Rain fell endlessly on the tightly wedged rooftops, washing the waste and dirt from the cobblestone path and snaking a trail of filth through the streets into a dark littered alleyway. Amid the trash, a body lay curled, unable to escape the deluge of water nor the cold air that clung to her skin.

Nameless and forgotten, she shivered as the last remnants of warmth escaped her core to flee into the stones beneath her. It became a welcome relief when a numbness erased the gnawing pain in her stomach and the chill in her bones. For hours she had laid there, the London streets bereft of anyone with a merciful eye or kind heart.

Suddenly the newfound power to release life became hers, and she gladly began to step into Death's domain. Through slitted eyes she watched him approach, cloaked in black, the rain blurring her vision. Her own Grim Reaper.

As he stepped closer his beauty captured her, bringing a weary smile to her lips as she gazed up at him, blinking away the water clinging to her lashes. He returned her smile but his eyes seemed sad. What reason could possibly cause a creature of such beauty to feel anything other than unending bliss? Fingers she could no longer feel reached up at their own accord as he knelt beside her, pushing aside a dark lock of hair and stroking his alabaster cheek reverently.

Gingerly, he placed a warm hand over hers, caressing the back of her palm with his thumb. Yet, the gentle touch did nothing to soothe the sudden sting of an unseen blade as it pierced her side, pulling her deep into the maelstrom of her own past. Vivid images, memories, began to swirl by, only stopping when she paid them attention.

She was six again, constructing wood and grass dolls on the dirt floor of the one room cottage they called a home. A tall, fair woman, more beautiful in her young eyes than the queen herself, entered the front door carrying a pail of fresh water. Her hair, vibrantly red, was pulled up into a restricted bun with a few wayward strands gracing her cheeks. Setting it by the door, the elder wiped the sweat from her brow, and gave the child a warm smile. "Mama!" the girl squealed, jumping up to launch herself into the woman's arms. She smelled of honey and lavender. Of home.

Fast forward ten years to a young woman of sixteen. She stirred the contents of a simmering pot in the fireplace, turning as her mother entered the door. Her mother's familiar smile faded as she got a better look at her daughter's bruised cheek and split lip. "It's nothing," the girl murmured in reply to the silent question, turning so her own red hair shadowed her face. Concern gave evidence to the beginnings of crow's feet around the elder's emerald eyes as she brushed aside her daughter's hair to examine more closely. "A little arnica liniment will fix that right up," she whispered, fingers tracing the bruise, a tight worried smile trying to lighten the situation.

Fast forward yet again to a nearer future with both mother and daughter sitting comfortably in their small cramped abode. Both sat in front of a crackling hearth fire, invested in the tattered books they each held like precious jewels. An abrupt pounding at the door shattered the calm, causing both mother and daughter to jump and turn. "Adeline Vanguard! Open this door!" The very walls of the cottage shook as the pair clung to each other in terror. A deafening crash sounded as the door burst inward, making way for a group of wild eyed villagers. "Witch," the leader growled, grabbing the elder's arm in a bruising hold. "Mother!" the daughter wailed, unable to stop as they were ripped apart in a flurry of angry emotions.

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The scene changed to a town square at night, filled with the hateful eyes of village onlookers. The girl screams wordlessly, clawing at her captors as they drag her to stand at the crowd's edge. A single man in priest robes holds her in an iron grip, forcing her to watch as they lash her mother to a pyre. Leaning down, the stubble on his chin scratches her ear as he whispers, "Watch what happens to witches girl." The words echo in her mind as the fire is set free to eagerly lick the wood. And then the screaming began...

It was the screams that pulled her out of the playback of her memories. Hate, strong and hot lent her the use of her limbs as she wrenched free of Death's grip, pulling away to crawl backwards.

Shock registered clearly on his features, making him slow to respond. "No," she spat out through clenched teeth, blood flecking her lips with each ragged breath. With a strength that didn't seem to belong to her she lifted her broken body onto shaking legs, stepping deeper into the alleyway as Death reached for her. "I'm not ready yet," she declared, shaking her head at the allure of his outstretched hand.

A brick wall, declaring the alley's end, hit her back and despair clutched at her throat, burning her eyes. She could feel another presence in the air, mocking her with its silent eyes. "Help me," she pleaded to it, her voice a whisper as Death stepped inevitably closer. "HELP ME, DAMN YOU!" she screamed, her hoarse voice breaking on the words. Arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back into the wall. The last things she recognized before the enveloping darkness was the angry scowl of Death and the velvet words whispered against her ear, "Allow me, my lady."

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Weightless, she floated in a black void. Gone was the pain and panic. Was this death? The thought was interrupted by a silky voice, masculine in nature, that resonated all around her, breaking the silence. "Annabel Vanguard," it named, catching her attention. "You seek retribution." It had been a statement but she found her voice answering an unwavering, "Yes." She felt oddly devoid of the fear that had plagued her these many months.

"Let us then, strike a bargain," the faceless voice continued, "You have but to name your wish."

The image of her mother, engulfed in flames, passed through her mind's eye. "I wish for the power and means to personally destroy those who destroyed me and mine." Rage laced her words, making the words sound foreign to her own ears.

"Very well," the voice answered, "I will do this you ask, for the price of your soul." Her soul? Demon. The words undoubtedly gave way to a certain apprehension until she heard once again, her mother's screams echoing in her head. What good had her soul ever done her?

"So be it," she answered, "I accept."

At the completion of her words, a searing pain enveloped the nape of her neck, racing along her nerve endings to every piece of her body, causing her back to arch in spasms. Slowly the burning pain receded, leaving her limp, still floating in the endless void. Eyes, red as blood, entered her vision before he spoke again. "Rest, my lady. It is done. Rest." His words brought back the darkness and she succumbed.