamed by a girl. Dig it?" The boys murmur their assent. Hearing Jason mumble some smart remark from the ground, I spit a mouthful of blood near his feet. "By the way, Jase...you hit like a girl."

Picking my bag up, I lead Davie back to the main street. "You OK, kid?" looking over his torn clothes and beaten face.
"It was almost worth it to see you whip their tails, Madelyn!" he says with a grin.
I laugh a little. "Don't blow a gasket, Davie. I only did what any decent person would do. Those guys had it coming." 
"Well, thanks a bunch! I owe ya big time! I better get home now. See ya later, alligator!" He beams at me.
OK. So he is a big geek. Either way, no one deserves to be treated that way. I smile back at him and wave. "After awhile, crocodile."

Back at home. I wander into my dad's work room and plop down next to Tommy, one of our mutts. I rest my chin on one hand and idly pet Tommy with the other. After a few moments dad puts the manual he was perusing down and looks at me expectantly. "What's on your mind, Maddie? My sixth sense is telling me you have a tale for your old dad." I unconsciously chew on my lip, wincing when I graze the swollen bruise. Dad sits cross legged in front of me, his words accentuated by the thumping of Tommy's wagging tail. "What happened, sweetie?" I lower my head until my brown hair forms a protective curtain around my face and recite the events from earlier. When I've told my story I peek up at him from underneath my bangs. To my surprise, he doesn't look disappointed or mad at me at all. He tucks my hair back behind my ears and lifts my chin. "Well, Maddie. It sounds like you did a pretty decent thing for Davie Alcott. It seems like those boys meant to do him serious harm. I'm not saying it's a good idea to solve problems with violence but you helped put an end to a bad situation." 
I open my mouth and close it again. Taking a deep breath, I pick my words carefully. "I just couldn't stand by and watch them bully him, dad. It just seemed like...pointless cruelty. They prey on the weak. Like monsters." 
He nods in agreement. "You're right. Some people have so much malice in them that they let it spill out and infect others with their tormenting. Sometimes you can just avoid those people, but sometimes..." he gestures to my busted lip and bloody knuckles. We sit in silence for a few moments, petting Tommy. "You know," he says, smiling. "You get that protective streak from me. I was always getting in trouble with my folks for fighting in the play yard. It was always a situation where I was trying to protect the prey from the predator. Too bad Gramma and Grampa didn't see it that way." I laugh with him. "You want to head over to the kennels with me and feed the mutts?" 
I nod enthusiastically. Both of us get up, and I reach up and wrap my arms around my dad in a hug. "I love you, dad." 
He kisses the top of my head. "I love you too, my Maddie."

Nightmares.

Waking up. Why is it so freaking cold? Is Mongrel jacking up the air conditioner? Something feels wrong. I try to get up. The clinking sound of chains echoes ominously in my head. My body tautens like a live wire. If this is his idea of some sort of kinky fun I'm about to use the safe word. Why can't I see? With that unspoken question, florescent overhead lights flicker on with a buzz. With my eyes squinted against the sudden glare I see...I see....I....see.

"No!"

How? HOW!? How am I back here?! I ESCAPED. NO. NO! NO! My thoughts reach a fever pitch as I take in what should be a burned out shell, but instead is the filthy bomb shelter that is my prison. Was! WAS my prison! The floor is still stained with my blood. I yank at the chains, flinching as the metal bites into my wrists. I'm crazed as I pull and twist my hands in the cuffs. My teeth grind against the steel and I try in vain to bite my way out of the restraints. I freeze, wide eyed and panting as I hear the door swing open to slam against the wall. I won't look. I won't look. "I won't look!" 
That laugh. "You don't have to look, monster. You know." 
I let out a terror-stricken wail when I set eyes on my maker. "YOU'RE DEAD." I shriek. "I killed you myself! You can't hurt me anymore!" Laugh. The laugh as he approaches me. Like a trapped animal, I try to shrink back against the wall. My wailing is cut off as he lifts me by the throat, dirty nails digging into my flesh.
"Mmm...still as fresh and sweet as the day I found you." I cringe and gag as he licks the droplets of blood from my neck. Holding me aloft with one hand, he reaches around to his belt, pulling the familiar blade from it's sheath. "Remember this?" He waves the blade under my nose. "You can still smell your family's blood on it? Can't you?" Running the blade from my knee up my inner thigh..."What else did you smell on my blade?" His hot breath in my ear. The blade moving further up...

