Prologue (THIS STORY NEEDS A NAME)
London, midnight on midsummer’s eve 1349. The Great Plague has swept over England and most of Europe, leaving millions dead, and hundreds more scarred for life. It has been described by the humans as the 11th plague, sent by God to cleanse the world of sinners and evil. Mass graves are filled by the hour, entire families wiped out within days… And in the candle-lit churchyard of St Mary’s, a burial was taking place.
Trapped within a lead-lined coffin, a malevolent spirit banged against the sides, desperate to get out before the silver coins tied to its body ate their way through its outer-flesh and bonded with the delicate essence that lay beneath.
As the Priest muttered the final rites in Latin, the cloaked figure that stood at the side of the grave gave a light shudder. A fine mist had risen from the Thames, and now swirled around the ankles of the cloaked woman, the Priest and the three figures standing guard nearby. As the rites came to an end, holy water was thrown into the grave, onto the coffin and across the dirt that would cover it. The guarding individuals moved closer and began to lower the coffin into the ground, before shoveling soil into the hole. The thing within gave an ear-splitting shriek, as though the Devil himself was dragging him down. The woman spoke for the first time.
“Father, do not forget the final blessing. I would hate for all our hard work to have been in vain.” The Priest nodded, wiping a bead of sweat away from his brow, despite the cool night air. He may answer to God alone, but this woman had proved that she was as ruthless as Lucifer if provoked. He reverted back to English, and made the sign of the cross.
“Unto Almighty God, we commend the departed, and we commit this body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, pass into the light. By the glory of God the Father, Jesus Christ the Son, the Holy Ghost, and our Lady of Grace the Virgin Mary, may you rest in peace, and may God see fit to protect us all.”
The Priest sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, glad that his ordeal was over for another night. When he opened them again, all traces of the woman, her bodyguards and the freshly dug grave had been erased. The Priest gave a small smile to the patch of newly-grown grass at his feet, content to be left alone once more, until he was called to complete another service. If the Church ever found out that he took part in these rituals, his life would be forfeit for carrying out blasphemous acts… Yet not doing it went against everything he knew as a member of the clergy. He meandered slowly back towards the church entrance, crossing himself before entering, intending to pray for forgiveness before retiring for the night. He was still kneeling before the alter as the sun rose, his cream-colored robe covered in crimson blood that continued to drip from his slashed throat.