As I recall with my stomach turning, I was hiding away from myself, away from you. Like nothing, though something was terribly wrong.

I need some fresh air. Stepping out of the now antiseptic smelling house, I take a seat on the porch steps. Plugging my ear plugs in, I flip to a random song. Leslie Caron and Mel Ferrer serenade me with a tune from Lili. My favorite movie when I was...well...I sigh. One of the neighbors walk their dog down the sidewalk. Approaching the house, the dog starts barking like mad. His owner gives me a wary look, crossing the street to the adjacent walkway with haste. Despite what had to of been a blood buffet earlier I still get that twinge. I will my inner beast aside. I've already caused enough trouble tonight. Let's not cross any more boundaries. Thou shalt not consume they neighbor, and what not. I hang my head down between my knees, linking my hands behind my neck. I can't even fool myself with my own thoughts. It's not fresh air I need, it's a fucking lobotomy. I'm still hearing whispers. Trying to distract myself with cleaning, music...anything. I still hear the murmuring. I'm weary to my bones, but still not weary enough to calm and reassure myself that these quiet threats are a figment of my imagination. Yes. Yes, I know. Pyotr wants me dead. Franco is going to fillet me and serve me on toast. Everyone and their mother wants me dead. I'm a monster. I'm a beast. I know. I know. SHUT UP. Unconsciously, I emphasize the shout in my head by punching my fist through the step. I quickly pull my bleeding hand out of the hole, scooting over to cover it as I feel Mongrel's eyes on my back from inside the house. I hide my hand in my lap, keeping my gaze ahead. I'm about to start whistling innocently when his cell phone rings from inside, creating a distraction. I pull one of my ear buds out, turning my head to the door as I habitually lick the blood from my injured hand. Listening to Mongrel's irked tone, I pause the music to discern who's on the other line. Hmm. Ronin. Filling Mongrel in on that whole house of horrors deal. I make a face. Shady ass Gangrel. I unpause my tunes. Glad that, for once, I made a wise decision to not join the handful of Kindred on that little trek. I've got my own house of horrors right here. I think, attempting to rub the wrinkles of stress from my forehead. The cacophony of sound coming from the headphones is just accumulating more voices to the din. Pulling both plugs out of my ears, I toss the ipod to the side.

I stare off into the shroud of night. I feel like my thoughts are getting blacker by the moment. Simultaneously wanting to shriek, cry, throw myself on the ground and tear something to pieces...I try to settle myself. Does anyone really have even an inkling of how toilsome it is being stuck in here? Fucking...madness. That word. It's too fucking GENTLE for this. I clench my fists, blood oozing from the one. Is it even the madness I despise? Or is it the sanity? After all, without the sanity I wouldn't even be BOTHERED by any of this. Argh! THIS IS NO WAY TO EXIST. My visage switches from fury to despondency in an instant. It really is a shame Mongrel has that asinine devotion towards me. He'd probably be given a medal of honor for doing me in. My expression softens. My Mongrel. I sigh. Maybe I'll start a feud with E. Driscole. Ha! That one would JUMP at the chance to obliterate me. Briefly laughing to myself, I climb to my feet. A glance towards the horizon gives me barest predecessor to sunrise. I cross my arms, dropping my eyes once again to the ground. I could just stay out here. No. That wouldn't work. Of course Mongrel would pull me in before I'm incinerated. Once again, I'd just be putting him in peril. I could take off...just keep running until the sun comes up. Then...poof. No more voices. No more haunts. No more insanity. No more..Maddie. I bet it would hurt. Yeah. It would hurt. Not just me. I shake my head, attempting to clear it. Ugh. Stop. Quit this self pitying, gloomy shit. I turn on my heel, striding back into the house. Mongrel glances at me, still on the phone, then back to the map on the computer screen. I plop down cross legged next to his chair, smiling as I feel his hand nonchalantly smoothing the hair back from my forehead. Leaning against his leg, I close my eyes and savor the brief lull in my delirium.

I can't show my true embrace, now that you're subdued. I begin to weaken you. Rise and fall we decompose.

I'm following an ambrosial scent through the trees. The questions I should be asking myself barely cross my mind. Where am I? How did I get here? All I can focus on is the smell. I track it to a scant opening in what looks like a bare brick wall. I pause at the entrance. The smell assaults me as if embodied with life itself. It whispers. Come. Come in. Find me. I'm pulled forward, into a maze of sorts. A game? Is this a game for me? I giggle, ignoring the brief tickle of foreboding. It's only when I notice the gap in the wall I came through is no longer there, that sound judgement finally rears it's head. Just as swiftly, the mouth watering scent I followed into this trap is replaced with the recognizable smell of mildew and rot. Things long since decayed. Only the barest hint of light is reaching my still form. In the corners. The shadows breathe. Take form. They want me. I bare my teeth, but there's no denying the fear that's taking over my mind. The unknown figures start to converge on me and I run. Blindly run, taking turns at random. I know my fleeing is hopeless before I even feel the hands of my assailants grabbing me. Pulling me down. The faces of Kindred leering at me. Those whom I thought were allies. I try to appease to the mass of my kin. "Please, what have I done? Spare me! I don't know what I did." They fall on me. Claws tearing my skin. Blades cutting...cutting parts of me away. Laughter as they bite and drink from me. So much pain. I haven't felt this much pain since I was a mortal. My ravaged body is lifted up, passed through, hand to hand. The last face I see before being tossed into a lake of dark fluid..No...no..please not him. Not him. The clawed hand mockingly waving to me as I'm pulled deep into the lake of blood. Grasping, yanking hands. Dead hands pulling me under...under. Blood filling my mouth so I can't scream...