I scream and thrash hard enough to break his grip. Falling back to the floor, weeping, I feel his hand in the tangles of my hair and then gone. "I have a present for you, monster..." 
Dread fills me. Nonononononono. Whipping my head back and forth with each thought. A recognizable smell fills my nostrils and I freeze. Terror taking a whole new level. Clove and cinnamon and...NO. I'm loath to set my eyes on this new torture. Thick chains in my makers hands. Chains attached to a steel collar. A steel collar attached to...my Mongrel. His face reflecting confusion, fear, worry, anger..."NOOO! LET HIM GO! YOU DEVIL! YOU'RE DEAD! I'LL KILL YOU!! LET US GO!!!!" I don't even notice the wrenching pain as my panic fueled thrashing causes my shoulder to dislocate. If I could just break free. I'll tear him apart! kill him shred him destroy help help. I hear Mongrel's voice over the din.
"Maddie? What the fuck's going on? Who is this..." I yell a warning as my maker, quick as a snake, thrusts his hand into Mongrel's mouth, clutching his tongue and extracting it in a gout of blood. Just like I've done to so many victims.
"PLEASE NO!" I scream as Mongrel chokes and coughs out his own blood. My face is streaked with tears and blood as I continue my futile struggling. My voice and thoughts shriek in unison as my maker forces Mongrel to his knees in front of me.
"You have nothing, Madelyn. I will take everything from you until there's nothing left but me inside you." With those words, he slashes his blade into Mongrel's neck and I see his last look of horror and blame before his blood soaks me and I scream and scream and scream until my throat bleeds and my jaw cracks and...

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHH!" Flinging myself out of my coffin as it topples over. I hear a faint "...what the christ..." and rapidly approaching footsteps. My screams taper off into whimpers as Mongrel staggers into the room, still languid from his day sleep. I look up at him desperately with tear filled eyes and without a word he sinks down next to me, pulling my trembling figure into his arms. "Shh. Shh. It's alright, Maddie. Just another nightmare. You're ok." He repeats this mantra until my sobbing and quivering ceases and my subconscious slowly returns to it's normal, albeit perpetually damaged existence.

I am guiding myself right to the end. I can't learn. Come to terms - with the sickness that makes me crash and burn.

People seem to be surprised at my respect and possibly even borderline fear for authority. Like most of my quirks, there's a valid reason for this. A year or so after my Embrace, unsurprisingly, I came across a spot of trouble.

I uprooted from my hometown, avoiding recognition and the triggering memories. Not like those memories ever had the decency to avoid me. I had a haven and ample hunting grounds just across the state line. Until I hunted the wrong prey. I had no idea there was a organized Camarilla grouping in the city. At that point, I barely knew who the Camarilla was. Apparently the family I had just...ravaged, was a protected family. I was still taking care of some leftovers when I was interrupted by a half dozen irate Kindred armed to the teeth. I took a predatory stance. Pushing my spattered brown hair out of my face I growled. "Sorry to disappoint fellas...I'm not too good at sharing." 
The largest of the undead SWAT team approached me fearlessly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, little girl?!" 
I smirk and lick the residue of blood from my lips. "Enjoying my dinner. Clearly. At least I was, before you all interrupted me." 
My smart remark gains me a forceful backhand that almost cracks my jaw. Before I can strike back, two of the men twist me around and clamp my arms behind me with heavy duty manacles. The unyielding restraints ignite a flicker of panic in me. I start thrashing and snarling, until the leader jabs me with some sort of immobilizing steel rod. I drop, face first into the carpet while the men speak amongst themselves. "We've got to clean up here. Larson isn't going to be happy about this. The Anderson family were under his personal protection." 
"What do we do with this?" The questioner gives me a sharp jab with his boot.
My thoughts are an incoherent snarl in my head as I try to keep my sanity above the bubbling hysteria. "She'll be taken to Larson. For judgement." Judgement? Shit.

