The outskirts of the cemetery, with its looming wrought-iron gates and the ever-present mist, felt like a boundary between worlds. Like she'd crossed through the veil from a liminal, lonely place of death into a new land where the living dwelt.

A dirt road stretched ahead, empty and barren under the pale, waning moon. A chill breeze blew through the tall grass on either side of the path, stirring the vegetation as she passed. Her black gown, tattered and soil-stained, clung to her form, fluttering in the wind as she strode forward.

Off the beaten path, nestled amongst a copse of gnarled oaks, stood the caretaker's dwelling—a quaint, two-story cottage with steam vents curling up into the sky and the warm glow of lamplight flickering through the windows. The porch had several wicker chairs strewn across the front. A stone path led up to the door.

Aubrey wandered over to investigate. Upon reaching the steps, she hesitated. Should she knock? If someone came out, would they invite her in? Would they ask questions? Offer her help?

Do they have phones in this world? Or like... a hotline number for an insane asylum?

She frowned. She couldn't trust anyone... but what choice did she have?

The front door creaked open slightly. Aubrey froze, her heartbeat quickening. Had someone seen her approaching?

A man poked his head out, looking around cautiously.

He wore simple brown robes with a hood pulled up over his head. A pair of spectacles rested on his nose, reflecting the light of the candles burning inside. When his gaze fell upon her, his eyes grew wide. "Y-you...! G-get away, I buried you...!"

The caretaker yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed back into the house.

Aubrey stood rooted to the spot, unsure whether to run or stay.

A few seconds later, the man reappeared, clutching a rusty pistol.

"Stay back! Stay back, Unhallowed!" he shouted as he waved the gun in her direction. "I said, stay back!"

Aubrey raised her hands in a placating gesture, trying her best to appear unthreatening. "W-wait! I—I can explain!"

The man faltered. For a moment, he seemed unsure whether to press forward or retreat. Finally, he steadied his hand and leveled the barrel at her. "You—you shouldn't have returned! The ground isn't yours; your place is in the grave!"

The muzzle of the weapon shifted slightly from side to side as he tried to decide what to do with it. It probably wasn't loaded, but it might contain one round, and even a single shot could likely end her.

"Look, I know this is hard to believe, but—" she began, taking a cautious step backward, hoping that he didn't shoot her just yet. "—but I woke up in that coffin... and I don't remember anything. Please, I don't mean you any harm, I promise. I just... I don't know where to go."

The man scoffed at that. "As if I'd believe you! I'm not a fool, Unhallowed!"

Aubrey grimaced. So far, her plan to convince the guy not to shoot her wasn't working. "Wait... Listen... If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd have attacked you already?"

That earned her a moment's consideration. The man lowered the gun slightly. "You... wait... I—I did bury you myself! Three days ago. How'd you...?"

"Yeah. Uh, about that. I—uh, well... I dug my way out? Pretty much—yeah, I did that, I guess? Ha, ha..." She trailed off weakly, feeling her words stumble as she struggled for a more convincing explanation.

The caretaker's expression grew wary, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Then you are an Unhallowed! You must die!"

Aubrey put on her best smile. "Oi! Wait—what—I'm not Unholy! That's, like, totally unfair, dude! Just listen, alright? Let's talk it out—catch ourselves a beer or two—work things out like civilized folk, yeah?"

She tried to laugh off her fear, but it came out as a nervous giggle.

The man reached for something in his pocket and retrieved a small bottle filled with teal-colored fluid. Without hesitating, he flicked the cork off and splashed her with its contents.

She flinched as the liquid splattered across her arm, causing her flesh to sizzle and burn. With a yell of alarm, she stumbled back, clutching at the wound.

It didn't hurt too badly, but it stung like hell, and her skin felt uncomfortably warm where the stuff had landed. The man immediately doused her with another splash, but she managed to dodge this one by spinning to one side, causing it to miss her and hit the ground.

