1 PROLOGUE

Soundtrack: "Come Out and Play" - https://youtu.be/R1jG99z7lVY

The small infant continues to sob alone in the silent cemetery, in the early morning hours where the sun is still yet to shine. If you were in a human house at this very moment, you would find the clock to show that fifty nine minutes have passed in the second hour of the early dawn.

But of course, for the infant's case, she would have no idea what time it was. How could she? She was too young to walk, too young to talk. How much more in reading clocks? Nevertheless, a little lass is never too young to cry. So that was what she did.

In the absence of a mother's embrace, only a depressing breeze of cold air greeted the child, craving for attention all the more. And thus when the last minute has passed to reach the exact point of the third hour... Her wish was somehow granted.

3 am. Also known as the Devil's Hour or Witching Hour. The point of time where paranormal practitioners, demons, or anything related to the dark realm were at their strongest. Her wish was somehow granted, though with a slight twist. Instead of attracting attention from a fellow human's warmth... She unknowingly caught the interest of an ancient legend feared by all...

The Dutchwell mother.

The wandering mass of dark entity has already sensed a presence of humane life from a few miles away, but as she got nearer to inspect, never had she expected it to come from a young, vulnerable, weeping child. She was bewildered, how was it possible for an infant to be lying on a wide stone floor in the eerie cemetery, at the hour where beings like her were most active?

She noticed the blood carvings on the stone where the babe laid, and immediately she knew the reason why. For she was familiar with those symbols all too well. Which gave her a new sense of perplex, why has she not been devoured yet?

Such confusion led her to draw her face nearer to the child's, her lifeless hollow orbs staring right into the babe's eyes. She thought of how beautiful the child looked, such a shame her own mother abandoned her. Unexpectedly, the infant stopped crying. Instead the young lass opened her eyes and stared back at the Dutchwell mother, her small fingers reaching out to her with a curious look.

Now that they were both curious, the creature slowly smiled. The young lass was indeed a special and unique child for her not to be frightened with the likes of the mother. But most of all, the dark entity's void heart was ultimately touched by the child's enchanting eyes. Those young human orbs seemed to show interest, expectations and warmth in them, as if they were telling the creature to take care of her, and love her, to give her the attention she craves for.

The Dutchwell mother was certain that life was already taken from her a very long time ago. But watching the child's expression suddenly made her feel that she was alive again. As if the young lass has given her a warm, loving heart once more.

Well it could have been just the natural instinct of a mother, but she doubted that. If all mothers had the natural instinct to love their children, why are some mothers abusive or have their offsprings aborted? Therefore she concluded that the instinct to love is not because you are a mother, but of how you were molded and developed as a person.

The Dutchwell mother has made her decision. She turned to the other ghosts, low ranked demons and dark beings in the cemetery and told them the child will not be food. They were hesitant at first but later on they understood and followed. For no measly creature from the other side would dare defy the Dutchwell mother.

With her cold arms she carried the child into her deathly embrace, the baby flinched from the cold and complained with her screams, but the mother was experienced in this field, she cradled the baby back and forth slowly while humming an ancient lullaby. After a few minutes of comforting the child, the infant slowly drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

An eerie mist encompasses the entire cemetery as the mother starts to move forward to the dark, deep forest with the sleeping baby in her arms. She gives a one last glance to the tombstone nearest to the wide stone floor where she first found the child before turning her head back while smiling to her new daughter.

Rest In Peace

In loving memory of

Meredith Tremaine S. Dutchwell

(1836-1916)

'Too sad humans don't call me Lady Meredith anymore'. She thought if it was just coincidence or if fate was playing with her, if it was the latter, she wanted to curse at fate right now for giving this blessing to her only now that she was dead. She wished to love this child normally, in a normal family. But even so, she was just thankful right now for this opportunity.

Alas, she gave a sweet smile to the baby when she arrived at her destination. The old, ominous, gigantic iron gate opened on its own when it sensed the presence of the Lady of the House. She continued to walk forward, not caring about the bones and skulls smashed further to smithereens by her ghostly feet.

Once she was now standing at the humongous, antique front door of the manor, she only needed to knock once for the door to open with its dramatic creaking sound. And as if it were the beginning of a movie, she leaned down to whisper to the child's right ear.

"Welcome to your new home"