My own gasping bring me out of the nightmarish fog . Or does it? I'm in the dark, but it's...familiar. I feel the brush of fabric on my cheek. The closet. Great. I'm in my closet. I reach up, hand pausing on the doorknob. Taking a hearty sniff, my face contorts in reaction the overwhelming scent of blood. It's coming from the other side of the door. Incomprehensible sounds slip from my lips. Am I awake this time? Damn it. I don't want to open the door. Against my better judgement I turn the knob and step out of the closet. The smell makes my mouth water even through the dread. Oh...god. What did I...fuck. Oh fuck. I rub my face with shaking hands as I take in the the bodies strewn around my bedroom. All the pieces, the blood...I can't even count how many there are. What did I do?? What do I do?! It's almost dusk and Mongrel will...fuck fuck. Mongrel! I broke one of the few rules he actually enforces on me. He'll kill me! I crouch down in my guarded position, trying to finagle a plan when I hear the whisper. He will kill you, Maddie. He'll have to. My eyes snap open. Am I still dreaming? Mongrel would never hurt me? I crawl over to one of the bodies and press my hand against the cooling flesh. Feels real. I lick the blood off my palm and moan. I AM awake. I think. Oh. Please please. What the hell is going on?! He's coming. He's going to kill you. The smell of cloves sends me scampering to the other side of the room. I cower against the wall, blood pooling from the soaked carpet around my bare feet.
Mongrel steps into my bedroom, eyes wide, too many different emotions running across his face to discern. "Madelyn. What...the...fuck?" His eyes fall on me.
"I don't...I didn't..." My words drift off as I bury my head in my hands. Then, I hear Mongrel's voice. You're dead, Maddie. It's time. I wail through my clenched fists. Threats and laughter echo in my ears. This has got to be a fucking nightmare! IT'S GOT TO BE. I hear a warning growl. Sense Mongrel tensing to attack. I can't. I won't fight Mongrel! Fear and delirium come off me in an almost tangible wave. Tangible. I feel something fly from my mind like a cloud. A sound reaches me through the voices. A sound of fear, not my own. I force my hands away from my face. Mongrel's yellow eyes meeting my green ones. Like my own, his are filled with fear. Terror, even. I feel it, so akin to my own. But why? What now? What did I do? Realization creeps over me. My mind defended itself even though my body was unwilling. That power that flows through my cursed blood. I've infected Mongrel. Oh FUCK.

Mongrel falls backward onto the floor with an anguished scream. The sound of it sending a shock through my still heart. He argues with an unseen presence. "N-No..you’re dead. YOU’RE DEAD. I killed you with my own hands. I KILLED YOU. No. No. No. You’re not real. Not real. Not.." I grit my teeth afraid to act as he emits a pained cry. Then, his voice changes"… Evaly, love, what are you doing here?" Oh, no. Mongrel.."No, I killed him. He’s dead, babe. I killed him...for you." 
I'm filled with horror when I realize what he must be seeing. Tentatively, I speak. "Mongrel?"
At the sound of my voice, he staggers to his feet briefly, before falling to his knees with a yell. "Babe?... Babe, is that you? Oh god..so sorry... so sorry. Babe... where are you?" His words turn into panting sobs. Such pain.
Self preservation tossed aside, my thoughts turn solely to my friend as I crawl across the blood soaked carpet to him. I grasp his head between my shaking hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Mongrel! It's not...it's not real. What you're seeing. I..it's a...please Mongrel!" My voice, wavering with distress. "I don't know what to do..."
He reaches up, clasping my hand in his own. His eyes looking at me, but seeing someone else. "You're so beautiful..." He smiles sadly and kisses my palm, "I think I had one of those dreams again..it was so real. You were burning." I open my mouth to speak...and close it again. Swallowing around the lump in my throat. He's seeing her. His Evaly. I'm stricken with sorrow. How am I supposed to tell him this isn't real? He leans forward, lips brushing my ear, my neck, as he whispers "...kiss me.." I pull back an infinitesimal amount, trying to collect my wayward thoughts. Mongrel's familiar and comforting scent filling my nostrils. He's always been whatever I've needed him to be. How else can I do this without harming some part of him? And doesn't...doesn't some part of me...want. Want to feel...something..more than nothing? I'm pulled out of my thoughts at the soft touch of his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "My love, Evaly..." I press my fingers to his mouth, cutting him off. I'm silently thankful for the false face he sees as I trace my thumb along his lips, before replacing it with my own lips. Hesitatingly. Gently. Then, as something ignites. My hand sliding across his throat to grasp the hair at the back of his neck. His hands caressing. And I feel...I feel. Oh. My dear Mongrel. I break off the kiss with a inward sigh of regret. His eyes on me as I bite my lip, trying to keep my face from betraying any emotion that might be amiss. "What's the matter, babe?" 
I force myself to smile. "Shh. Nothing, Jack. Just...rest darling." It's relief I feel when he settles against my chest. I kiss the top of his head, the pleased whimper he emits enough to make me thank whatever god that's out there that he can't hear the sound of my heart breaking for him. I hold him for indistinct amount of time, and in that time, I almost feel human.

