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The cocky bitch was a bit bold and brazen. “Art ye ready to die, Kleopha?” she asked, getting in my face and grabbing my neck and I grabbed her breasts and sunk my venomous nails inside it and she wailed with pain, trying to push me off. Her husband, thunderously snarling (his snarls rolled over every tree and every hill for fifty miles in all directions) punched at my chest and I deflected each one engaged in an array of fancy jumps, back flips and footwork on both our parts. Ah!. Such the skilled fighter he was.

I sprinted around a few trees, bending them at the roots. One by one they snapped back to the standing position, with the seventh one catching the bitch in the chin before she could sprint in front of her husband.

I saw a huge clearing and a peak on a mountain, well a cliff about one thousand feet in front of me, and eight thousand feet in the air.

I looked back one final time and took into account they were gaining in speed and catching up to me. My heart pounded out of my chest, and my children refused to move.

I looked in front of me and jumped in the air, gliding, raising, rising like steam, stretching out my arms and pushing once more on the air with the bottom of my hands, pressing my palms down and landing perfectly eight thousand feet up, looking back and being punched in the face by Marguerite, and her husband, James, pushed me into a huge boulder, and I fell to my bottom in grave pain, bending, trying to soothe my aching back with my hands.

Marguerite shook her head “Pathetic! Ye got overdressed just to get defeated by thy fledglings. We art done playing games ye selfish bitch!”

I found it hard to keep my eyes open. I was fighting sudden sleep. “I am…I am not selfish! I used to be! That…that side of me…is no more…I am telling ye the truth Marguerite!”

James said, “Die!”

He knelt before me. He lowered his voice.

I looked into his eyes, trying to keep my very own open, trying to stay conscious.

I failed my children. I was going to die!

I had no time to prepare! “Ye art selfish. Ye took our humanity from us and made us monsters, but in the end ye want us to grant ye permission to become a human again? What about us? What did ye do to become half human, we art dying to know!”

“If you’re going to kill me do it! And when ye do the secret of it all and the truth of it and the blueprint dies with me! Take that into account!”

Doneshius landed behind James and Marguerite, startling them. When they saw it was their son they were relieved. It was then I remembered Doneshius’s real origin, his true origin. The very beginning of his life flashed before my eyes in breathtaking tones. Who he was before reincarnation caused me to take a deep breath, why hadn’t I realized this before?

James took Marguerite by the upper arm and pulled her away from me. He took a hard look at me, searching my face for any sign of espionage, and then he glared into his wife’s eyes.

“She’s right! We can’t kill her! She has the information we neddeth to become human again!”

She wasn’t having it! “Let’s torture her and get out of her and then kill her!”

“What if she deceives us while she’s being tortured and tells us the wrong thing? We don’t know what it is or the truth of it all so how art we gonna recognize it when she says it?”

She lowered her head and thought a moment, trying to control her breathing. She was breathing hard, trying to keep herself together. I could tell she waited thousands of years for this moment, and she wasn’t sure what to do. James hadn’t a clue either.

James was the first to wave the white flag, with great restraint, and reluctantly. “Fine. We will keep her alive until she tells us what we neddeth to know. We will pretend to forgive her, and get her to trust us enough to tell us what the secret it, and once we get the information we then kill her.”

I looked into Doneshius’s eyes, my place of refuge, my port from the storm, though I’ll never tell him that and if it ever gets out I’ll deny it till I’m blue in the face.

He gave a faint smile and his eyes apologized ferociously. He was pleading without moving his lips or making fake body gestures. His body language communicated with the pulse of my heart beat. I felt the way his heartbeat, and mine was connected to his pulse, and our hearts beat as one and on the same frequency.

I closed my eyes ad decided to try to get some rest or at least relax so my children could calm down, they were very upset, and let Doneshius true self filter through the right and left hemisphere of my brain.

Doneshius―Airick Burgoos. His reincarnated name. He was born Joseph Scott in 1695. He was a master storyteller, having enthralled his neighbors since the age of eight.

His brother and sister, ages 4 and 5 were always jealous of his abilities because they didn’t have a fraction of it, and were accident prone.

He forced himself to shut them out and his parents never cared to make them get along. They never fought or raised their hands to each other, but they took turns setting each other up for spankings.

At age eighteen Joseph was a wealthy art dealer and world renowned painter, having painted Kings and Queens and was paid handsomely for it.

On his nineteenth birthday he was the victim of a home burglary. While he combed his place to see what the perpetrators took, a vampire waited in the shadows of his enormous living room, with elegant silks and huge chairs, just after midnight (he was drinking and partying with hookers. He took his love to go!).

When Joseph tried to leave his home to get in contact with the authorities, the vampire made her move.

Joseph was yanked back into his home, and the door slammed and locked as well.

He was a prisoner in his own home, a place of many orgies and deep, dark fantasy.

The vampire bit into his neck and he fought for dear life, screeching and bellowing, begging and sobbing.

Instead of killing him the vampire transformed him into what he was.

After his bones broke down, he started sniffing the air, instantly. His powers and traits kicked right in, how amazing! It took a while for all of my powers to come to, and his was immediate. I studied him without making it obvious, making my observations.

He ran around the enormous living room, sprinted along the walls and down the ceiling of the hallway towards one of the back rooms.

Where was he going? I wanted to come along! Slow down and wait for me, Joseph!

He burst into the back room and his sister and brother were making love, but halted at the sound of the door and the gasp of their older, rich brother. I covered my mouth, stunned. He was stone.

His sister covered her body in shame.

“I can explain!” said his sister, with the most gorgeous body I have ever seen. Sexiness, redefined.

His brother wasn’t worried or intimidated. He slid out of the vagina and slowly rose to his feet, approaching his brother and getting in his face.

“It wasn’t like ye paid her any attention! You’re our older brother and thy own life and selfish needs ousted us in the process and plucked us from the family tree ye were biologically born of and a part of.”

His sister tried to stop him from punching Joseph. When his fist connected with Joseph’s face, Joseph scowled and punched his heart from his chest without refuge or remorse, or even compassion.

His sister screamed in terror, the hairs standing on her limbs. She puked everywhere, trying to escape the room and her imposing death.

When she reached the door he grabbed her shoulders and she swung a poker at him.

It hit him in the face, and cut him across the eye.

He bellowed in pain as she ran up the high ceilinged hall, slipping and falling, and jumping back up to her feet, the exit door in full view.

When she reached it he dropped in front of her and said, “I love ye, my darling sister!” He gripped her chin firmly, kissing her lips without emotion. “Die, ye incestuous bitch!”

He slit her throat.

And I watched her slump to the floor.

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