Turning Pt. 4

In retrospect it was a good thing that she never told me given my own future relations to the grim reapers.  I didn't need any more complications to my situation.  I honestly don't remember the next few hours, what with being knocked unconscious and my own transformation.  What I do remember is waking up in a well lit room in a corner and for once, not covered in blood.  Nor was I bound to the wall.  It was a bewildering set of circumstances.

I would see my rescuer or captor; I wasn't sure which yet, only minutes after waking up. He came in carrying a tray of food…something that smelled lovely.  Coming closer, I was allowed a clear view of his face.  Much to my shock, I recognized him.  It wasn't from hours earlier, no.  I had dreamt of this reaper for years on end.   I knew his appearance as well as I knew my family's.  

My wary expression was not from distrust caused by my years in captivity as one might think; it was because of my frequent dreams.  How could I have been dreaming of this man for as long as I could remember?  The dreams were never the same except for his presence somewhere.   What was wrong with me?

His questioning and the first full meal I had had (that I remember clearly) since being turned distracted me from the how and why of recognition.  Apparently he had been sent by his superiors to kill the one that had been causing all the death and destruction or, in other words, me.  Upon finding out that this curse I bore would pass onto the nearest mortal once I died, he had chosen to bring me to his home to try and figure out what exactly to do with me.   In the end, finding nothing about being able to contain this curse (something that nobody really recognized), Grell determined that it was best to simply teach me how to control what I was.

Thankfully I was allowed to bathe.  It was heavenly.  I hadn't been granted much beyond getting a bucket of cold water dumped on me periodically while a prisoner.  Grell was rather disappointed that I didn't seem to care about making myself beautiful.  Why should I have been?  I was a farm girl turned monster.  What use was it?  The beauty he spoke of was something that nobles did, not peasants like what I used to be.

After sighing at my indifference, he would lead me off to let me borrow a pair of shoes and then a coat.  Apparently where we were going, it was supposed to be cold and I'd stand out if I wasn't dressed somewhat normally.  Not to mention the unusual scars along my arms and legs would draw attention.  He led me to a small shady looking building and stepped inside.  The interior was dark and dusty, but light enough to see.  It was empty…or so I thought.

A creaky, somewhat spooky voice would echo throughout the coffin strewn room and a man in a black coat, hat with long silver gray hair would step out of one of the coffins along the wall.  His bangs would cover half of his face, masking his eyes.  Both Grell and I jumped in surprise.  I was further surprised when I felt that this man too was familiar.  I didn't recognize his appearance or his scent or even the sound of his voice.  He just felt familiar somehow.  Perhaps he was like that to everyone.  

      He was called the Undertaker for he had no other name that he told anyone.  Perhaps he had forgotten it himself.  Perhaps the event that had given him the visible scars along his face and throat had also made him forget certain things.  Either no one knew or if they did, they weren't talking.  Somehow, even after declaring me as special and that I'd be beautiful once I unlocked my full potential , I felt…better.  I would never be able to get back to my mortal self, but perhaps once I learned to control what I was I could at least become more than a wild animal.