Prologue: From Dust You came

A cold draft whistles through the cracked panes of cobalt and crimson glass. The air reeked of iron. Dust scatters like the ashes falling from a volcano. Divine images woven into cloth sway from the rafters, once telling tales of strength, beauty, and courage, now frayed and dull, forgotten through the passage of time.

One pew lay upon its side, the legs splintered and rotted away. The others strewn out haphazardly in various stages of decay. The dark oak, once vibrant and shimmering, now lost its vibrancy, wearing a thick skin of dust.

The cobalt and crimson glass stubbornly cling to iron frames, the face of a pleading saint. Only her hands remain, in eternal prayer. The altar stands bare. Candles sit in their holders long unlit. Divine scriptures scattered by the winds in varying stages of decay. The gold leaflets are now brown and brittle, crumbling at the slightest touch.

A group of men assembled in a semicircle gaze down, their faces in varying degrees of emotion or lack thereof, speaking amongst themselves. They are dressed in fine robes of deep purples and reds, cloth of nobility with their house crest proudly displayed on the backs.

One man, in particular, is even more gaudy than the others. This is The Baron of the Carmicle Barony: Thaddues Carmicle. A giant of a man in both height and girth. His face is a pale, blubbery mess of chins and cheeks.

One hand rests upon a cane with a dual-headed hawk. He leans forward, giggling almost childlike. His toothy smile stretches across a bloated, pink face. Sweat drips from his brow, strands of hair slicked back atop his greasy comb-over. He speaks in a high-pitched voice, almost screeching

“I told you little mouse. You could not run nor hide, for even in death, I would find you.”

His face stretches into a smile that nearly reaches his crows feet..

“The cat has come to play.” He giggles again, almost childlike.

In the middle of the group of men lies a body, battered into the decrepit hardwood of the cathedral: A humanoid wrapped in androgony.

From the side of the cathedral stone and wood crumble and splinter. A blanket of dust and debris coat the night air in a mist of shadows and despair From ther a figure comes forth parting the white sea.

It is a woman of not more than 21 years old. Her hair like golden spider silk twinkles in the moonlight. The approaches, large black wings protrude from her back, only to be sucked back into her torso.

The rubies of her eyes take in the scene before her. Landing on that figure surrounded by men. Her lips part, and eyes begin to widen. Streaks of red pour down her porcelain cheeks. “Alonis” the rasp of her voice echoes in these once sacred halls.

“ALONIS!” she shrieks, all the men but the baron covering their ears. Within a blink she is cradling them in her arms. Holding their battered body close.

The tall and slender figure that would follow her around gleefully lies still in her arms, their body once gracefully light, now heavy.

Crimson tears streak across the porcelain skin of Valentina’s face. Her hand gently pets their raven hair, remembering how it billowed in the wind.

Her anger swells to see it now clumped in a tangled mess, covered in scalp and blood.

Valentina could no longer meet their gaze, for their eyes that would seek her out are now forever shut. Her body trembles in grief.

Reaching out to cup their face that was once of ethereal beauty, Valentina’s thumb strokes their cheek. The angelic frame of their face is almost unrecognizable as humanoid.

Their body is disfigured: missing digits, twisted flesh, shattered bone. Her hands trace gently the flayed back, stained in rust. Strands and strings of flesh tangle in her fingers, the back that once protected hers.

So much blood pools onto the floor, the air tasting of metal.

Desperately she tries to put them back together, to put things back where they belong, yet finally resigning herself. Understanding that person is no more. No longer in this world. A mangled pile of flesh and bone. This was her partner. Her second reason to fight. Now gone.

The air surrounding Valentina begins to vibrate, her wings sprouting from her back.
She turns to the group. her eyes narrow. She grits her teeth and points to a man with a clawed finger
“Kill yourself” She demands her eyes flash a crimson
The man's jaw slacks and he nods. He takes a dagger from his sheath and embeds it in his heart. Instantly his body goes limp, adding to the blood onto the floor. The other men recoil, but not The Baron.

“Oh dear” The Baron muses, holding a hand to his chins in faux shock “How uncivilized”

“You swine” She spits “first Carmilla, Now Alonis!” She rises like a phoenix from the ashes.

Valentina points to the baron. “From dust you came, For dust you shall return”

Valen…” a voice echoes.

“Valentina!” the voice calls forth again, from the depths of the void. Valentina shakes the voice away.