Prologue
Elliot was born on a farm in Doncaster, England in 1196. Born the youngest of 6 siblings, he was expected to start working on their farm around the age of 4.
Elliot was always a very sickly child and didn't have a lot of energy, but he always tried to work as hard as he can to make his family proud of him.
But it was never enough.
Because he was always so ill and never able to do his entire workload, the rest of the family was forced to do it- which caused animosity towards the young boy. They started hurting him when he was only 5. Kicking, punching, spitting, and withholding meals and medicines he so desperately needed.
When he was 9, he took a turn for the worse.
He collapsed while feeding the chickens, blood trailing down his mouth and nose. They soon sought out the town doctor and were told that he wouldn't live much longer than a year or two.
Realising that the baby of the family would soon be gone, they tried to make him as comfortable as possible-guilty because they pushed him so hard even though he was ill.
They let him use the only pillow and the best blanket in the house. His older sisters and mother would make him tea and homemade toys & stuffed animals. His older brothers and father told him storied of the outside world that he would never get to see and would play with him when he had enough strength.
On a cold winters night when Elliot was 10, everyone was up with Elliot as he had gotten gravely sick the day before and they were waiting for him to pass on. They were all holding onto him in some way. His mother running fingers through his sweaty hair with tears running down her tan face. His father and eldest brother holding his pallid, frail hands in their strong, calloused ones - whispering hurried prayers. His eldest sister sitting on his bed with her head on his chest, listening to his stuttering heartbeat. His other two sisters and his brother clutching onto his soft, white nightgown, pleading for him to get better.
Suddenly, there was a strong knock on the door, startling everyone in the room. His mother looked up at the door, tears streaming down her face and called a stuttering 'C-com-me i-in!' and looked back to gaze at her ailing youngest - thinking it was someone coming to visit Elliot one last time and offer condolences.
That proved to be a fatal mistake.
The visitor was not a sorrowful townsfolk, but rather a deranged vampire that has almost given into his instincts. He attacked the father first, draining him dry before he even had time to react. Then the three middle children while they were in shock. He fought the eldest boy, who grabbed the shotgun that was near the fire, and snapped his neck before a shot ever rang out.
He grabbed the eldest girl by her hair as she tried to escape out the door and drained her before dropping her body carelessly on the dirt floor. Then stalked over to the mother who was cowering in the corner, not begging for her own life, but for her youngest. Pleading for him to die in peace.
Ignoring her futile pleads, he drains her and saunters over to the young, gravely sick, yet beautiful boy in a white nightgown, burning with fever.
He sits on the bed and carefully lifts the frail body up to lean in his chest and tilts the boys head to the side, exposing his small neck. He leans down and bites the soft skin gently, letting his venom seep into the open wounds and let's go, grinning. The boys eyes pop open and let's out a silent scream of pain before his eyes flutter closed and he passes out, his head dropping into the unknown vampires shoulder.
Smirking down at the slowly turning boy, he leans down and kisses the boys still boiling forehead and whispers into the cold night air, "Hello, my new pet."