"Holy water!" the caretaker snarled. "You are an Unhallowed! A foul spawn of darkness—a damned soul! For this crime, I banish you from the light and cast you back to the Nether!"

He pointed the gun directly at her head and fired.

Click. Click.

Aubrey winced as the hammer clicked impotently against the firing pin.

"Um... nothing happened. Are you sure it's loaded?" she asked, watching the man with a quirked brow.

He stared at the gun for a long moment. Then he smacked the cylinder open and checked the chambers.

Now's my chance!

Aubrey lunged forward and grabbed the man's wrist with one hand, pulling herself closer as she reached for the weapon with the other. She ripped it from his grasp and hurled it into the brush before he could react.

"Damn you, demon!" the caretaker screamed, struggling wildly against her grip.

"Goddamn it—shut up, already! Will you just—let me fucking talk!" She punctuated the exclamation with a hard shove, sending him stumbling back into the living room, where he collapsed in a heap.

She advanced on him with deliberate strides, her footsteps creaking softly against the floorboards.

The man whimpered, his hands trembling as he tried to scrabble away from her, but she caught hold of him by the shoulder and yanked him upright. She shoved him roughly into a wooden chair next to a table and stood before him, glowering.

"Calm the fuck down and listen to me, okay?" Aubrey glared down at him as she spoke.

She saw her reflection in his glasses—two blazing crimson eyes, framed by her long, raven-black hair. She realized she must make quite a frightful sight—clad in the tattered and bloodied remains of her funeral dress, her skin smeared with gore from the battle at the cemetery.

No wonder the man thought she was a monster.

The man quivered in terror as he stared up at her, eyes wide with fright.

"Alright, I admit—I might be a bit of a weird case. But I swear to you, I'm not an undead of any sort—I'm very much alive—I have a heartbeat, a pulse, and all that." She gestured to the side of her neck. "Feel free to check it yourself. Right here, see?"

She leaned close to give him a better view, her voice low and husky, as if inviting him to touch her.

His eyes flicked down to her neck. He swallowed hard.

"And—and look! See? I'm breathing—listen closely; I breathe like you do—only faster because I'm angry and exasperated with you right now. Alright?"

The man blinked rapidly, a few beads of sweat trickling down his face. "N-not all Unhallowed are walking dead—there are also demons! Y-you... y-you could be one of those instead!"

Aubrey groaned. She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. This could take a while to work out. She really should have practiced a few excuses or stories beforehand, but alas.

"Okay... Alright, let's start over. Look, I'm telling the truth, alright? Here, why don't I just—fuck—I don't even know—aargh!" she yelled in frustration as she ran a hand through her hair. She turned away from him and stomped over to the far wall, where an ornate mirror hung above a mantelpiece.

She picked up a candle off the table and held it in front of her, so she could see her reflection clearly.

Sure, the dark shadows, combined with the blood and gore on her face, made her look a bit macabre... but other than that, she looked fairly normal, with the exception of her glowing red eyes. She also had fangs now—small, sharp ones, but they fit nicely in her mouth.

The face staring back at her, the one that belonged to the girl who'd been murdered, was the same face from her memories as the rock star Aubrey... just... slightly different.

Same facial structure, same cheekbones, same jawline... except instead of hazel eyes, she had crimson eyes.

Even the hair—although the ends were split and damaged from all the fighting—looked mostly the same as her own hair. Long, straight, glossy black—with crimson streaks.

As for the rest of her appearance... the girl—the Aubrey from this world—had a similar frame and build as her. An athletic, slender, and curvaceous figure. Her bust size... well, it actually looked like she got an upgrade, to be honest.

But overall... it felt like she just got a total makeover, with a supernatural edge to it.

I mean, hey... if reincarnating into a sexy, dark Gothic fantasy version of my own body doesn't scream, 'lucky you,' then I don't know what does.

She heard the sound of wood scraping across the floor behind her. When she glanced over, she saw that the man had managed to get onto his feet and had drawn a heavy iron poker from beside the fireplace.