The realization that neither of us can be lost in this illusion forever comes all too soon as Mongrel starts to stir. A brief glance into his aura tells me the effects of my inadvertent attack on his mind has finally dissipated. The feeling of trepidation once again creeping in. He lifts his head and looks at me with total awareness, for the first time in hours. I dubiously unwrap my arms from him. I want nothing more than to skitter back into the closet, or worse...just crawl back into his embrace and pretend everything's alright. If his face showed even the barest hint of anger, I probably would of ran. But the worry is just as bad. At least...harder for someone like me to deal with. "So.." he looks around the room incredulously. "...I guess you have something you need to tell me?" I attempt to smile and shake my head no. He pulls himself into an upright position and gives me the look. Sigh. I idly poke my finger into the blood-squishy carpet as I inform him of the recent discrepancies in my head. Including everything from the nightmares, the black outs and the new voices. My stomach clenches as I see the concern on his face. The burden I put on him. I rise to my feet, wiping my fingers on my shirt. "Maddie, why didn't you say something sooner?" 
I shrug, half heartily. "You have enough on your plate without my crap. MORE of my crap." 
He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, perturbed. "If you don't tell me these things, how can I protect you?" 
I turn my back to him, senselessly speaking under my breath, knowing he can still hear me. "...maybe you shouldn't." "
Shouldn't what?" He interjects abruptly.
Continuing my gaze at the wall, I reply "Maybe you shouldn't bother protecting me anymore. Maybe you should just let the dam break. Or even...stop it yourself." The last three words spoke quieter than a whisper.
Crossing the room before I can blink, he turns me to face him. "What are you trying to say, Madelyn?" His hands are gentle on my shoulders, but still prevent me from dropping into the protected squat I favor in times like this.
Refusing to meet his eyes, I stare at a spot on his collar. "This was just a taste...just a...bare snippet of what I can do. I can't control it...I...can't control myself. You know this. I can't. I WON'T...hurt you." I can't even have a proper fucking conversation without wanting to lose control! Taking a moment to grasp my wits, I continue. "Hurting you. That's worse to me than any nightmare. Any...memory. You caring about me, that alone puts you in danger!" I struggle around the words, trying to take them from my brain to my mouth in a comprehensible order. "You're all I have, Mongrel. My scant grip on sanity depends on you. To destroy that through my own actions.." I shudder. "That. Can't. Happen. You can't let that happen." 
"So you're suggesting, what...I just up and kill you?!" I finally meet his eyes, letting him see my pain. His voice like a growl, "No. Just..no. That's not even a fucking option." "
Why not? You know. You know I'm nothing but a monster! I don't even deserve..." I cover my face with a sob. I feel his hands move from my shoulders, taking mine off my face and holding them in his own. "Please...stop. I need you just as much as you need me, Madelyn. YOU know this. Taking you from this world would be just as impossible as you doing the same to me." We stare at each other for a few moments.
"Mongrel...you're a damn fool." I say, not without affection.
"Name calling isn't going to goad me into doing it either." he replies, a ghost of a smile on his face.
I bring our clasped hands to my chest, giving his a squeeze. "I'm sorry." That word doesn't even cover it.
He kisses my forehead. "I know." In another barely noticeable burst of movement, he picks up an errant limb from the floor and tosses it at me. "Now, clean your room." I make a face as he walks out of the room. My scowl turning to a smile when I hear him dragging the steam cleaner back up the hallway. My last thought before setting my mind to eradicating any traces of human effluence from the confines of my bedroom. I don't deserve him.

Terror is here, beyond your fear. A ghost of your memory. Desperate dreams can't intervene. The ghost of your memory.

Winter of 1954. Addled and struggling to adapt to this new...life. Life. It's that's what it really can be called. Not dwelling in the same place for long. Never long enough for anyone to find me sleeping the daylight away amongst the corpses of the homes previous inhabitants. I flitted from town to town, knowing what I wanted to do. What I didn't want to do. Orbiting in slowly decreasing circles around a place even through my lunacy, I knew I shouldn't go. Home.

Just in time for Christmas. I stood in the street facing the house. Outwardly, it hadn't changed. The lights were festive and simplistic, a pine wreath hung on the door. I rocked back and forth on my heels, eyes squeezed shut. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. I can't. When I opened my eyes, I was on the porch. What am I doing? I could smell the people inside. Not my family. Not my home. I rub my cold hands over my face vigorously. Fighting the first of many internal battles. Go in. Come home Maddie. Comehomecomehomehomehome. My hand touches the door. Grazes the wood. I hear a faint laugh from inside. The hand curls into a claw. I inhale deeply. I'm so...hungry. The hand, my hand, knocks on the door. I drop down to my knees at the sound. STOP THIS MADELYN. It'll stop when you do what you came here to do. Laughter. Laughter. Who's laughing? Footsteps approaching the door. Heheheeheehee. There's something growling. The faint squeak of the doorknob turning. The hinges creaking as the door opens.
"Yes? Oh..oh my dear. Are you alright, miss?" I smell the man's hot blood pulsing so close, so close. And something else. Long dead, decayed, familiar. Loss. The growling turns to a pained moan, deep from my throat. I feel the hesitant touch of the home owner's hand on my shoulder. I reach over and place my hand on his. "Do you need help? Please, what can I help you with dear?" 
"Help..." I snicker, and grip his hand tighter, before digging my nails into the soft flesh of his wrist. With a jerk, I rend the extremity from the arm it's connected to. His blood pours down my side. I look up just in time to see his look of concern abating to a look of fear and shock. I spring up with a snarl as he backs up, tripping on his own feet and falling backwards into the house. The other voice is gone. All I feel is anger and hunger and the roar of the beast. I step into the house, still holding the amputated hand, and slam the door behind me. "Ben? Who was at the door, honey?" When the woman walks into the room, I toss the hand at her. She catches it with surprisingly good reflexes and then screams when she sees what it is, and what threw it at her. The man seems to have gone into shock. I step over his bloody, slightly twitching figure. The woman's shrill screams are hurting my ears, so I grab her by the arms and throw her into their Christmas tree. She falls with the tree, ornaments and tinsel scattering around her. I see tiny rivulets of blood where some of the glass balls have cut her. I gather a few of the ornaments as I crouch over her. Shattering them between my fingers, I rake the shards of glass over her face, her throat...everywhere. Licking at the gashes. Feeding. She won't stop screaming so I grab a strand of the lights and wrap them around her neck. Her eyes bulge in her shredded, bloody face as I tighten. Tighten. Even after her heart stops it's frantic beating. It's only when I hear the groan of the man behind me that I let the strand, slick with blood, slip out of my hands. I pause, blinking a few times in confusion.

