Mark of The Demon

The life at the Sinclaire home was always about beauty and passion. There was a powerful father that ruled over a large chunk of Vineyard French. He was a kind man but firm. His family history went back 15 generations it could be traced with ease. He had siblings that he loved and all he lacked in his youth was a love. He was paired with a woman he despised. A bitter and mean woman he was destined to marry. When he was on his way to the altar he met the woman dreams. A peasant girl that had been living under his thumb for years. He spoke to the girl, they bonded immediately and finding that she was as perfect as any woman could get. He immediately called off his wedding, breaking his family's 15 generation long tradition of marrying within the social strata. He married this peasant girl and brought her into his life and his world. He cared not for the rumors and she handled the heat placed upon her with all the grace of a queen. Together they had three children, a son came first. The pride of his loins, then a second son, this one was more wild but loved all the same. Then lastly came a girl. A beauty of a girl that had all the unnatural beauty of her peasant mother yet with all the social status of her father. She grew a personality that came from the mixture of both, the daring of the lower class and the honor and pride of the higher. This family went on through its time. The girl grew and was just reaching the point that her father had to begin to question if he should sell her off or let her marry for love? He planned to let his sons choose but, was a girl really smart enough to choose? The main powers of the world would agree that she was not in at a moments notice. He escaped his fate of being disowning solely by the grounds of his gender and his wife's ability to bear sons. He began to turn down marriage proposals and many hurt feeling from other nobles that had cooled with time  were getting heated again. They claimed he was a loose Canon and unreliable. It seemed he could never have enough enemies when it came to the women in his life. He went to sleep one winter night while his daughter was 15 and a half, anger in the ranks was rising as quickly as his daughters womanly figure was growing. As he slept the men came in. They lite the house on fire they found the middle son, brutally they murdered him. Then they found the wife and raped her before they tied the husband and wife together then tossed them into the main flames of the fire. Watching them burn away with along with the title they owned. Only one son was left and he was no where to be found. The search was now on for the girl. Where was the eldest and youngest remaining Sinclairs? Before long the smoke and flames brought the startled girl to them. She had come out of her room in search for her parents. They promptly gagged and tied down the young sprite of a girl and dragging her away to a dark place. As they slowly dragged her along the gravely ground racking away at the exposed skin of her arm, she sobbed and mentally questioned the world.  What had made all this happen? What did she do to deserve this?  The girl was shoved in a box with all of her clothes stripped from her for several days. When she was finally pulled free, she stood naked as the day she was born on stage before a massive crowd of masked men. What had she DONE to deserve this. She shook her gagged mouth doggedly. The men began placing bets. One then another made offers before one man seemed to win. The man gestured to a crate she was to be put in. The men lifted her up and began to shove her inside. She kicked, she fought, she mentally begged, anything please!  Her silent pleas's went unnoticed by anyone, or anything. Darkness was her knew friend it was her welcoming partner and all she knew now.  The crate was opened and a massive man was the face that greeted her. He had the smile to make a grown man feel creeped out. She slide deeper into her crate preferring the darkness. He pulled her free despite this, she screamed and scratched, yet he seemed unaffected and tossed her inside his house. "I will break you.” He kept repeating as his calloused hands caressed her naked body making her squirm. He refused to go further saying she would ask him to eventually. Which never failed to make her feel cold and a desire to gag. She was there for nearly 9 months her soul slowly chipping away. She felt herself cracking at the edges. Broken. He said he would break her, she realized. Then knowledge of this made a sudden flow of energy heat her soul to the core. No he would not.  With a sudden energy and passion she decided her life would not end before his. When he dragged her from the basement and tossed her into the kitchen. 'feed me.’ Was his absolute command and she knew he would be back to beat her if food wasn't prepared. She stood and her eyes heated a smile came to her lips, one of the most sinful in nature. She began to cook, just like the good little girl he wanted her to be. Then as she cooked she began to add a few special living ingredients. He was busy reading his newspaper while the radio announced the actions of a game in the corner. So carefully she added a splash of bleach, a pinch of rat poison, just a dash of an unmarked bottle saying contact poison control if gotten on skin. Then she mixed away happily. She baked the cake with a joy she hadn't felt in years. Then pulling out her treat from the oven she frosted it like a beautiful gift from her to him. She sat the cake down before her master, and as he ate it she felt a rush of childish glee as he began to cough. It seems the mix of poisons were fast acting. He clutched his throat and coughed again the wheezing came quickly now. He fell to the floor and she stood over him smiling.  “Oh, look? It seems that… I've gone and broken you first.” She said softly She watched him closely as he spasmed and began to slowly crawl away from her. As he started to grow still she knew it was done. He was dead, she was free. It was then that tears began to stream from her eyes down to her cheeks. She looked at the cake, her biggest sin in life. Or was it? She felt every moment of the past months. Nearly a year, or was it a year? She was nothing. She had nothing, no one and nothing. With that solemn rationalization, she knew then this cake was actually a gift from herself to herself. Now she could die the nothing worthless being she was. As she kneeled her heart screamed for help, softly she whispered to herself. “I wish there was… another… way.” Then cutting herself a slice of her own death cake, her life flashing before her eyes. How sad that she used to be so much more and it all lead to this. What life would she have… she couldn't do anything alone as a little girl with no family or caretaker. This cake was truly meant for herself... P. O. V. Jacques: The realm of hell could be quite a boring place sometimes. Especially if you are a crowned prince of the place. Though only fifth prince, the running campaign for the top prince was not to be chosen by number rather by strength and ability. He was in the lead. Yet sometimes you need more. You crave something dark and sinister. In the case of this prince the desire was take something weak raise it from the earth and make it prideful and strong. Once it was plump with its own power... You snatch it all away and leave them more weak and defenseless then that had been before. He hadn't had a meal like that in such a long time It is funny when you talk about someone they tend to pop up, no? Calling it 'speak of the devil.' It seemed as he sat in his throne, long flowing white hair cascading down the sides, that this very meal had surfaced. A plea of a strong yet damaged and desperate soul had called out to the world. He could tell right now it would be easy to fatten this soul up and make it a delicious meal. He had to be the first to arrive on the scene.  --- Before so much as one sinful crumb touched her lips, fire burst forth, white flames incinerating the evidence of her crime, burning the offender's body with the rage of hell. The flames crept higher, licking at the ceiling, the walls, and yet somehow not burning them. The room was painted with shadows and light, suffused with the scent of mint and something darker, like blood, the dichotomy more frightening than any stench. From within the pure depths of these flame, a dot grew, as pitch black as the shrouded sky. It grew and grew, eventually forming the shape of a man, doused in flame, long wings shrouded by heat. "There is a way. " Wind howled, scattering molten hot embers across the floor, only to be extinguished by the creep of ice. The fire died, now barely taller than a man, and the shadow inside the flame intensified, tall, sharp features becoming prominent, and with them a mouth full of sharp teeth and eyes as red as blood. The voice was smooth and charismatic, but behind it the cackle of flames. "You have a choice." Like the fin of a dolphin breaking the surface of the ocean, his hand broke free, white gloves and a sleeve as black as ink at odds with the shadowy creature within. The hand was lowered, fingers relaxed, urging her to take it. "I will be your tool, your weapon of destruction, set to carry out your every task. In return, you shall feed me, your eternal soul becoming mine. What is it you wish? Power? Wealth? I can help you achieve all of your dreams." The wind howled again, whipping an icy spray across the room and stoking the desire of the flames, sending them higher again. The hand remained offered, never once falling or fading, the same demonic grin plastered on his face.