— overture —

𝐎𝐇, 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍.

"Run, little girl! Run as fast as you want, but know that you will never escape me!"

Her big green eyes were glassy as she ran, holding up the skirt of her long dress as she went. Her once bouncy curls were matted: clinging to the sides of her sweat-soaked head.

The girl was considered 'exotic'—as humans so graciously put it—in this time of racism and slavery. She was mixed with Caucasian and African blood, short (almost petite) in stature with perky exquisite features.

Her short athletic stature made sense seeing as she was one of the last fae in existence. The creatures of the fae by legend were known by many names: names such as pixie, sprite, elf, kelpie, fairy.

They were not necessarily known to be the tallest of supernatural creatures.

However, they were quick little things — almost as fast as a vampire.

Her breathing came harshly, fear pushing her weakened body forward. Small cuts and other bruises littered her: signs of abuse. But unlike most women of color in the 1700s', this abuse did not come simply because of the color of her skin.

Nor because she was a slave; well, not the traditional slave at least.

She was not exactly sure what her father considered herself and her siblings as, but he certainly did not treat them as any father should treat their child.

Her sharp ears picked up on his footsteps — the vampire (her father) was nearing her and fast. She pushed herself to run even faster, as fast as her fae nature could carry her. To the normal human eye, she'd be but a wisp. To a vampire, she could sadly only keep up and possibly outrun the slowest of them.

Her father was definitely not a slow vampire.

It mattered not, all she had to do was get beyond the border of his land and she'd be able to use her magic freely. She would teleport as soon as she crossed the threshold — she knew not where — only that anywhere would be better than this cursed plantation.

The dress and corset did nothing to help her speed, only slowing her down. As did the snow that covered the soil and pelted her face as she ran.

The tip of her nose had turned red from the harsh cold and she could just barely feel her fingers as they froze.

She prayed her siblings, the ones who had not already escaped, would get out as well. Then again, some of them were fiercely loyal to their father despite his cruel nature toward them. They were all conditioned the same, beaten down by his cruel ways, and yet some people responded to brutality differently than others.

"CASSANDRA!" His voice nearly shook the snow-covered Earth.

Cassandra, for one, did not want to spend the rest of her existence living in fear of this man. This man raised her in the dark with cruelness: the man who killed her birth parents when she was but a child and raised her to call him father.

Cassandra knew that if he caught her then a fate worse than death would be awaiting.

The sight of the border met her gaze — her heart fluttered in excitement. She could make it: she had to!

She pushed on.

"Cassandra!" She dared look back only to find her heart dropping at the sight of her father hot on her heels and closing the distance — his sinister red eyes ablaze. "It's pointless to run, child! Even if you escape today, I will find you anywhere you go!"

Cassandra did not care: a life of running was better than a life lived under his hand. A life of servitude. As his pawn.

She turned her head, determination sparking in her soul. Twenty feet turned to fifteen, to ten... to five. Cassandra felt the ghost of her father's fingertips reaching for her, but just as he managed to set a hand on her they crossed the border.

Cassandra felt it instantly: the rush of power as it flooded her veins. The way her eyes surely glowed green and the connection her magic forged with the Earth.

She was no longer trapped in the plot of land that was spellbound to her father: he no longer controlled her magic.

Cassandra had never whipped around so fast nor so bravely in her life.

She snarled, releasing a huge air blast at her father. He shouted as he went flying back forcefully, unable to control his body as the air whipped around him like a tornado.

He hit the ground many feet away, hard.

The vampire man staggered to his feet with cracks adorning his skin. His rage-filled eyes took in the sight before him ready to tear his 'daughter' apart.

Except... she was nowhere to be seen.

For a fae to be able to teleport without ever having attempted it in their life was incredibly impressive seeing as it was a very complicated skill.

Even a vampire as old as he had to admit he was slightly impressed by her raw talent.

But that was to be expected seeing as she was raised by him... the great Lithiovai: the oldest vampire to exist in these ages!

And yet, that did nothing to sway the anger he felt at losing one of his most prized 'children'. As the cracks on Lithiovai's skin began to heal, the ancient vampire roared to the heavens as thunder cracked through the sky.

He swore that he would take back what belonged to him no matter the cost — for if he wanted to succeed in his plans, the plans he had been scheming for centuries, then he needed her.

He needed Cassandra.