I'm home? Where's dad? Mommy? What am I...I shake my head in frustration. Focusing my eyes on the body at my feet. This woman is dead. Why is she in my house? I turn my attention to the man who's currently attempting to crawl to the table, leaving a red trail behind him. "Why are you in my house?" That smell again. Dad's aftershave. Mom's perfume. Baby powder. Faint smells. Stronger is the smell of death. My family's dead. Killed. And me...and me. I shriek. I lift a heavy end table over my head and heave it at the man, hindering his pathetic attempts at evasion. It lands on his legs and I hear bones snap over his screaming. Grabbing a poker from the fireplace I pummel his body with the iron rod over and over again. Blood and gore flinging everywhere, within minutes the man is barely recognizable as what was once a living being. Panting, my mouth tasting of blood, I give one last jab, impaling the fire poker into his skull. I step backwards until I hit a wall, sliding down it and landing with a thump. All I smell is blood. The fresh blood. The other smells are gone. The voices and laughter are quieted. I wipe my bloodstained hands on my bloodstained shirt. There's nothing here for me. No family. No memories. I hear barking in the backyard. My countenance turns to pleasure as I leap up and dart off the terrace towards the kennels that still line the far edge of the lawn. My mutts! My dogs! The smile on my face is genuine and innocent despite the blood caked around my mouth. I'm brought to a rude awakening when I draw towards the runs. The dogs, snarling, barking at me. My dogs. My Tommy. Autumn's puppies, now grown, showing their teeth and growling. I place my bloody hands flat against the chain link, the smile melting off my face. "Please..." At the sound of my voice, the dogs shrink back whimpering and whining. Tails tucked in between their legs in fear. I stare at the shivering mutts until I hear a faint voice. Monster. My monster...haa haa haa. The dogs start howling. I'm howling with them. And running. Running away. Running from the voices and the memories and the place I can't call home. Running, but not escaping.

Sometimes I don't think so clearly. Get the feeling somethings wrong.

What's worse than a unstable, bloodthirsty lunatic? An unstable, bloodthirsty lunatic who's crazed from sleep deprivation. Scarcely a day has passed that hasn't seen me ripped from slumber, soaked in blood sweat and choking back a shriek. Worse than the usual plague of terrors, now my dreams are invaded by haunting images that seem to be sent from my wayward Primogen. Are these dreams some sort of a message? A memory? A threat? Last time I set eyes on Serendipity he was beaten, bloodied and being dragged away by Sheriff Pyotr. The details surrounding the ordeal are still hazy. My decision to keep my mouth shut, possibly to my Primogen's detriment, is still not regrettable. I'd rather walk with the devil, than be in his path. My choices and actions are to protect who's important. That would be myself, and Mongrel. Not necessarily in that order.

The phone call I received earlier in the night was an obvious predecessor to the events. It was 'Dipity, sounding more manic than usual. He was avoiding Elysium, and in his place, naming me temporary Primogen. Is he out of his mind? Oh, wait...dumb question. That puts a whole new spin on the blind leading the blind. Turns out leading a clan is easy as pie. That may have something to do with the fact that by the end of the gathering, I was the lone Malkavian. Serendipity had been carted off, Camden dead, again. I don't even...anyway. The biggest shock came when Trevor was swiftly executed for Sabbatt involvement. A pity. I liked him. Or, at least I didn't fantasize about setting him on fire. But, I digress. As newly named Primogen and currently the only one standing from my clan, the target I feel centered on my back surely can't be ALL paranoia.

All of this, plus the quotidian burdens I already face has been taking it's toll on my consciousness. My restful days abolished, now I'm periodically losing track of my nighttime waking hours.

The other night.

It really was a quaint little cottage. Glancing at the shining wood floors, the worn yet methodically cared for doilies that the elderly always seem to gather in their homes. Like the wrinkly magpies that they are. I pick up a framed photo with bloodstained hands. How cute. Granny and all the heathen grand kids. With a smirk, I set the picture back face down. As I lick the excess blood from my fingers, my attention diverts to what's left of Kathy Hamlin: widow of Neil, mother of Lucy, Andrea and Jack, grandmother to a mouthwatering amount of grandchildren. How I'd love to see the faces of those children when they take in what's become of their beloved Granny. How I'd love to consume said faces one by one. Most of Gran's body slumps in her favorite rocking chair, the tattered pieces of skin and intestines dangling like the ropes that bind her. Gran's head rests in the entertainment console, devoid of all but the most recognizable features. Her mouth still in a rictus of fear, dead eyes seeming to be studying the decapitated figure in front of her. Pleased with my little display, I give the misplaced old skull a pat and make my way out the back door. I'm out of the yard and into the deserted street that connects the few houses in this neighborhood. I'm quietly humming to myself when a jolt of pain in my side pulls me out of my reverie. I'm reaching around to feel the shaft of the arrow lodged in my flesh when another jolt in my calf knocks me to the pavement. I spit out a few curses from between my gritted teeth as I turn to identify my assaulter. Assaulter..s. Fuck. At least a dozen Kindred stare me down. All familiar faces, led by Pyotr and Tybalt. Tybalt's crossbow leveled at my chest, no less threatening with the missing two bolts currently spearing me. "Your time has come, little one." Pyotr thick Russian accent, normally warm and friendly towards me, is cold enough to make even a monster like me shudder.
The harpy Lucita turns her nose up, "Your time has passed. We've bestowed too much mercy on you." 
I hear Franco Salvatore's cruel laughter, anticipating my slaughter. Despite the crippling odds, I muster up my courage and rise to my feet. I refuse to die groveling. Aware of the arrows point following my movements, I match eyes with the formidable Brujah. "Certainly, Sheriff...you must know I won't go down without a fight. However futile." I bray laughter, catching the mob of Kindred off guard. Perfect. Attention diverted for the merest of seconds, I spin on my heel and take off, sprinting full force in the opposite direction. My frenetic footfalls drowned out by the angered cry and consecutive sounds of pursuit. I don't even feel fear when I see my retreat is thwarted by a dead end. The only end this could come to is a dead one. I whip around, facing the oncoming attackers and garner all my rage and frenzy in a bone chilling shriek. A murder of crows takes off at the sound, their dry feathers falling like rain around me. The thunder of their wings...thunder...

