Peter Beckford, a plantation owner and slaver, was considered to be the wealthiest property owner in the entirety of Europe by the early 1700's. Cruel and prideful, and with an ego to match his enormous fortune, he also was in possession of a temper so foul most people made the intense effort to be very brief in his company. Unfortunately that wasn't possible for the two wives he took in his lifetime, and his children. Well, at least one of his children. Two strapping boys, the eldest his name sake, were his pride and joy and had never felt the sting of his anger. They took after their father in every way, and on a late evening of November in 1710, Peter Jr. sure his pride was being pricked jumped to arms in a gathering of lords, and that quick anger brought an easy and merciful end to Peter Beckford Sr. His funeral was well stocked with grieving snakes with open palms and watery eyes. Although well attended, Mr. Peter Beckford Sr. had one less handful of dirt placed at his grave then he should have, as leagues away, heading north east, a large man o' war carried the only child of the Beckford estate which wanted nothing to do with the man at all.

1715

Cat Island, East of Cuba

Two men hurried up the pathway that circled and ascended a large hill, light smiles and a lantern between them, lighting the tropical bushes and wooden spokes in the early morning hours.

Excited for the hours of drinking and fun that the entire plantation was humming about, it caused the men's feet to move a bit faster, to the large open area with a darling manor facing the small tropical bay it hovered over.

The manor, plain in a white paint, held over twenty windows with shutters for each, a large wrap around porch, a second story where a small widow's walk connected to the resident's master suite, and a large set of French doors set on both the front facing the shore and to the back where the two men strode towards. It was grand, and had cost an absolute fortune to construct and maintain.

It was a very pretty prison.

Two tired and aching soldiers slowly patrolled the perimeter of the manor, stopping at pre discussed points to peer at the shrubbery and gardens that took over the area. A gunman who should had been asleep in his bed many hours ago had given up and taken a seat in the middle of the rooftop of the manor turning his head lazily attempting to do the same job of keeping a vigilant watch. A fresh gunman was already scaling the large ladder placed against one side of the house to relieve him, just as the two smiling soldiers flagged down the two patrolling officers to do the same.

With quick pleasantries and sighs of relief, the three tired patrolmen trudged down the pathway, to reach a set of barracks a few hundred meters off as the watch began a new with the sunrise just a glimpse in the sky.

A set of eyes the color of the skies before a hurricane, the swirling mist that hovers over the water on cold nights, watched the guards switch with an exhausted and low burning anger.

There was little in the way of sanity when it came to living among soldiers, racists and slaves. The hypocrisy and bigotry that was constantly weaving within the words of men had lost their flavor, and their thinly veiled idiocy long ago. Tropical breezes and tall sugar cane fields soured very easily when the entirety of it was built off of the backs of stolen lives and the yelling of pompous liars.

Liete Beckford was a few notches off center mast, a few pints short of a barrel, and Liete Beckford was a little more than insanity and rage personified. A façade kept up only because of the servants employed by her brother kept her looking ladylike, but as any guard whom had the displeasure of seeing the youngest Beckford child knew, one look into her eyes gave nightmares for days.

With skin more akin to paper, a wealth of wavy light auburn hair, a small pert nose, high cheekbones and pouted red lips that seemed to be in perpetual repair from constant biting, Liete was beautiful and terrifying. All dressed up in finery, with nowhere but her makeshift prison to go, Liete was constantly pacing the manor at all hours, frantic, graceful, and watchful. Guards were careful not to look into the manor to often or for to long lest swirling eyes catch them and stare right into the very fabric of their souls.

Ghostlike, and volatile, she was kept in utter seclusion, on order of Peter Beckford Jr. on the pretense of keeping her existence a secret. No would need know of the great benefactor of the Beckford estate lest someone attempt to marry her and steal all the wealth out from under the eldest son. Beckford Sr. for all his love for his sons, did not want them to have any part in his empire. Beckford Estate was to be passed to whomever he had deemed worthy as his successor, given his wealth through marriage to his only daughter. Legally binding, and the ultimate chain around Liete's neck. She had simply been another piece of property to barter off, and now simply nothing more than a feral woman kept in a secluded cage.

Nestled on a small island plantation, it had been given its name by the very men who worked it, as the slaves whispered of superstitions, and fear mongering grew, and the ghost legend of the cat women took

Cat Island held Liete Beckford imprisoned by her own legend.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Liete peered over the railing of the widows walk, into the first bright orange rays of the morning that broke through the fog that had taken hold in the wee hours of the morning.

Her mind had long ago ceased to speak, even to her own self, and so with empty thoughts, she slowly lifted her lilth body onto the railing, her corset biting viciously into her hips but she gave no mind to it staring with eyes the size of tea saucers, her mouth slightly agape.

This was the one time in her day, where hope streamed from the horizon, a whispered promise of change, and life. The events following would strip her soul naked of it quickly, but for that first ray of sun, she had no mind for her misery.

Her hands gripped tightly to the rails, in two spots where paint had worn away long ago from the same abuse every new day. Searching the sea, Liete held her breath trying to hold the light within, trying to keep from falling back into darkness.

For how long she sat, as the sun ascended into the sky she couldn't fathom and in some act of mercy, or the fact that a celebration abounded between all the guards as they drank and were merry, no one came to drag her down, and force her to do any chores or tasks.

Hope and joy slowly crept into the cavities of her insanity, and as the sun shone brightly in its position of mid day, it was suddenly and quickly stamped out.

A brig, a familiar crest donning the front, slid into the bay area heading towards the dock of the Cat Island plantation, the masts and sails momentarily blocking the light as dread and anguish forced her hands to shake nearly sending her toppling over to the ground below.

For a moment she contemplated the action, as the happiness gave way to a cool trickling anger and hysteria. It would be easy, and because of the guards taking part in to much drink, no one was paying attention to stop her.

A thick smile spread across her lips and just as her fingertips loosened to send her gracefully falling towards the far earth, a glimpse of black caught her eye and made her pause with a tilt of her head.

A ship, a possible frigate, inched to the very edge of her bay prison and then stilled. Men the size of dots became busy pulling in the sails, and if she didn't have eyes that saw everything she would have missed the dot of flashing robes lunge and jump across rocks from the bow of the ship, to blend in with the large masses of shrubbery.

With a motion that had earned her the name of the plantation, she slid from her perch and arched against the rails slowly stepping as she watched her prey stalk from bush to bush getting closer to where a captain she had named Devil and two guards clumsily climbed from the brig into the plantations front arched walls.

As her prey moved closer to the Devil, he also moved closer to her, and as he did and she saw him move through shadows and blind spots, her sick smile returned.

She wasn't the only predator on the island now.