Hellbowned

My kind's origins date back further than I know, it's believed to be back sometime when modern civilization was still young. I’m not the first of my kind, nor am I the oldest.

My father wasn’t even one of the first; from what I was told he became one by pure accident but who knows if that is even true.

All I do know is that I am the youngest out of my father’s three offspring and I am a descendant of the most famous vampire in all of history, Dracula himself.

My name is Chadentto Jestdor Dracgul. I was born in the winter of the year 1855, to a young woman named Eirwin.

She was an inspiring young witch that was cast out of her coven for not following the traditions of marrying someone within the coven.

She wanted to marry for love and not be forced into marrying someone she didn't know.

She was as beautiful as a goddess standing at 5'2" with her long blonde hair that looked almost white and came down to the small of her back. She also had intense blue eyes that looked like ice, and her skin was as white as snow during the moonlit winter hours.

It was in the early 1850’s that my mother and father had met in the Northern part of New York State shortly after my father’s first wife met a sudden death. It was quite an unfortunate event, but without so I would never have come to be.

My parents had fallen deeply in love with each other and had been together for about two years before my mother became pregnant with me.

My father was drafted to serve as a rifleman in the United States Union Army. He then had to leave my mother to start his training to become a soldier.

Due to my father's departure, my parents never married; which was unthinkable and forbidden for the time.

A month after he had left, my mother received word that my father’s battalion had suffered a training accident that resulted in the deaths of many young men.

My father had unfortunately been among the ones that had perished in the accident.

A letter arrived a few days later written to her in my father's hand. In it, he told her how much he missed her and his children.

He also stated that he couldn’t wait to come home, marry her, and start a proper family. The shock of the letter hit her hard because it was the same day that she had become aware that she was pregnant with me. And the fact my father would never get to meet me wasn’t easy for her.

Shortly after receiving the letter, my mother packed up the belongings that she had.

After that she left my father’s other children with the family's servants and headed out of town by herself for anywhere that would help her forget her painful memories.

She soon found a small village in the mountains that was peaceful enough for her and took up residence in the woods just out of town.

From the start of her pregnancy she knew I would be different from other children because of who she was; a young witch that had barely turned twenty.

It was a secret that she had kept from my father because it was a part of herself she wanted to forget, and because of what had happened to those of her kind during the witch hunts that lasted to the early parts of the 19th century. Discrimination was still given to those believed to be witches.

As time passed and she started to show that she was pregnant, the towns’ people started to get suspicious and question her on who the father was.

Every time she was asked, she would respond with, "He was killed in the war. We had been married in secret before he left."

She had added the last part to her story, so the towns’ people wouldn’t believe that she was a whore because whores were also considered witches at the time. It was said that they put spells on good men that lead them to do sexual acts that weren’t with their wives.

Later that same year I was born. It was the evening of the 21st of December, which made my mother very happy being it was the Winter Solstice; a day known to the witches as Yule.

It just happens to be her favorite holiday of the year because of its meaning. It was a night said to be about new beginnings, with the rebirth of the horned-god, Atho, and the carrying of the dead souls to the underworld.

My mother was happy because the part of my father that she felt was still with her, waiting for my birth, would finally be at rest. But that happiness was short lived.

A couple of days later after the doctor had left upon finishing checking up on her, a knock came from the front door of the little house that we lived in.

My mother laid me down in the bassinet in the bedroom located in the back of the house and went forth to answer the door.

When she opened the door, no one was there to her surprise. She turned looking back toward the bedroom as she closed the entrance to the house and saw a shadow of what appeared to be a person moving along the wall toward where I laid. She nervously hurried over to see what was happening.

Upon arriving at the door to the room, she noticed that the shadow she saw was gone. This put her mind slightly at ease, so she walked over to the window and checked outside to reassure herself that no one was there.

Content that everything was as it should be, she shut the window, pulled the curtains closed and came over to the bassinet to check on me. It was then when she saw something move into the doorway.

