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Clarabele was alone, alone in the dark, damp, abandoned cellar with carefully strung cobwebs made of sliver moonlight as company, and she adored it. The cellar was her freedom, her release from the cold, strong grasp of an oppressive society. She loved it here, where the only noises in the abandoned رم cellar were her and the feet of the mice. However Clarabele had to leave her sanctuary for a demonic reason.

Spirits were high on this All Hallows eve, the town was replenished from The Great آگ کے, آگ and the ‘occurrences’ had lessened, utter peace. As Clarabele walked along the dark, dusty … somewhat distant street, she sensed this peace and it empowered her.

The ‘occurrences’ had started a سال ago, when the moon was high and bright, three children were murdered; they were all دوستوں and part of the Christian church, like many peasants of this age, they had all angered Clarabele. These incidents were followed سے طرف کی many of its type, some drowned without water, some attacked سے طرف کی the forest the whole hamlet of Chadwell was living in fear until a fortnight ago, when the ‘occurrences’ had abruptly stopped.

“Oi!” Bellowed one of the many drunken youths roaming London “Bootiful” he staggered slightly towards her but with a fearsome glare he realized Clarabele wasn’t a force to be reckoned with.

Clarabele didn’t view herself as beautiful. She was told سے طرف کی The Guardians many times that she was ‘impure in the eyes of God’. She had short, blonde hair that was close to white. Her hair was the shortest in the village because she had sliced her own hair with a blade (which was also ‘impure’). She had gleaming blue eyes. She wore, well she liked to wear, long, sleek, silk dresses, normally and pale shade of بان یا blue, with elegant floral patterns stretching up the side of the delicate dress. Clarabele was only thirteen but she was feared سے طرف کی many grown warriors.

The Guardians disapproved of Clarabele’s appearance; in fact they disapproved of Clarabele in general. The Guardians consisted of the five village elders who were assigned to Clarabele, because she was different.

According to The Guardians, Clarabele was ‘cursed’, but in her mind she was deeply gifted. She could point to a barren wasteland and turn it into a luscious lagoon, she could ignite a flame in the darkest depth of the ocean and still hold air in her lungs, she could remove the roof of a house with a whisper, and she could even soar like a bird high in the sky. Her ‘gift’ talked to her occasionally. It would lead her to temptations; it told her she was a goddess amongst mortals that she could crush the pathetic race that has deprived her of freedom for far too long.

However Clarabele was kind, caring and empathetic person and exploited her gift for the good of the hamlet, she provided water during droughts, crops during famines but sometimes she got angry. Sometimes the temptation was far to alluring and she had to relinquish to its ever growing might. The occurrences were a result of one of those incidents and today would be another.

Even during this illusion of peace her mind was seething with rage. A female Guardian named Rosalina had burned her پسندیدہ blue dress and her personal journal at the local book burning, so Clarabele would burn her.

As she walked down the سٹریٹ, گلی her short her flew and ignited with her rage and fire, sharp brambles grew from her footsteps. The air swarmed ferociously around her and the tree’s shook with fury. As she walked past the well the rocks crumbled in her presence and the water trailed behind her leaving no mark as she entered the local public house.

‘I am a Goddess, a fallen Goddess but a Goddess nonetheless.’ She thought

As she walked into the, as it is known to the mortals as ‘pub’ no one noticed her, none of the four other Guardians and certainly not Rosalina. She dampened her flames and approached the smallest میز, جدول in the ‘pub’

The public house was full of mortals and was dressed in a typical English design, wooden panels in certain places and deep crimson and green in others. The Landlord and his bar wench looked proudly as the customers enjoyed their evening in the only ‘pub’ in town.

Clarabele approached the party of people surrounding Rosalina and tapped her gently on the shoulder.
“Rosalina?” She کہا in a sweet church girl impression.
“Yes my child?” She asked with respect, she obviously had not realized that it was Clarabele behind her because she treated Clarabele like the filth that she scrubs from the floors. “Oh, it’s آپ Clarabele. What do آپ want?” She spat the word آپ at Clarabele in such a spiteful way if Clarabele was normal she might have been offended, fortunately she was nothing of the sort.
“Oh nothing worth much Rosalina, just your life” Then Clarabele laughed in a victorious shriek and tapped Shoulder for a سیکنڈ time and before she had time to query Rosalina evaporated into ash.

