Penelope Valentine

"All things truly wicked,
Start from an innocence."

• ENTER

THE PAST

Scratching of keratin daggers against the stone
The rabbits scurried and wept, safety no more
A burrow, a tomb, no longer a home
Two with fangs against a huddled score
A lone pale babe shivered, alone

A misty mountain facing the plains that dove into the sea, secluded and until that time, safe. Where did they come from and what was the fascination with evisceration?
At the time she was not a girl nor a boy, age six and now abandoned, death would surely come for her if not for the compassion of a murderer.
She clutched onto the bloodied ear of her Mother as deathly cold hands clutched her waist, a sickening creak of tendons straining followed before a tear and then release.
Bloodied fur stuck to her palms as she was carried away, into the dark, to her death or perhaps worse, a captive of the ones who destroyed her world.
Fed, cared for and eventually drugged on Stockholm Syndrome, she would grow from a Kit to a beautiful woman, happy to have survived but hollow from the circumstances.
Bitterness would punctuate her motives, loss would shadow her joys, and the need for more to fill the void would forever be her agenda.

• RETURN

THE FUTURE

Each step in the snow took her farther from the tragedy, she gave no struggle and instead succumbed to her fate.
The heavy fabric shadowed the one’s dress in stark contrast against the wilderness, snow and blood. The scent of her was familiar however, old books, leather, cigars and vanilla.
“Are you my Mother” was the first question she spoke after more than a year in a gilded yoke. Spoiled and pampered, a foreign Daughter, raised in a world of brutality and coldness, yet at the same time; Love.
She learned from the best while maintaining a warm temperature, pragmatic savagery was the quality she knew and with time and grooming there was none that could match.
Soft and inviting, her shell was without flaws as intended, like a spider she knew how to trap, worship and eviscerate her victims minds.
“You can call me Penny” the velvet voice would chime, cutting through the atmosphere and piercing the ears and hearts of all who listened.
As she aged and developed into the perfect Hunter, her Mother would deem it necessary to lower her temperature and make life permanent.
Afterall, it was rare to have compassion and all the more to raise one with abilities such as hers, so it was done in the same place she was taken.

Scratching of ivory daggers on her neck
The rabbit stood still as forever crept closer
A burrow, a tomb, life evermore
Two fangs restoring order
Reborn, she would settle the score

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