I'm thrown into some sort of reinforced paddy wagon. The six guards clamoring in and each looking at me like they just bagged a convicted puppy killer. I feel the effects of the paralyzing weapon wearing off in conjunction to the mindless frenzy taking over. Big mistake on their part for not securing a maniac better. I heave myself out of the seat into the lap of the closest guard. Biting at him like a Rottweiler on a fresh bone, the poor bastard loses a few crucial facial features before one of his buddies clocks me with what feels like a two by four and I'm out...

My arrival, awakening and the preceding few hours are a blur of delirium. I'm restrained and placed in a cell. Such conditions turn my paper thin lucidity into a full on conniption fit. Eventually a group of impeccably dressed Kindred come in. I'm beyond rational conversation at this point, making the leaders decision all the more easy. From what I manage to hear over my own pathetic keening, snippets of judgements.
"...a monster. Unable to keep the masquerade." 
"what she did to that family..." 
"..unstable..." 
"Too much of a liability to live. She is to be kept in this cell until dawn." This last sentence spoken by the leader, Larson. As the vampires file out of the cell, each gives me deep looks of loathing and disgust. All but one. An austere looking younger male. Through the panic induced haze I see something almost like pity. My mind displaces the moment as an illusion as the slamming door foreshadows my fate.

Eventually I sense the building getting quieter. I know it's late. Taking advantage of some short lived clarity, I glance around the cell. Looking at the ceiling, I see a stunning view of the night sky. Stunning indeed, yet I feel creeping dread instead of awe. Oh. No. No no no. This isn't good. Realizing what they meant when they said "...until dawn." Until dawn, when I will cease to exist. Whimpering to myself, I pull at the chains, trying to curl into a protective ball. This is it. All the suffering...this is how it ends? I struggle to slip my hands out of the manacles, succeeding only in losing a few layers of skin. I'm half heartily licking my wounds when I hear unhesitating footsteps approaching the door. My growls are cut off when the door swings open to reveal the austere male. His severe expression betrays his actions as he fearlessly steps forward and unlocks the manacles. I'm too astonished to fall into my usual attack mode. I tilt my head to the side questioningly as he places a finger on his lips and gestures for me to follow him. We silently move through the building and out into the dark parking lot. He hands me keys, a wad of cash and a few folded papers. "There's no time for questions, now. Take my car and take refuge at my home until tomorrow. When night falls, go to the closest store and get whatever you need for travel and something to alter your appearance. I will take care of things here, and meet you tomorrow by midnight." Before I can open my mouth he pushes me towards his car and briskly re enters the building. Still feeling more than a little shell shocked I glance at one of the papers with directions as I start up the car. I toss the rest of the paper and cash into the passenger seat without a glance and drive off.

A steady rain starts to fall as I pull into the driveway. I roll the windows up, muting the delicious scent of neighbors settling into bed. I attempt to shake off the hunger and grab at the small pile of papers I tossed aside. A newspaper article? Expression falls from my face as I take in the article.

Police Still Searching For Missing Teen.

Madelyn Alexis DeWittier, age 17.

The article describes the grisly circumstances surrounding my murdered family and the futile city wide hunt being held in hopes of finding myself or the monster responsible for this heinous act. Attached is a photo. My photo. Dressed in my junior prom dress, my innocent face smiles up at me from the now quivering paper. Another photo depicts the almost ridiculously cheerful, living DeWittier family. I'm staring for an indiscernible amount of time before folding the paper and stepping out of the car to enter the house. The rain on my face feels like tears.