Thunder.

A deafening crash of thunder drags me back to reality. My eyes wide, I survey my surroundings. A local park? The rain comes down in sheets. My clothes are sopping, hair plastered to my face. How long have I been out here? The scent of blood and gore soaking into the ground to my left. On top of one of the picnic tables is the collective parts of a small child and a young woman with strawberry blond hair. No, just blond. A gaping head wound draws rivulets of blood into the blond tresses. The child is little more than decimated flesh in OshKosh B'Gosh overalls. I take slight refuge from the downpour under a tree, staring at the bodies. The faint smell of washed away blood on my clothes matches the scent of the corpses. Ok. I did this. But...when? A brief mewl of concern escapes my lips. Reflexively, I pull my cell phone out, thumb hovering over Mongrel's speed dial. I pause, chewing the inside of my cheek as I think. If I call him, I'll have to explain the fugue...blackout...whatever that was. He doesn't need to worry about me any more than he already does. He's subsequently being driving insane by association..."No." I say aloud, stowing my phone back in my pocket. I step out of the trees protection, gathering up the pieces of my kill. Cleaning up my own mess, I try to ignore the sense of foreboding gnawing in the back of my consciousness.

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.







Nobody move, nobody gets hurt. But where's the fun in that, I've got to satisfy the thirst.

They say hell hath no fury like a Malkavian scorned. Well, I don't actually know who "they" are and if they said that or not. But that's beyond the point. As much as I appreciate some quality suffering, I do not appreciate when I'm the one receiving it.

Quarantine has been lifted. After several days of vomiting, boils, boredom and psychotic episodes it seemed as if whatever illness that was ailing our little undead five-some had cleared up. Minus my inescapable psychosis. Release was sought, and still denied. We were all "examined" by some Tremere lackey. By examined I mean peeked in on, given the thumbs up and then left to fester for another THREE DAYS. I somehow managed to keep my cool. Mostly. I may or may not have left a few obscene blood inscribed doodles on the wall. Try explaining those to the maid. Then emancipation began with the loud clanging of the vault door opening. In a flash, the Ventrue were up and voicing bawdry complaints.
Mongrel held back, assessing the situation. The situation being my paper thin self control and the few human servants between us and liberation. "Do NOT attempt to dine on the Sheriff's help." 
I try to appear as appeasing as possible. "I'll behave." He retains a firm grip on my arm as we hightail it out of this damnable prison. I can't help but leave on my own terms so I chant my own jaunty little tune. "Free at last,  free at last. Now Madelyn's gonna rip up some ass!" Mongrel snorts laughter next to me and we make our getaway.

We're halfway home when I start to get twitchy. The compulsion is practically burning a hole through my being. My eyes skitter back and forth, probing the area for a victim. Mongrel senses my voracity and stops walking. "Do you need to go? Now?" I nod distractingly, still surveying with the eyes of a hunter. He grabs my chin, forcing me eye to eye. "Be smart about it, clean up after yourself and most importantly try to keep your head on straight." I give him my assurance and he releases me. "Call if you need me." he says over his shoulder while retreating. I note his haste. I know there's apprehension. It's a lot like letting a rabid dog off his leash to massacre the neighborhood. A tiny, almost non-existent part of me wants to follow after him. Call off the hunt and behave myself. Spare Mongrel's indirect guilt and an innocent life or two. The smell of fresh blood stops that train of thought in it's tracks.

There's a small gathering of teenagers in a backyard a few house down. Creeping closer, I get a count. There's four of them. Two females, two males. All fairly inebriated. More than enough to sate my need. Catching a lucky break when one of the males stumbles around to the side of the house to relieve himself. I wait until he's finished, the last thing I want right now is a golden shower. I hear him zip his pants up and I pounce. Far too famished to make this first one last, I rip into his throat in a frenzy, my hunger crazed grip crushing his skull in the process. The top half of his body quickly becomes a slightly mushy mess. I drop it and run my bloodstained hands through my hair. Licking my lips I let out a quiet sigh of contentment. A bray of drunken laughter brings me to the task at hand. Where's my bag of toys when I need it. I spy a tire iron laying in the bed of one of the teens trucks. Hmm. Ok, I can work with this. I smile at the bludgeoning weapons heft in my hand as I slink into the shadows of the backyard. The remaining male and one of the females are canoodling in a hot tub next to the shed. The other female is on the screened in porch. This is splendid. Smiling and silently climb onto the porch, I approach her from behind, using the tire iron to throttle her into silence. Pulling her into the house so any unpleasant noises won't be heard, I throw her onto the kitchen floor. The tire iron smashes into her chest, sending shattered ribs into her lungs before she can draw breath to scream. Her blood pools onto the tile in a delicious way. Kneeling into the puddle, I feed from her dying body until the lacerated heart stops beating. I dispose of the tire iron for a freshly sharpened knife from the butchers block. Controlling my excitement I creep stealthily to the couple, who are in the throes of a passionate kiss in the frothing water. I ruin their beautiful moment when I thrust the knife into the back of the neck of the female. It slides through to jab the male with its dripping tip. I push her convulsing body to the side, leaping into the water with a splash. The male lets out a humorously feminine shriek and I'm forced to hold his head under the bubbling water until his struggling ceases. I pull him up, checking for the faint pulse before sinking my fangs into him. His blood jets out and I swallow as much as I can before releasing him into the reddening water. The hot tub gurgles away making hypnotic swirls of crimson. I'm captivated for an indiscernible amount of time before shaking myself alert. Time to clean up.