"Hey! What're you doing with that? Put that down!" she scolded, glaring at him.

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The man staggered backwards a few steps, but didn't lower his makeshift weapon. "W-why—so you can suck my blood and steal my soul?!"

Aubrey narrowed her eyes and stalked towards him. "Put. The goddamn. Poker. Down. Do NOT tempt me to punch you in the face."

The man gritted his teeth and swung at her wildly. She stepped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. The music from before didn't return to guide her this time—maybe because he wasn't much of a threat without a gun.

"Demon!" the man shrieked. "Hellspawn! Evil spirit! Despicable creature! You have no place in this realm! Begone from this house and leave us mortals alone!"

Aubrey snatched the poker away from him before he could react, slamming the blunt tip into the ground, right between his legs. She smirked as he squeaked in alarm.

"Alright... how about we play a game?" Aubrey's voice held a note of danger to it now—dark and ominous. "Every time you say the words "Unhallowed, damned soul, evil spirit," I'll hit you with this thing. Sound good?"

The man let out a weak gurgling noise in response. The fear emanating from him grew stronger and stronger the longer she remained nearby. She sensed a slight pang of hunger—but she'd fed well enough that night to quell her craving.

"I... I... don't want to kill you," Aubrey said after a long pause. "But... I think it's obvious I can if I want to. So let's try this again: I'm not some damn monster... but I'm not a human, either. Not exactly, anyway. I don't remember exactly who or what I was before... but I can tell you—I have a conscience. I don't want to kill unless I have no choice."

Aubrey stared into his eyes as she said that, searching them for any hint of understanding.

"Do you... do you know what I am, caretaker?" she asked quietly, leaning in closer.

The man swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped.

"D-do you know what I am?" she repeated, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Because... I certainly don't... and it's driving me crazy not knowing. All I know is that my name is Aubrey... and that someone had murdered me and put my corpse in the ground. But... earlier you said that you buried me... which means you must have known who I was then—before my murder. So talk."

She placed the point of the poker beneath the man's chin, pushing it upwards and forcing him to lift his face to meet hers.

The man gulped audibly once again, his whole body trembling. He shut his eyes, seeming to gather himself, before speaking in a low, shaky voice. "I... I don't know about any murder," he said, shaking his head. "I swear it... I don't."

Aubrey sighed and released his chin, letting the poker clang to the floor.

He flinched but didn't move, his gaze fixed upon her.

"Alright... So then tell me what you do know. Tell me everything," Aubrey said firmly.

He hesitated for a moment, licking his lips nervously before replying. "I-I did bury you, but... there was a man. Paid a good sum to have you interred properly. Said he was a patron of yours, though he never mentioned his name or address. Said he couldn't stand seeing you left abandoned on the streets for dogs or monsters to feed upon."

Someone had paid him to bury me? Was it her killer? But he said the man was a 'patron' of mine. I must have performed music or acted—perhaps both?

"Did he say anything else? Give a name?" Aubrey pressed, leaning forward eagerly.

The caretaker shook his head. "Just that he owed you, for the music and the joy you brought him. Seemed a decent sort, if a bit... eccentric. Kept calling you... um..."

"Yes, go on?" Aubrey prompted, impatiently.

"His—his lovely Nightingale..."

Aubrey shivered at that. She bit her lip as she recalled a snippet of memory: sitting on a balcony with a handsome gentleman, gazing up at a brilliant starry sky while sharing a drink.

"... And he paid me extra to make certain that the churchmen didn't learn about the, uh, circumstances of your death..." the man trailed off, glancing aside.

"What circumstances?" she demanded. "I was... stabbed, wasn't I? Somebody murdered me..."

The man's mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at her with wide eyes. He quickly raised both hands in a pacifying gesture as she drew closer. "P-please! I—I honestly don't know! I just... I just followed orders and kept my mouth shut, that's all!"

Aubrey scowled at him, but then let out a tired sigh, shaking her head slowly as she backed away from him. "Fine... Fine."