She fell to her knees in shock at what she saw. Standing there in front of her was my father. He walked into the room and over to where my mother sat on the floor. From there he reached down to help her up.

She gawked at the man that she thought was dead. She tried to scream for help as she crawled back toward the back wall of the room where I was sleeping, but no sound could escape from her trembling mouth.

She hit the wall and mentally pushed out with everything that she had. The man flew out the door into the next room.

She quickly made it over to the door, closed it, and finally screamed out while pushing furniture in front of it to hold it shut, “How is this possible; I received the letter saying that you died!”

“To be honest my dear I was not truthful with you when we first met; as you were not to me about what you are. I’m neither living nor am I dead, I am a vampire as are all that share my bloodline. And I’m truly sorry for what my actions have done to you. That training accident was exactly what it was, but it was by my doing, and before anyone could find out what truly happened I had hidden away. I then decided to come back for the ones I love and for all of us to disappear.

‘I have been watching you from afar, waiting for this night to come; the night that you gave birth to our son. I want to take you both to where we truly belong. Then you, my love, can become my dark queen, we can start to build our kingdom in this land and rule these humans together. Here and now.”

As my father was talking to her through the bedroom door, she was slowly absorbing all the moisture in the house; turning it into an arctic desert. When my mother felt the surge of her powers, she screamed out, “Over my dead body you’re taking my son!”

At that moment, she summoned a bitter ice blast that broke through the door and struck my father. As he fell into the sitting room furniture, my mother smashed an oil lamp that hung on the wall of my room on the floor, wrapped me tightly in a blanket, and jumped out the window holding me in her arms. She took off running into the cold night; never once looking back.

From that day on, she raised me on her own, as if I were a human child. That way we could live out in the open and blend in with ordinary people.

Looking back, I realize why we moved around a lot from place to place; in fact, we were never in one place for longer than a year.

Back then I didn’t know of her fear. We weren't like other humans. She was a witch, and I was a cross between her and my vampire father.

Her other biggest fear was my father finding us; more importantly me. Every time we moved, my mother changed the way she looked.

It was easier for her to start anew, she would change her hair and eye color by doing some kind of spell that altered appearances.

I can’t remember all of the places that we lived or the number of times that my mother changed her looks, but I do remember the place we finally stopped and called home.

The place she chose for us to settle in, after five years of always moving, was a small village called Angola.

It was off the beaten track, located on the western side of New York State along the lake. We lived in an abandoned house in the woods next to a small creek. It was about a quarter mile from the village.

By day, my mother made a living as a seamstress at a local clothing store. At night after putting me down to sleep, she would leave and go down to the creek beside our house.

I would sometimes get up and sneak out to see her practicing her dark arts to prepare herself, in her mind, for when the time came, and my father would try to take me away from her again.

After living there for almost four years, the village folk never once asked where we were from or why my father was out of the picture.

As time passed, my mother started to realize that my powers were developing; therefore, she kept me near our house so people wouldn’t see something that she wouldn’t be able to explain.

My abilities started out small, making the temperature cold in the area around me, and making anything that I touched to freeze; however, with each passing month, they grew stronger.

This went on for almost a year. When the eve of my tenth birthday came, my mother decided it was time to sit me down and tell me about what she had been hiding from me.

She told me that she was a witch that had cryokinetic powers (the ability to control ice and snow) and that I have also inherited her abilities. She continued to explain that she had passed them on to me during my birth. I didn’t want to believe her because I was just a kid, so she proved to me that we were different than everyone by creating a blizzard outside; she did this with little effort.

After explaining our abilities to me, she began training me to help me learn how to control my powers.

The one thing that my mother would always repeat during each and every lesson was that, “Visualization is the essence of all magic. Let the image of light flow through you and try to stream it into a focal point as magical power.”

The results of this were always the same, failure. But my mother would always give me a smile, so I wouldn’t lose hope and say, “There is great power within you. Once you grasp the technique it will become easier and more natural for you to do it at a moment’s notice.”