Dragging the bodies into the kitchen, I rig up a contraption with the gas range. I hurry out of the house, already a safe distance away when I hear the small blast of the stove as it obliterates the bodies I left in its vicinity. There. T's crossed and I's dotted. When I finally reach home, I come upon my only hang up of the night. My clothes are soaking wet with blood and water and I smell faintly of propane. I grin when the solution comes to mind. Stripping down to my bra and Cookie Monster adorned underwear, I shove my stained clothing into a trash bag and enter the house. The look on Mongrel's face is worth a thousand words as I flounce past him. As I prepare to use up all the hot water I hear his laughter echoing down the hallway. I grin and step under the spray, knowing I've avoided any possible hard feelings from my little spree.

Nothing quite like the feel of something new.

I had finally convinced Mongrel to join me in a hunt. The couple, in their late 20's, deemed themselves some sort of modern-day Mickey and Mallory. Robbed a restaurant and a couple gas stations, taking the lives of over a dozen victims in the process. I knew Mongrel wouldn't comply if the prey was less than deserving. The cops had been scouring the city for this couple for almost a month. It took the two of us less than a half hour to find the abandoned rancher they had retreated to.

I entered the dilapidated old house first, the monster in me roused and ready to feed. Mongrel trailed in after me. I could see he was having the usual doubts. We went farther in, catching the scent of the young killers. The nearness of the kill causing a predatory grin to arise on my face. I dart forward silently, entering the room where the female is sitting on a mattress facing away from me. She doesn't notice my presence until it's too late, and my hands are around her neck. She manages a scream before I tighten my grip and cut off her air supply. I'm dragging her out towards the front room when the male makes himself known. Gun in hand, he fires in my direction. I turn swiftly, using his girlfriend as a shield. She takes the bullet through her abdomen. I'm about to bemoan the waste of a good meal when his second bullet catches me in the thigh. My maddened cry is drown out by Mongrel's furious roar. He lets the shooter take off out into the front lawn and almost reach his car before thundering after him. Not wanting to miss out on a lively show, I take a few enthusiastic bites out of my own casualty before tossing her ravaged body to the ground. Limping out onto the yard, I watch in awe as Mongrel carries out a deathly dance with his victim. The final moment comes quickly as he sinks his teeth into his prey, draining him of blood and life. He discards his meal and looks up at me, mouth smeared with precious fluid. I blink at him, practically in awe."Almost didn't think ya had it in you." 
He gives me a wry smile before joining me on the porch. Kneeling, examining the bullet wound in my thigh with bloodstained hands, he comments: "It's just a flesh wound. His aim wasn't worth shit. Are you ok?" 
I nod slowly, transfixed on the blood grimed into the lines of his knuckles. My body moving of its own accord, I pull his hand up to my mouth, leisurely licking the vitae from his fingers, reveling in the taste of the blood and his flesh. He slowly rises to his feet, and in his eyes I see a fresh, new hunger.

We stare at one another for several moments. A uncertain awareness is unfurling inside of me. Is this desire? Lust? I find myself once again greeting a new feeling with receptivity, however hesitant. Breaking the lull, I take a purposeful step into Mongrel's personal bubble. Placing my hands on either side of his head, I trace my tongue along the outline of his mouth, lapping the blood from his lips. He's practically vibrating with repressed need. Pulling away about a centimeter he says in a voice so low it's almost a purr "Maddie...are you sure?" 
I bare my fangs at the superfluous nickname. "Just shut up..." 
With a growl, he grabs a fistful of my hair and our lips meet in a bruising lock. The kiss is frenzied, tongue and teeth and burning compulsion. I press myself against his assenting form, relishing the strange feeling of his body's approximation to mine. I let a hand run down his chest, plucking the buttons open on his shirt and pausing at his belt. His kisses trail down the side of my jaw, punctuated with nips and bites until he reaches the tender skin above my collarbone. He bites into my flesh with a groan as I unbuckle his belt and explore the territory below his waist. I touch the bulge in front of his pants with only the slightest hesitation. In a breath, he slams me against the porch rail, wrestling my pants off and shredding them in the process. He slides his arms around me, grasping my ass and lifting me up into the porch railing. I squirm and pull him flush against me to bite at his earlobe. His hand creeps between my legs. I'm lost in this revelation of pleasure, and let out a whimpering moan as his fingers tease me. When I press my pelvis into the rhythm of his hands movements, a deep growl issues from the depths of Mongrel's throat. He removes his fingers from between my thighs and before I can fuss he thrusts himself into me. I feel as if my whole being is deliciously burning. Lost in the sensation, I tilt my head back, closing my eyes. Mongrel's hand grasps my chin, forcing me to look at him. I catch his lip between my teeth and give it a gentle bite as his thrusting intensifies. Wrapping my legs around him I claw at his back hard enough to draw blood. The smell of it brings me spiraling into an abyss of physical feeling. I'm losing control and enjoying it. Not from murder or death but something new. This is desire. My desperate moans in Mongrel's ear send him into a frenzy. I can feel him being pushed over the edge. I dig my nails into his chest, my own cries muffled against his skin as he grips the nape of my neck, biting into it as he comes inside of me with a bellowing howl. I shiver as his tongue traces the trail of blood from my throat to my breast. We're both panting like animals as our frantic movement slows to a undulating grind. His face still in my chest, I feel his mouth turn up into a smile when I press my lips above his brow, kissing the cool skin there.

Suddenly, with a loud crack, the porch railing splinters, sending us tumbling into the front lawn. Both laughing, he wraps his arm around me when I drape across his chest. At some point, Mongrel attempts to talk. I hold my hand over his mouth and give him a gentle glare before he can try to apologize or try to condone our behavior. I only remove my hand when he rolls his eyes, signalling defeat. We lay in the grass for awhile not moving or talking. Eventually I wrestle his jacket away from him, pulling it over my shredded and stained clothes. "C'mon, we should start back. It's gonna take me longer to walk since you just like... fucked me bowlegged."
He chortles laughter, shaking his head. "You're not right in the head Maddie...um...Madelyn."
I growl and deliver a punch to his arm. "No, really?!" as we amble down the street, heading back home with sated smiles.

