2 Plucked Daisies

Rayne stands in a field, surrounded by wildflowers. Hands at her side, she plays with the delicate petals as she walks through the tall grass. Gently, she leans down onto her knees and plucks a couple daisies, bringing them to her nose. The sun is shining brightly in Glensbury today, she tilts her face back to feel the heat on her forehead and cheeks. Rising to her feet, she reaches back to throw her chosen daisies into the basket her grandmother is clutching. Suddenly, as the daisies fall, the basket turns into a wooden casket and begins plummeting deep into the cool earth. With the ground sinking below her, Rayne loses her balance, tumbling into the grave like a plucked daisy as the clouds above her rumble and turn black. Screaming, she lands heavily, shooting awake on the couch in her grandma's living room. Realizing it was all a dream, she catches her breath and her heart races as she comes her reality. Her grandmother was dead, and she was alone apart from her drunk, abusive father and possessive yet absent fiancé. She shakes the image of her life from her head.

The house is cold and dark. She peaks up at the clock on the wall; almost three in the morning. Having not had a blanket over her when she dozed off, she shivers despite her thick, black dress. Rubbing her arms with her hands, Rayne makes her way to the bathroom and runs the bath before stripping herself of her garments. Before getting in, she peaks at herself in the mirror. She looks exhausted. Her normally bright, icy, blue eyes were dull at this moment. The bags she accumulated under them accented her unusually clammy skin, which was normally flush and pink. Her thick, round lips came into a pout, hiding her perfect smile above a thin, feminine jaw. Her hair was still presentable though, its loose blonde curls being pulled away from her face with two clips before falling just above her waist. Even sad and tired, she was easily the most beautiful woman in the village, though she'd never see it.

Rayne dips her pointed toes into the tub and slowly sinks in, overflowing it a bit onto the cold concrete floor. Some of her blonde locks float as she scoots down until the water is just below her chin. Her old tub is small and, although she's not very tall, she has to bend her legs to fit in. Poking her leg in the air, she grabs the bar of soap and begins to wash. It is only thanks to Fletcher that she has soap. It's new and expensive but he demanded his future bride be clean. Demands aside, she was grateful to have it, Rayne liked being clean and the soap left her youthful skin feeling soft and silky. Washing her body, she stops at her hip to trace the small, brown, crescent-shaped birth mark with her finger. She's always felt connected to the moon and even acquired the nickname 'Moon Child' from her grandmother. She loved it, even though her father says it means she's evil. Only night creatures like wolves, witches, and vampires were associated with the moon. Admittedly, Rayne has always had a nagging curiosity about them, specifically vampires. Maybe it was because she's never actually met one. All the other villagers and townsfolk of the state seemed to know the danger and wrath they imposed on the humans. She's heard all the stories about how dark and evil they all are but, in her eighteen years, none of them ever ventured into her village.

Azmodan, Rayne's village in the valley, is small and poor. Most of the money here is generated from trading wood, which she can't imagine the night creatures have much use for. Beings like witches, wolves, and sirens are all savages and the furniture made here is not of high enough quality for the vampires to be interested in. Even if they did need something materialistic from her village, they would most likely send a lesser being, such as a human or dwarf, to fetch it for them. As far as she's been told, the vampires had total control of the Capital of Estra, a state in which is broken up into five sectors: Shining Valley, Glensbury, Picket Shore, Yurbank, and Hastings Mountain, where the capital resides. It's said that the only reason they allow humans to live in the state is so they have blood ready at their every whim. Rayne shivers at the thought but wonder sparkles in her eye as she get out and dries her petite body.

Slipping into her white, worn out robe, she strolls out into the dark living room. It's cold and she can just barely see her breath in the dim moonlight coming through the windows. Although Rayne likes the sunlight and the flowers it produces, over the years she's come to love the way the cold air plays with her skin and opens up her lungs. Even the inevitable rain of Shining Valley sometimes brings its comforts. Rayne slowly glides over to the window in the front of her late grandmother's home. Even without her couch nap earlier, insomnia is something that she's known her whole life. As a small child she often sat up at night anticipating the return of her drunk and angry father. Every little creak in the night would cause her heart to pound in her throat. A lot of the time she would wait afraid and awake all night, just to see him not return. She preferred that, though. It meant she got to go to her grandmother's until he came to drag her home days later. The nights that he made it home were torture. He would stumble drunkenly into her room, shouting about how he wished she had died instead of her mother, throwing and destroying what little belongings she had. Sometimes Rayne too wished it were she that had died. If it weren't for her grandmother, she might not have made it this long.

Rayne reaches around the right side of her neck to the back of her shoulder and subconsciously touches the long, bumpy scar on her shoulder blade. She thinks back to the night she got it, the worst and last night she spent with her father. It was her tenth birthday. Given the fact that it was also the anniversary of her mother's death, they never celebrated them. The young Rayne sat home alone, in her bed on the floor, awake and unable to sleep. She heard the front door slam open and shot up into the sitting position, anxious to see how far he was going to go tonight. Abuse was typical for her birthdays. Rayne's father came stomping into her room with an empty bottle in his hand. Without hesitation he threw it at her, just barely missing her head, causing it to burst glass all over the wall. Rayne let out a scream and jumped to her feet, her only hope being to outrun her towering, drunk father. Even now, in her older age, he still stands many feet above her, with broad shoulders and arms bulging from chopping wood all day. Back then he was a mountain, and she was a mouse. She grimaces as she remembers her father, eyes wide and wild, lunging at her with open palms. With her quick reflexes, she dodged his grasp, crawling and pushing past him toward the bedroom door. Breaking free of the room she almost made it to the front of the house, but his long strides caught up with her. Yanking her back by her hair, he forced her to spill backward to the ground. Begging and pleading, she tugged against his hand as he dragged her through the house to the living room…

Rayne winces at the painful memory, not wanting to finish it. Peaking up at the moon, she wishes upon it to have all of her terrible memories taken from her head. As she gazes out of the window, lost in her own thoughts, she doesn't notice the silhouette of a man standing under a tree in the distance. Leaning against it with his shoulder, arms crossed, his black hair and shadowy presence make him blend easily with the late-night darkness. He watches and wonders what this young girl has so much to worry about that her otherwise flawless face furrows and frowns like so. He questions why she's awake at this late hour. Seeing her hair wet and shining as the moonlight splashes over it, he knows she's been up for some time. She looks so lost as her wide eyes glare up at the sky and for a moment, he thinks he feels…something? Is it pity? Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on it but whatever it was is fleeting. Quickly he returns to feeling empty and cold. He peaks once more at the sad, beautiful human in the window. His red eyes glow like fire in the night under two bushy, black eyebrows. His thin lips curl into an unfamiliar smirk before he spins on his heel and walks deeper into the village.