Sitting in her Haven she looked at the butterfly in front of her. The colors on the wings, the delicate pressure applied to pin it to the board.

But her mind wandered back to her conversation with Milton. The way he spoke of his Sire, and the way she would not. The way the memories came flooding back to her.

Dark memories.

Painful memories.

Long before she was the Prince of Sacramento.

Long before she was Reeve of Sacramento.

Long before she was Priscus of Gangrel.

Long before she moved to the country and became Alessandra Antinori.

She was Carlotta, only child of the first mob family of Sicily. Only to become a Savage without a Covenant, with a Sire she would kill for. Driven out of Florence for her actions after his Final Death.

Her Sire had been her world. The only one she truly trusted, the only one who actually cared about her. And when she was forced to watch him be ashed, her world crumbled. Her dead heart hardened; her hate grew.

She let her Beast take over that night, blood was shed, and ash danced in the night breeze. Her memories were hazy at best of what happened. But the fight had been brutal, her Beast showed no mercy as bodies were torn apart, piece by piece. Bones broken in a single swift movement. Cries of mercy were ignored, her Beast laughing as the pain set in on the faces of her enemies. Some she simply put into Torpor, only to awaken them to see a loved one in a Blood Eagle. Struggling to breathe, body shuddering with pain. The Savage a bloody mess, watching the horror set in, taking pleasure in seeing the suffering of those who took what she loved.

From that night forward, the Savage changed. The walls she put up around herself became impossibly tall, with no way to enter. She would never let her heart break again, would never feel the pain of loss. Emotional attachments were dead to her, there was no need for them. Never allow herself to form a connection with another. It allowed a weakness, and weakness was not acceptable.

Never again.