ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ | ꜱᴘɴ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄ

PROLOGUE | Children of the Grace |

On October 31st 1991 each one of the four Horsemen were given the order to have a child on Earth that would carry on their legacy once the time for Armageddon came. They called them the "Children of the Grace".

Pestilence had a daughter, the purest daughter one could have. They named her Catherine. Catherine ached to live up to her name, to heal those who believed they were too wicked to heal themselves, to show those who cease virtue how even god's most damned are capable of good. She believed the World to be possible of change for the better. Just like she too, has the possibility of changing for the better. No matter how many she healed, she still had Pestilence watching over her shoulder, making sure she remains reminded of her own tragedies, not just those of others.

Famine had a son, the wealthiest son one could have. They named him Eduardo. "The Wealthy Guardian". Eduardo was only one of those things, he had everything one could ever wish to have, one could ever desire or need. He was grateful for his wealth, even more grateful for the people who loved him unconditionally, yet he still hungered. Ached for something that can't be named, only felt. No matter how difficult he tried to fill the empty void he feared was only his heart, he failed. That void was still there, following him around everywhere, a constant reminder of his daunting existence. That void was nothing else but his father.

War had a son, the most peaceful son one could have. They named him Alexander, after the greatest Soldier of them all, hoping he'd be just as great. Alexander was born into a burning home, so he could assume the whole World was on fire. When he finally escaped, inhaling his first non-oxidated breath, he finally realized there were better ways to fight than to fire shotguns and throw grenades. The Soldier put his guns to the ground, refusing to shoot them anymore and made the decision to find a way to fight without having to put on any fires, but to only put them out. He left the War, but it never left him. Instead, it stuck around, waiting for the right moment to enchant. He was still a Soldier, even without the camouflages.

Death had a daughter, the most euphoric daughter one could have. They named her Vienna. After the city of Dreams, after the city she belonged to the most. She was her family's miracle and it was age to say, she was also their crazy child. The black sheep, the gothic artist eager to release her catharsis. Despite her constant thoughts about Death, she was sure she thought about him more than anyone else she knew, more than she should, she obsessed over immortality through her writing. Words were infinite, lives were not. To be a Writer, is to become the God of you're a story. But when she wasn't, she became Death.