The hidden Salvatore, she called herself. A secret she had so carefully kept over the centuries.
She enjoyed being kept a mystery. Enjoyed the hunt and the looks on people's faces when they realized her true identity.
Decade after decade she built...
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"Pretty face, dark soul."
━━━━━━♡♤♡━━━━━━
1962
"Nora," She whined like a small child, "leave some for the rest of us."
The woman the brunette was currently draining was nearly limp in her arms, blood spilling down the heretic's face and all the way down her navy-blue dress as Nora sucked her dry. A red river flowing down her body as she fed. The ground was stained a deep crimson below her as the liquid dripped down to the floor with a soft dripping sound.
Nora was taunting them, flaunting the woman in their faces like dangling candy over a baby. The woman the heretic was feeding from was the last person left in the club and of course, Nora being the speediest of the four women, got there first. They had left the boys at home–left being the loosest term imaginable—sneaking away without them knowing because the girls knew they would not support them going out in these...conditions.
But the four women agreed that they did not live to simply survive. To run and hide from those who chased them—something the boys had yet to realize. So the girls snuck away, finding a club on a nearby street corner with intentions to dance until they dropped.
Or until those around them dropped.
Bodies were strewn across the club, blood splattering the walls and floors. Each of them with puncture wounds in their necks and nothing left to circle their veins. Their hearts had ceased beating and all that was left was their lifeless corpses that would stay here until someone inevitably found them.
Each of the heretics knew that they were bad when they were together. Drew too much attention—just as Malcolm always liked to tell them—but they didn't care. It was a rarity these days that they were able to stay together longer than a few months and they intended to make the best of it. Of being with each other. With family. Their equals.
Besides, none of them had heard from the huntress since 1961 when each of them had been sent those letters. Warnings. Death sentences. The day Lili had fled New Orleans to keep those she loved safe. To protect them from the plague that was the huntress.
She remembered it so clearly. One of the inner circle had approached her with cation, handing her a small envelope. She had felt her heart stop beating in her chest. The air around her become suffocating as she looked at the red warking within. A simple X. And yet it was like a knife to her gut.
