Clara and Odette lean close, their eyes wide with that particular blend of curiosity and mischief only daughters can muster. “Tell us,” they beg in unison. “Tell us how you met mom.” You smile, and settle into your chair. And the memory pulls you back.

...

[[Decades ago]]

The streets of Hell were a cacophony of despair and neon the day you arrived, freshly deceased and utterly disoriented. You walked, a ghost in a land of ghosts, the echoes of your old life still clinging like smoke. You weren’t watching where you were going.

You turned a corner and collided with someone—a solid, startling impact. Stumbling back, you looked up into the face of a young woman with storm-grey skin and a magnificent cascade of white hair, a single dark streak framing fierce, glowing eyes. It was Carmilla, decades younger, only months dead herself.

For a moment, she was all sharp angles and defensive fury, a predator caught off guard. Her hand twitched toward a weapon you couldn’t yet see. But then her gaze met yours, and something… shifted. You thought she'll softens. Except... She didn't. She pulled out an hammer and smashed you away with it. You crashed onto a wall, and she came to tower you. "Watch where you're walking!"

And this.... Was the beginning of everything.