My transformation from a born victim to a self made serial killer didn’t happen overnight. I wasn’t just some goth teen who decided she wanted to take the extra step and live up to her fabricated persona, I was a tortured young one who was fed up with the unending onslaught of abuse my fragile form was forced to endure. So I transformed myself into an unyielding creature of the night with a merciless mind and a hungry body. I’m not just talking about hair dye and a new wardrobe with an attitude to match. I reconstructed my very being to make certain that I would never be hurt again.
Let me paint a picture for you… One cold night in late fall, a frail and frightened little girl awoke in her broken down shed of a prison just like she did every night, shackled to an old army cot coated in a thick crust of dried blood and cum with a random cock forcefully fucking the dreams out of her head and bringing her to full, nightmarish consciousness. Only this night it wasn’t her father or any of his sleazebag friends violating her already torn and swollen vagina with their fucked up torture sex games, it was her little brother. He had finally built up the balls to take her on his own without Pop there to supervise. She tried to stop him but he slapped her and said “Shut up, Heather!” as he sharply pushed himself inside of her deeper and harder.
When his arrogance got the best of him he unstrapped her and positioned her on her hands and knees, then held onto her head and started choking her with his cock. He loved to hear her gag and wasn’t going to dislodge his dick from her windpipe until he was finished, and that’s when she decided to act. With a simple chomp, Heather bit her brother’s boner right off and started chewing on it. He recoiled in pain as she smiled at him, gnashing his wrecked rod between her teeth and telling him how good it tasted. With a well placed stomp to the face he was out, a few more to the head and Heather’s brother ended his life with a crushed skull and a missing prick.
She threw a few things into a bag and quickly made her way out of the shed and into the woods. Heather ran like she had never run before, not stopping until her legs gave out from underneath her. The little girl pulled the only arsenal she had out of her bag, some salt, a few candles and her grimoire. As she lit the torches and drew a pentagram on the ground beneath her with the salt, she recited what she thought was a protection spell. It may have been, but the type of protection she received changed her forever. Protection by way of transmogrification.
As she knelt on the ground chanting, something from the forest entered her. Something dark, sinister and safe. She emerged from those woods a new woman. Heather was long gone and so were every one of her weaknesses. All that remained in that “goth teen” was Willow and her sadistic strength.