Can you save me? From myself? From these memories?

My range of emotions are limited and possibly as unbalanced as I am. In my capacity to care or love, I guess you could say I share those feelings towards Mongrel. That is, I would gleefully destroy any being that would have the intent to harm him. I'm all too aware of the weakness that befalls those with fondness towards people other than themselves. It's something that can be held over your head in a threatening situation. But, as I'm usually the threat rather than the threatened, I don't hold to that too much. I suppose it's a rare thing for something like me to find another being who isn't disgusted nor fearful of me. Mongrel understands why I do what I do and although he may not agree, he doesn't judge. At times he's the life preserver that keeps me afloat in the treacherous ocean of my own insanity. I'm capable...well, fairly capable of taking care of myself. My youth only goes skin deep, after all. I've spent a lot of time on my own. Usually leaving a trail of corpses in my wake. The only connection I felt would be the strictly visceral one with my victims. Then an undead angel of sorts stepped into the minefield that is my life.

Spending a night in one of my favorite manners, I had tracked a family to a cozy little campsite in the woods. I already had my main target hand picked. The troubled teenage son, Bradley. His discontented murmuring about this excursion traveled clearly to my perch on a precipice nearby. Just wait, kid. I'll give you something to bitch about. That is if I leave the boy with any parts capable of speech. He was joined by his parents and younger sister. After the inevitable roasted marshmallows and Kumbayas, Bradley retreats to his room in the camper with his Ipod and comic books. I make quick work of the family, silencing the woman and child with my Bowie knife and depleting dear Daddy's arteries. I enter the camper. Young Brad's look of shock is quickly replaced with fear as he takes in my bloodstained form and the murderous intent on my face. I'm blocking the only escape but the boisterous boy still attempts to dart past me. I deliver a blow to the base of his neck. Sending him to the brief bliss of unconsciousness.

When Brad awakes, hanging upside down from a tree, his attempts to speak, scream...possibly even compose a sonnet...are halted by my swift removal of his flapping tongue. I squeeze the small organ out over my open mouth, relishing the taste of his blood. The growing stain of urine creeping up his jeans make me wrinkle my nose. "A little old to not be potty trained, aren't ya boy?" I wave my Bowie knife in front of him, still sticky with his family's blood, before opening up an artery in his leg. The crimson fluid sheets down his body in a beautiful waterfall. I'm lapping up the blood when I feel an all too familiar evocation in my head. I drop my knife and clutch at the sides of my head, whimpering almost inaudibly. "Nooo. I'm giving you what you want! Leave me alone..." Like the fate of my prey, my own pleading is for naught. I find an ax near the camper and attempt to hack away at the shadows that are threatening to eradicate my being. The kid is laughing at me from his suspension in the tree and I take his mocking head off. I'm in the process of beating his body like a macabre pinata with the blunt side of the ax when what I perceive as a menacing figure steps into my decimated playground.

The tentatively approaching figure is male, that's all I take in before I leap at him with a lunatic battle cry. I register the slightest surprise in my addled mindset that my attacks are being thwarted with the same inhuman strength as I administer. My assailant sets eyes on my kill and with a roar, delivers a herculean blow that sends me flying clear across the campsite. I manage to gather my wits enough to land on my feet, panting, as I glare through the veil of my blood soaked hair at the threat before me. I launch into another attack and he returns in kind. He's quick, managing to dodge the barrage of car parts I fling at him and my gnashing teeth as I strike like a rabid dog. I feel the hot tug of his claws catching my skin several times but the sight of my own blood just incites me more. His feral fighting a set match to my twisted aggression. The wrecked campsite becomes utterly obliterated by our savage combat. I howl in frustration, baring my teeth as he manages to subdue me, pinning me to the ground despite my struggles. I see a change in his face as he glimpses the blood pouring from one of the wounds he inflicted on me. The battle lust is replaced by an bestial look of hunger as he bites into my torn flesh with a growl. Recognition breaks into my already crippled psyche as I feel myself freeze with fear. I'm seeing him, that beast I've killed a thousand times but can never evade. Nononononono LET ME OUT! I let loose with a harrowing wail, feeling the fight run out of me like snow melting on warm pavement. The beast releases me. What? What's going on?? I backpedal out from under him, dragging myself through the dirt. Pulling my knees to my chest and holding my hands protectively over my head I whimper "Why are you doing this to me!?" At his silence, I risk a glance upwards into his eyes. Who is this? The rage and hunger is gone from his blood splattered face. Replaced with a look of...concern? And guilt? No. No. It's just a trick! I sob aloud and rake my hands over my face, desperately trying to put my thoughts in a cognitive order. Why can't the pieces just go back where they should be?! I feel a cautious hand on my shoulder and pull away in distress. "I'm not going to hurt you." His voice is soft, despite the situation.
"Please...please don't touch me! I...I..can't..." I trail off pitifully, unable to force the necessary words out of my jumbled brain. I can only imagine what my expression shows as I fight this inner battle.