The people closest were the first to scream and run for the main door alerting the others of the danger but Clarabele engulfed the door in a furious flame. Then others ran for the back door which Clarabele covered with the water from the well. The water flowed like a sea caught in a storm. One man dared to face its currents but was caught in an ever closing cage and drowned proving the treat to the other victim. The gift adored the chaos and misery, it drank it all in like a fresh flagon of water on a summer’s دن until…

Horror, confusion, anxiety, grief frozen on the mortals faces. Clarabele could اقدام around freely but the mortals were immobile. This intrigued her, like a curious cat with a new plaything. The flames had stopped raging, the old clock had halted its gentle rhythm. Had she done this? If she had it would prove her Goddess like existence. She laughed in delight at this realization until Clarabele saw movement out of the corner of her highly trained eye.

Was it a mortal? Clarabele wondered, no it was a just a trick of the light. Then she saw him.

She had seen him around the hamlet recently, he was a young preacher, about Clarabele’s age, he was visiting from the hamlet of Chigwell. He had dark, tempting mysterious eyes with a dangerous glint. His smooth, شاہبلوت, شاہ بلوط hair gently framed the perfect shape of his face. Clarabele was mesmerized سے طرف کی his presence.

“You can’t do this” He sounded disappointed with Clarabele; however his voice still flowed in a melodic harmony.
“And you’re to stop me preacher?” Clarabele laughed in a voice which was cold and spiteful, it almost sounded like Rosalina’s…
“You doubt me, Clarabele?”
How did he know her name? Worry sparked through her mind but only to be silenced سے طرف کی the gift
Does he doubt you?
She ignited a flame in her palm and held it there “I do not doubt آپ preacher, I doubt your ability to prevent me” she threw the flame towards him covering head to toe in a blazing fire. He did not struggle, Clarabele admired that.
She extinguished the flame to make her escape whilst time held still until she heard the creek of a floorboard.

She turned on her heels آگ کے, آگ in hand to see the preacher, walking towards her, unscathed and unharmed.
“W-w-what? How?” she was confused and slightly scared.
He clenched his fist and walked slowly over to Clarabele until he was directly in front of her. He unclenched his مچھلی to reveal a small, but slowly growing flame.
“But I thought I was alone… the only one…” she was now become extremely confused.
Does he doubt you?
The same ghostly echo spread through her mind, like دودھ in blood it flourished through her mind full of eccentric details, and Clarabele let the gift control.
“I was the only one then I heard of آپ Clarabele and I knew I must dispatch of you”
“Why? We could be together, rule as Gods and Goddesses are meant to” Clarabele regained some form of control for a moment then the gift interrupted with a snarl.
“You ruin my fun and attempt to scare my mistress, how dare آپ Vaurien”
Vaurien? Clarabele wondered sitting like a ghostly shadow amongst her own body which now had deathly white tint and deep black veins.

Suddenly the preacher’s head swung backwards and his voice changed also,
It was now hoarse and cruel. His face was also covered in black veins and his features were twisted and deformed.
“I didn’t think it would be آپ Maeve” The preacher bellowed in a voice that was not his own.
After that Clarabele’s memory had disappeared.

The ‘pub’ had been completely demolished. As Clarabele lay on the rubble she examined the disaster. There was scorch marks everywhere and it was flooded with water, tormented roots lay dead and withered and Clarabele laid in the preachers arms. She feeling very week.
    
The preacher kept on muttering something over and over again, crying over her soaked body.
“What is it… preacher?” She asked with a painful cough.
“I am sorry my lady, I am so sorry.”
“What...?” She asked her head lazing weekly to her left. He gestured to her chest. Agonizingly she attempted to look and saw a dagger, sticking out of her chest covered in blood which had drenched her clothes.
“Who?” she croaked with one of her last breaths.
“I am so sorry Clarabele.”
“You!”
The memories came flooding back to Clarabele. Her gift had fought valiantly but after an energy draining attack she was helpless. Vaurien had plunged a dagger in to her chest but Maeve answered.

“Your sons may live
But not long for I give
My daughters the eternal power
Your blood will lie in the hand of my flower.
Lilly
Lilly” this is when Clarabele felt herself slip slowly into an everlasting sleep, with one thought left on her mind, vengeance. So as her presence left the world in the small hamlet burned and the preacher burned with it.

Then Lilly Harman awoke from her dream with a startling realization.

سے طرف کی Paige Dolan