Samantha Nightingale comes from a family of respected hunters. Her Uncle is a hunter, her Aunt a white witch. She dabbles in magic, it coming naturally to her. She gets a call one day from a family friend, asking her to be with his sons. This is her...
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Samantha is nine years old today. It being July fifteenth, 1988. Her family is singing happy birthday to her as the candles on her She-Ra chocolate birthday cake we're burning bright.
"Make a wish, munchkin!" Her uncle said happily, a camera in his hand to capture the moment.
She closed her eyes and thought of how she could always be this happy with her family. She blew out the candles and opened her eyes only to find herself alone. She looked around but saw no one.
She was no longer nine, but her twenty-six year old self, sitting at her family's dinning room table in the dark. She heard a thump from upstairs. Slowly, she crept out of the seat and grabbed a silver blade from her pocket. She was silent as she made her way up the wooden staircase, missing every creak.
As she made her way to the second floor, she went down the vast hallway. Pictures of her family and the orphanage hung on the wall, the glass cracked. Bloody handprints decorated the wall, leading to the master suite.
Terror was decorated all over Samantha's face as she pushed the door open, the wooden door creaking. Her grip tightened on the blade as she entered the darkened room. But it shifted into a torture chamber, not the bedroom. There, she was chained from the ceiling, whips hitting her back.
"How about now? Reconsidering my offer?" Alastair grinned, getting close to her face.
Samantha looked into his sadistic eyes and spit right in his face. He wiped the spit off of his cheek and let out a chuckle. Suddenly his hands gripped her face so tight, bruises were sure to appear. His nails dig into her cheek and she let out a pained cry.
"You know, I've put up with a lot from you." He hissed, glaring at her with such disgust. "You may be special, but I will not tolerate such disrespect."
He let go of her face and pulled the chain harder.
"Let's play a game, shall we?" He said circling her like a lion. "I call it 'Painful Spots'." From behind, he dragged a knife across her back. Slowly, and with a grin.
She held her ground but he got to a spot that forced her to yell in pain.
"Oh, I see. Little girl doesn't like it right there." He chuckled.
Pain exploded throughout her soul and she let out a scream that could be heard all the way in the deepest part of Hell, where a certain angel heard her cries.
Samantha woke up in a cold sweat, the blankets of the motel room tangled all around her. She grabbed her phone and looked at the time. Five thirty two. She let out a groan and realized she wasn't going to get anymore sleep. So she sat up and rubbed her tired face, making a squealing noise as she stretched. She headed to the bathroom but was interrupted by a knock at the door. She let out another groan and was swearing under her breath.