She paced restlessly in front of the fireplace. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together everything that she knew thus far. Four people were responsible for her death. She remembered them as little more than vague shapes and shadowy forms, but the hate she felt towards them burned deep inside her heart. Only one of them had a face that she could recall—the one who had stabbed her. The others had simply appeared in flashes, like distant dreams half-forgotten.

She needed to find answers, but this man didn't seem to know any more than what he had revealed already. She rubbed her temples wearily, letting out a frustrated growl.

"Okay... what else did that man tell you? Did he give any indication as to who may have killed me or why?" Aubrey inquired. "Think carefully... any detail could be important. There's a lot you aren't saying. Maybe you're just scared, or maybe you really don't know—but I can sense you're hiding something from me."

The man squirmed under her glare, averting his gaze and wringing his hands anxiously.

"Please... I don't think he meant you harm. He only wished for you to have a proper resting place. That's all. Truly," he stammered, glancing nervously between her face and the ground.

"So he's probably not the one who murdered me." She threw her arms up in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Wonderful. One less lead. Still, something tells me he knows more about it than he's letting on... I wish I could remember exactly what happened..."

She placed a finger to her lips thoughtfully.

This man had told the truth so far, but he might still be withholding information. If so, she had no way to coax it out of him without resorting to violence or some form of torture.

"Let's change subjects, shall we? Tell me more about... this world," Aubrey stated after a long pause, staring intently at him. "You said I'm called an Unhallowed—is that because I rose from the dead?"

He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

"So, how come I'm not... you know... rotten or maggot-infested... or... or some kind of ghoul or zombie or whatever the fuck. Why am I different?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Some call it the Blasphemy, or the Cursed Blessing. No one fully understands it, but we believe the taint spreads outward from within." He shuddered visibly, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as he looked away. "Those that die and rise are Unhallowed... but the living can also become tainted by the Nether if they allow themselves to... through dark magics or acts of heresy. Those... those who do so willingly... they turn into true demons..."

"Interesting..." Aubrey mused, her fingers tracing the surface of the dining table as she pondered over his words.

Demons... so, those exist too? What did they look like? Were there vampires, too? Witches? Werewolves? Frankenstein's Monster? I imagine the whole 'unnatural horrors' scenario might be a bit more commonplace in this world.

She drummed her fingers on the wood absentmindedly. "And what about me? I don't seem too cursed or blasphemous or demonic—except for the red eyes and fangs, I guess," she said, flashing him a brief smile that revealed those dangerous teeth.

He gulped heavily, shrinking away from her.

Aubrey rolled her eyes. "Relax. I'm just curious."

"I... I suppose you don't seem too bad for a fiend," he said timidly. "But there's no telling how long it will take for the taint to spread through you and bring forth the madness... You... You don't feel... insane or corrupted, do you?"

"Hmm... not particularly. Other than wanting revenge for having died violently and waking up buried in a coffin, I'm peachy. And the hunger... well, I fed it earlier, so it's dormant."

"Hunger...?"

"Yeah. Hunger. Like, the need to consume the emotions of living creatures. Mostly negative, scary ones, I think," Aubrey admitted nonchalantly. "For instance, the delicious feelings you're currently exuding."

The man stiffened, his expression growing fearful once again.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on eating you. Unless... Do you want me to?" Aubrey teased, giving him a playful wink. "Kidding, kidding... mostly. Anyway... Moving on. I have one last question..."

She moved closer and sat down beside him, fixing her piercing crimson gaze directly onto him. He tried to avoid eye contact, but she grabbed his chin and turned it towards her, locking their eyes.

"I have to say, it's not pleasant, waking up like this. I feel like a walking corpse. Ugh, it's gross, even if I do look good, comparatively speaking..."

Aubrey brushed some hair from her face with a huff and ran a finger over her cheek, examining it. Her nails were still caked with the dried blood of her victims. She pulled her hand back and regarded them with a grimace.