Shutting my eyes tightly I grit my teeth and try to fight my way out of the torrential storm brewing in my head. I'm afraid to look in this stranger's face again. Afraid the compassion I saw really was a trick. I feel a warning tickle at the nape of my neck. His muttered curse concurs what I'm sensing. The sun is coming up. Let it. I'm too tired to fight my way out this time. I'm sure I've been given up as a lost cause. Not even worth fighting with anymore. I'm roused out of my bitter reverie by strong hands lifting me to my feet. Eye to eye, he gives me a simple command. "Dig." Casting me towards the hole under one of the trees. I start digging frantically, keeping my thoughts on the simple task with every ounce of my floundering sanity. He drops gracefully into the hole next to me, pulling one of the cars doors I previously heaved at him over our makeshift sanctuary. I cringe into myself, still fighting for control. Sneaking glances at my unexpected savior, I try to interpret his scheme. Why did he save me? DID he save me? Is this all one big trick?! Is this really happening?!! I've got to get out of my head. I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE. The feeling of inescapable peril is bubbling up inside of me. I tense with anxiety, ready to ambush him and run when he speaks to me again
"What's your name?" His calming voice feels like a rescue rope, emancipating me from this quicksand-like pull of delirium inside my head.
My answering mutter is steadier than I could hope for. "...Madelyn." 
His relief displays as a ghost of a smile. "Good. Good. I'm Mongrel. Keep talking to me, Madelyn." 
Talking? Oh..oh. I shake my head slowly, trying to keep grasp on that rescue rope. Looking into Mongrel's eyes once more I open my mouth, not knowing what will come out until I hear my own voice. "My parents raised dogs. All different types. The mongrels were my favorite. They were always the most loyal.." I chatter on and on, the amusement on Mongrel's face helping to clear the murkiness in my mind. What is this feeling? Safe. I feel...safe.

After our shared ordeal, I ended up following Mongrel to Baltimore. It wasn't even a conscious decision. I began seeking out his company for the brief alleviation of insanity. His presence soothed me like a balm. Eventually my tailing around led to something mutual. Something I wasn't even aware I could feel anymore. Friendship. I found myself...caring. Being grateful for the quelling of my haunts while subsequently attempting to aid him in the conflict against his own demons. It's a camaraderie that seems to be for the sheer amusement of the gods themselves. Or maybe it's just two fucked up pieces of fate's ultimate puzzle.

Cursed for caring, the visage you're wearing is tearing it's own eyes out and taking a good long look at itself.

It's coming. Always does. I was watching a particularly intriguing fissure in the plaster of the ceiling when everything starting to haze around the edges. Then. CRACK. I'm outside. The sun is glaringly bright against the snow. I look down and my pale legs are calf deep in the slush. I glance at my hands quizzically and feel the sharp points of my fangs. How am I not like...on fire? Someone is approaching. I swing around, teeth bared against the oncoming threat? She's no threat. Tall, and athletically built. Her non-descript brown hair frames a pleasantly round face. Green eyes peer from under a fringe of bangs. It's...me. Alive. I straighten from my predatory crouch. She smiles at me. I. I smile at me. The smile turns sardonic. "No matter who you kill. What you do. You can't let go of me. I still manage to dodge around the monster that has a hold over you." The tone of her voice is taunting. Almost mocking.
"Let go of YOU?! You won't let go of ME! You're nothing but a little splinter of oak in a big wood chipper. You don't have control. The MONSTER doesn't have control. It's me. ALL ME." I lose my temper and try to pounce on this taunting specter. Shut her up. Someone is holding me back. I twist around in the strong grip and pause. Dad? 
"Maddie. You can't. She's keeps you tethered." 
And I feel her in me. She wants...I want...nothing more than to turn myself over to my father's comforting embrace. The thought that he can still look at me, put his hands on me, and not cringe away from what I've become. Not wrinkle his nose at the blood on my breath. No! This is all a trick! A distraction from the enemy. Blood lust returns and I pull away, cracking my elbow back into the face of this false begetter. I launch at the living, breathing effigy of myself. Instead of hitting flesh I stumble, face first into the snow. I sputter out the mouthful of melting water. Now she's in front of me, smirking. I leap up and sink my fingers into her...my...HER flesh. Trying to rip and tear. It's like trying to fight smoke. No matter where I attack, she's one step ahead of me. Of course she is. She's me. "There's no point. You can't destroy something that's so deeply a part of your being." I don't know which one of us is talking, now. I plop down and sink into the snow. Maybe if I sit here long enough I'll freeze. Freeze everything inside me. My dad's voice echoing, far away. Or is it? Is it shouting? Is it dad? No.
"Madelyn! Snap out of it! For the love of...no! Back off!" 
Growling? A scuffle? Someones shaking me hard enough to make my brain rattle. Reality is stirring.

Waking up. Not from sleep, but from...what? Gah. My head feels fuzzy. Christ, I can only guess what that means. Looking around the room I notice some telltale signs. Couple of holes in the wall, one of the fancy tables reduced to some splinters. The three Ventrue are at the farthest end of the room watching me warily. I finally turn my eyes to Mongrel. He looks visibly stressed, and there's a hell of a shiner marring his right eye. Fuck. Before I can even look properly ashamed he waves a dismissing hand. "S'fine, it'll heal. Are you...ok?"
I shake my head and shrug, reflexively nibbling the skin around my nails. Tastes like blood. Fuck fuck fuck! I can't remember the last time I had an episode like this in front of anyone. I usually have enough warning to make myself sparse. For Mongrel's sake and for the sake of not exposing my blatant insanity to everyone in the vicinity. "I'm as ok as I can be right now." That seems good enough for the guys. They relax as much as an uppity Ventrue can relax. Occasionally shooting Mongrel and I wary looks. I wonder if our companionship sets them on edge more than anything. I can't put enough effort to suitably give a shit. I still feel shaken up and wrong. It doesn't take a genius to decode what some of these hallucinations, waking dreams-whatever they are, mean. I see the strain I'm putting on my already harrowed Gangrel friend and try to climb out of my own thoughts.

Sitting on the floor I lean back and rest my weary, fucked up cranium against Mongrel's leg. Simply seeking the comfort of someone who doesn't judge the fact that I need to tear people apart to keep my head on straight, or the fact that honestly there is no way for my head to ever be straight. Simultaneously trying to offer whatever deficient assuagement I can. I can only wonder how long before someone other than me cracks under the pressure. We've got to get out of here.