"becoming"

This is my story, I'm not sad things turned out this way.

Flowers for a grave,Both dainty and distressing,
As tears escape twin rivers of the soul.
Convenient time I gave,Infrequently expressing,
The sentiment between routine and role.
Words left unspoken,Considered unnecessary,
Sunshine and shadows, petals and tears.
Now the bridge is broken,The chance was temporary,
To cross back and stroll through tender years.
Eulogies and regret,As mysterious as Jade,
I failed to say just what I really meant.
A cemetery debt,For love that went unpaid,
And greeting cards I never even sent.


I was born to a poor welsh family in the poorest of times. Turn of the Century meant that all men were occupied in the slate mines for hours on end whilst women worked labouriously bringing the home to perfection. Boys as young as six went to the quarries, and girls at ten or eleven were turned out to serve in the larger towns.


In this time of "dim Cymraeg" or the Welsh not all people were taught in English if education was given at all. This was my fate.

As a child my father although harsh in manner made me sing. I sang my heart out. In churches, in eisteddfods, in school (for what little time I had there), hoping that one day I would be whisked away to a life which would allow me to sing for ever.

At ten I was as the youngest daughter sent to work for lord Snowdon in the then up and coming town of Caernarfon. I left my family for the first time with a great fear in my heart.

I worked for the first three years as the lowest of the low, a scullery maid. I cleaned out the fireplaces in the morning, washed the hearths, beat the carpets, dusted. Then it was washing smalls, starching shirts, only stopping at ten in the evening for food (leftovers from the main meal) and a shared single bed.

During the first War we never saw the master of the house. I used to skulk in doorways listening and learning the beautiful songs sung by our Lady and her daughters at the Piano Forte. I promised that I would escape my existence and sing again.

At thirteen I became a serving assistant. Meaning that my day now begun at five instead of four, and I was to learn to serve breakfast and meals to the gentry.

At the end of the War our Master came home. He was pallid and week and spent most of the days in his bed. Some said he had Diptheria, some say he had the cholera from serving in India. I kept my opinions to myself as I knew not what he was like before he left. Time passed, we left trays for him at the door, they remained uneaten. Lady Snowdon and her daughters went to London for the season leaving the Master in his bed.

I was 14 when he first laid eyes on me. It was quiet without the mistresses in the house and I had taken to playing and singing at the piano myself. I had never been disturbed before. That morning, as I sung the first few lines of a familiar tune he was just there as if from thin air. I was so embarrassed I jumped for my life. He just smiled at me and told me I was to see him again and sing for him in the morning. He was a beautiful man, black hair, pale skin, very refined. Of course I was flattered. I was barely a woman, childlike and unlearned.

During the next four years he tutored me so, let me sing for his guests and let me fall in love with him, like a puppy dog, he taught me everything. One thing only he neglected to mention was his lust for my blood. As the Lady Snowdon divorced him, I thought perhaps I may become his new choice. What a fool I was! On the day I could afford to leave for University, he found my plan and begged me to stay. I would have for the world if he married me. He laughed at the thought and became a monster. I would not yeild my body to him, but he took it regardless. Leaving me for dead, he had his "men" leave me in the wilderness.

I'm not sure how long I lay still for, dead, dying I could not care less. I would never sing again. I was wracked with burning pain, but numb and plummeted knowingly hoping for death. When it did not come I rebelled..........

I killed feverently because of hunger. No one could guess that this small blonde girlwoman could have such a voracious appetite. I murdered and burned, and became lonely and numb. I wondered how many years without direction, howling for a saviour.

One came in the shape of Iolo my "father", he took me to his mate Shân who had to spend years attempting to tame the ferile side of my nature. I had become like our landscape, hard and unielding. I was taught that I could heal, and perhaps love again.

This is me!

Welcome to my Blog! Here are a few thinkg you may like to know

name: Bethan Pyrs
dob: 13/9/1913, Bangor North Wales
Mother: Jên Pyrs died 1913
Father: Ellis Pyrs died 1945
Sired by: Sir Edmont Snowdon whilst working as a maid in 1931
height: 5ft
hair:strawberry blonde
eyes: amber

I am now part of the Welsh coven, my mother (Shân) took me in after she found me wondering aimlessly in the undergrowth of Snowdownia. I have one sister Mari and a brother in law Iwan. I am currently a secondary school student studying for my finals, and hoping to go and study medicine. I'm a quiet girl, as a mortal I used to have a exquisite singing voice and when I was newborn this voice helped me lure my pray. I supposed you can say it's a siren call. So now as a reformed vegitarian, I must be careful in which medium I communicate, just incase.
I am searching for a solemate, but love the thought of a "naughty boy" or someone I shouldn't belong with. Perhaps a wolf? Who knows....