"Is there somewhere I can wash up around here? Bathroom? Shower? Anywhere with soap?" she asked, tilting her head towards him.

The caretaker slowly shook his head.

"Not here, no... this isn't... that sort of place, unfortunately." He paused, pursing his lips. "Although... the water pump behind the shed works well enough for washing..."

Aubrey frowned and let out another sigh. "Awesome."

She rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head, arching her back as she let out a yawn. After a moment, she noticed the man watching her, and she smirked mischievously.

"Enjoying the show?" she whispered teasingly, bending over at the waist so that her face hovered just centimeters away from his. "Or would you prefer that I gave you a private performance?"

The man gasped as Aubrey began to remove her dress. He averted his eyes but peeked back several times as she peeled the bloody garment off her body, leaving it discarded on the floor.

She let out another loud yawn and stretched languorously, arching her back, letting him admire the swell of her bosom. The scars and cuts from her encounter with the graverobbers still lingered along her flesh, although they healed remarkably fast compared to what she expected from the injuries inflicted on her.

[Passive Trait: Minor Regeneration (Banshee) — Allows you to heal from wounds at an accelerated rate.]

Ah. Thanks for that...

She felt a burst of terror ripple through his emotions—though she sensed another emotion lurking beneath it... desire? Curiosity? Fear of arousal? Probably the latter.

Well, well, well—are you interested in the goods, mister caretaker?

Aubrey twisted around, letting him admire her rear as she sauntered over to the window, brushing the curtains aside to peek out.

The backyard contained an old oak tree, an assortment of garden tools and equipment, and a decrepit pump with a rusted handle. The shed itself looked like it had seen better days—its doors were broken in half, hanging crookedly from their hinges, and its roof sagged dangerously, threatening to collapse altogether at any moment.

"Yup... definitely looks like an ideal bathing spot to me. Which is to say—absolutely horrible," she grumbled to herself.

Turning back toward the caretaker, she grinned at him lasciviously.

"Now then, how about I show you some gratitude for letting me bathe in your filthy little dump of a yard, huh?"

Before the man could respond, Aubrey reached down and took hold of his wrists, dragging him off the chair and up onto his feet.

"W-what?! What are you doing?" he stuttered, panic and confusion filling his voice as she manhandled him over towards the stairs leading up to the bedroom.

"Well, first I'm going to throw you in a closet and bar the door, and then I'll wash myself. Once I've finished, I'll let you out."

"But—!"

"Trust me, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already, right? Also... if you can keep your cool, I'll even make you a deal. A fair one," she promised.

The man watched her warily. "What sort of a deal...?"

"A deal where you live and we get to part ways in peace... with the caveat that you don't tell anyone about me, ever." Aubrey stopped and tilted her head to the side, looking at him curiously. "How does that sound? Seems pretty reasonable to me."

"You—you won't hurt anyone here if I agree, will you? Please..."

Aubrey patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly at him as she did so.

"I only hurt bad guys, those who deserve punishment for their crimes. As for innocent people... I would never hurt them, okay? But I can't have any witnesses or rumors spreading about me. People would freak out. Got it?"

She smiled wider as the man nodded weakly in agreement.

"Perfect. Now go on... into the closet." Aubrey gave him a gentle push, guiding him over to the nearby door. Once she opened it, he reluctantly went inside, his movements slow and unsteady. She then moved a chair, propping it up against the door as a brace.

"See? You'll be nice and safe in there. Just keep calm. I promise you'll survive this day."

Aubrey gave the door a final tap before heading back downstairs and outside into the night air.

It was probably a fifty-fifty chance that the caretaker would keep his word... but it felt better to believe he would. It wasn't like she wanted to kill him. Besides, she did owe him for the whole 'burying her properly' thing, even if she'd only received that treatment due to money being tossed at him.

But he did also almost shoot her, and tried to burn her with holy water... and tried stabbing her with an iron poker—but hey! Water under the bridge, right?

She'll just take some fresh clothes with her when she leaves. Payback.