Children of the Cult (Female Version)

Chapter 1: Henrietta Evans

Henrietta Evans. The "good" daughter. She even had her own movie with the same title. The blonde killer kid from Maine. You may know her as Scar-Face, that's her infamous nickname she had received from all the scars she got on her face from the cliff accident back when she was twelve. She was never supposed to have survived that accident. The cliff was at least three hundred feet high. Yet somehow, she did, and now she's been on the run for years. Now at eighteen years old, Henrietta Evans is one of the deadliest assassins in the United States. She's known to be one of the highest ranking members of the Cult of Thorn and the Children of the Cult. She's been wanted for many years, and yet nobody has been able to track her down. She's been sighted a few times, usually in colder states, but due to "lack of evidence," Henrietta hasn't been able to be caught and still runs free today.

Have you ever wondered how Henrietta's life had came to be? Ever wonder how she managed to survive the fall? Ever wonder how Henrietta and the other Children of the Cult are where they at today? Here's how it all started...

December 20

Rock Harbor, Maine

Henrietta was falling.

Her eyes widened in horror the second she had let her go. She let out a loud scream of terror, a scream she could not stop, as she was falling down onto the rough rocky end of the cliff. As she fell to his demise, Henrietta wondered how all of this had gone so wrong.

Henrietta was certain Susan was going to save her. She was her daughter, after all. Why wouldn't she save her? Besides, she doesn't deserve to suffer from a fate like this. Henrietta doesn't even deserve to die. She was actually one of the only human beings who are worth something and whose life isn't worth taking. But no, that ungrateful bitch decided to save Marcie, who she barely even knew, over Henrietta, her own daughter.

As she fell closer toward the bottom of the cliffs, Henrietta wondered if things could've really been different between her and her cousin, Marcie. She imagined her and Marcie being sisters and partners in crime. Killing people and animals with crossbows and causing traffic accidents for fun. Murdering and torturing people for fun. Marcie burning her house down in Arizona and killing her Dad just to live with Henrietta and the rest of her family in Maine, and then killing off Wallace, Susan, and Connie afterwards.

She could've had it all, and so much more. How much? Henrietta would never know, but it could've all happened. But it just wasn't meant to be.

Henrietta had taking a liking to Marcie from the start. Even before meeting him, Henrietta had been delighted to hear that Marcie was staying earlier that day and had spent hours making two identical paper maché masks, so they could be sisters. Henrietta had always been a loner all her life, unable to make any friends. She desperately longed to have a true friend, a true brother or sister, that was exactly like her. She wanted a real partner in crime. Someone to go kill with, someone to raise hell with, just for the fun of it. That someone could've been Marcie.

If only Marcie was like me, she thought.

Henrietta's eyes shot wide open as she found herself laying splat on the huge rock.

What the fuck?! How am I still fucking alive?! Henrietta thought to herself. There's no fucking way I could've survived this. That cliff was too high up. The fall should've killed me.

Henrietta sat up on the rocks, not having any difficulties doing so. Despite how high up the fall was, Henrietta somehow had not only managed to survive, but she hadn't managed even broken a single bone in her body. Her back still remained in perfect shape. She even moved her arms and legs to check if they had somehow broken and found that they were still in perfect condition. Unfortunately, Henrietta was not completely unharmed by the fall. The rock had still managed cut into Henrietta's skin, resulting in several deep gashes all over her face, neck, and back. Her face had been slashed open like a sliced up watermelon. Identical cuts were around Henrietta's neck, and even bigger gashes have been marked all over her back, although nobody could see it because his sweater was covering it. Henrietta could feel the fresh, hot red blood trickling down his face and onto his chest, staining the front of her favorite sweater. The back of her sweater was now entirely stained, the red stripes now burgundy and the green stripes now a brownish-maroon as even more blood oozed out of her body.