I sleep through the rest of the night and preceding day. When I wake, I follow through with the unknown saviors directions. I have some skill in being unnoticeable, which helps as I pick and choose useful items from shelves. Passing a hair care section I pick up an eye catching box and smirk to myself as some true Malkavian logic passes through my head. I return back to the house and make use of my purchases. When my savior comes home, whatever explanation he has prepared is cut short as he regards my bright fuchsia hair and the lace and studded "goth kid" garb I've donned. "What...you? How is this? Why..." He mumbles something about failing at witness protection.
"No one stands out more than someone trying desperately to fit in. So..." I shrug and gesture to myself.
"That's so insane that it actually makes sense." I nod, and then look at him expectantly, holding up the article he gave me. Pointedly averting my eyes from the paper. In the next hour or so, he explains that he is on an overnight task force with the police department. It's apparently fairly common for the PD to have a Kindred or two on the force. He worked the crime scene at my former residence and recognized the attack for what it was. Recognizing it because it has happened before. Apparently my lunatic sire had put several young women through the same thing for years and years. I guess I was "lucky" for putting an end to his cycle of monstrosity. He tells me of how he hunted the beast, always too many steps behind to stop him. After finding my family, he sniffed out a trail that led him to the burned husk of my mortal prison and deduced the possibility of what happened. When the Camarilla guards dragged me in the other night it all came together. Somewhat rashly, he knew he had to set me free. I ask him why he didn't just let judgement fall upon me. After all, he must know from my actions that I truly never did escape my maker. He's almost as puzzled as I am. "What you've become, it's not your fault. Of all the women he did this to, you survived. However...damaged. There's something in you..." he trails off, looking flummoxed.
I shrug. "Well. Thanks. Maybe?Um...now what?" 
"You have to leave. Get as far away as possible. Larsen and the others will hunt for you, but he loses interest in the pursuit easily in his old age. You can take my car and cash. It would be unwise to collect anything from your haven." 
My indifference is clear. "I don't have anything worth taking with me anyway." My actions belie my words as I touch my pocket where the news article is folded. A minuscule part of me wants him to ask for it back. I'm sure it won't be healthy for me to hold onto this keepsake. He either doesn't notice or deliberately ignores it. "I guess I should know your name, now that I'm like, indebted to you." I can't help but scowl. As pleased as I am to not be a pile of ash, I don't like being beholden to anyone.
"Nick Pullman, and you don't owe me anything. If anything, you did everyone a favor by..." 
I cut him off. "Don't. I'm not some tormented martyr heroine. All of this came at a...fucking...COST." I clutch at my head, taking a deep breath. Keep it together. After a uninterrupted moment, I rise from my perch on his couch. "Sorry. Nick. If I'm going, I should go. Before I'm...gone." He looks a little concerned by my fragmented speech but nods in agreement. I take the car keys and cash from him and mumble some sort of gratitude. As I'm driving away, I wonder if he realizes what a mistake it was to "save" me. A faint smile crosses my face and I ponder the ease in which I manage to lure people in. Such a perfect little monster. A voice whispers in my head, wiping the smile away and causing my hands to grip the steering wheel too tight. I manage to keep control and shortly before dawn, take refuge in a seedy motel miles away from my little incident. I even catch some late dinner from a young woman in the parking lot at the wrong time. I close the room curtains, pull the blankets off the bed and drag them into the bathroom, turning the tub into my own porcelain refuge. When the sun rises, I'm dead to the world, my hand clutching the article with the DeWittier family's smiling faces.


Many years later. I'm impassively checking my email when I come across a subject less message from a familiar address. Nick_PullmanPD. Inside, I find a death certificate for Madelyn A. DeWittier and a brief article on the end of a fruitless search for the long missing teen of a slain family. The article is adorned with a picture of my family's tombstones, now complete with my own hunk of granite sitting over an empty grave. At the bottom of the email is a brief note from Nick, concluded with a phone number...If you need anything. I scoff as I program the number into my phone. Ring ring. Yes, Officer Pullman? I just killed a family of five. Could you help me dispose of the bodies? My laughter is disrupted by a faint groan. Oops. Must of left one of the hearts still beating. I spin out of the computer chair and walk back to the pile of bodies to finish my work, dried blood flaking off my skin as my lips span into a terrifying smile.