And after some days my son, Methuselah, took a wife for his son Lamech and she became pregnant by him and bore him a son. And his body was white as snow and red as a rose; the hair on his head as white as woll and his demdema ('long curly hair') beautiful; and as for his eyes, when he opened them the whole house glowed like the sun...And his father, Lamech, was afraid of him and fled and went to Methuselah his father; and said to him, 'I have begotten a strange son. He is not like an (ordinary) human being, but he looks like the children of the angels of heaven to me, his form is different, and he is not like us...It does not seem to me that he is of me, but of angels...'

trans. Of 1 Enoch by E. Izzac, iEn 106: 1-6

 

Chapter 1: Rowan Tsepesh

A lone figure, silhouetted by the night moon, lands on the balcony. She takes her time, slowly folding up her wings and carefully surveying her new surroundings. Stopping at the threshold of the balcony, she blanks her face into a mask of emotionless beauty. Blank, unreadable. Dead. Her eyes, silver at the moment, quickly scan the room. People and races she did not recognize resided here.
:Of course you do not know anyone here! Tis only ye first time in this realm!
Sighting an empty table in the back, she makes a quick advance towards it, careful not to disturb the current occupants of the room. She looks around the room once again before reaching under her cloak and drawing out parchment, ink and pen. She begins writing.

I have arrived in the place one calls Darkened Shadows. Here I shall write my life for you. It is here, perhaps, I shall make my home. Perhaps my last, perhaps not.
This is so like you Marius. You leave me with parchment, pen and ink, only that I have seen of my first home. Though I have known you only a short time, I am sure I have known you for an eternity. Perhaps we are connected in a way. Perhaps

She stops writing for a moment, only to shake her head and to return to the parchment, pen in hand.

There is naught I can think of that would intrest ye so much as to pursue me only for a story.

Her writing is interrupted by a shadow over the parchment. Quickly rolling up the paper, she rises and turns, only to be taken aback by the intensity of the yes that rest on her.
Blue. Eyes so blue she is only able to compare it to the blue of the peak of dawn, one she has seen many times, yet awes her nevertheless.
She realized she was staring and turned away. "Why do ye look over my shoulder?" She asked, a hint of a cold edge in her voice.
"I was trying to read what you writ." The man answered. If he noticed the edge, he did not show it. "But it seems you have written in a language I do not know...yet."
She smirks. "Tis in Maralia. Not many know the language."
"I'm sure I can easily find out how, as surely as you are able to write it now."
"I care not for what you can and cannot do and if you will excuse me, m'lord, I would like to continue my writing...in private." She turns from him.
"Aye, m'lady. As you wish." He slowly turns away, dragging a staff by his side.
Her eyes linger on his for a moment longer, scolding herself she unrolls the parchment once again and beings writing.

I will begin with my earliest of memories. I was only a chylde then, but then I knew much more than a chylde of my age ought to have known. I was different. At that time I did not know how, or why, but I was. Were you to ask me now, why or even how, I doubt I would be able to give you an answer that would be satisfying, if an answer at all. I was perhaps 3 Maralia weeks, when I knew of this. Then, most chyldren my age were only beginning to know their surroundings.

Sighing softly, she lifts her head from her writing. She looks to the balcony, now slowly filling with couples as the stars slowly paint the sky. Ignoring a slight nagging in her throat, she returns her attention to the parchment before her.

I have always had a thirst for energy. A physical need. That coming from my father, he being a vampyre and my mother, of an angel species. How they met, is something I care not to find out, nor did I need to know. But I only knew this when I met my father. At 5 weeks, my fangs began to grow in, and perhaps my mother was afraid i would have been slain, since the angels frown down upon their neighboring realm, that of the vampyres. And being half angel was no consolation to them that I was a half vampyre in their realm, I was tainted. Even though my mother was the queen, there was naught she could have done...except send me away to live with my father and that is exactly what she did.

"Greetings."
She was once again interrupted by a shadow over her shoulder, but it was accompanied by the woman's voice. Rolling up her parchment once again, she turns.
"Greetings, m'lady." She replies with a bow. The woman that stands before her was different from the others of the realm, no soul of her own. "How does the evening find you?"
"Quite well, thank you, m'lady." She bows as well, sweeping her elegant dress out of the way. "I am known as Medea Iryllis, The Balancer."
"Rowan Tsepesh..." She leaves it at that, not wanting to go further into her titles.
"Lovely to meet you, Lady Rowan. I do hope you enjoy your stay here, in the Realm of Illusions."
"Thank you, m'lady." She ends off the conversation with another bow, but seats herself only after the woman had melted back into the crowd.

He was beautiful. Not to say I was attracted to him, but a man his age, he has aged beautifully. The first time i met him, I was terribly afraid. I began crying all at once. Mind you, I was not always so cold and unfeeling and until I lived with my father, I never had t lift a finger to help with anything. My father, being the 'war god' put me on training the very next day, saying he wanted me to 'grow up right and a fighter.' I always believed my father was the wiser of my parents, perhaps it was because I was much more alike to my father than my mother. I spent a great deal of time with my father. I was shaped in his footsteps.

She stopped writing and looked up around the room. A door to her right leads to the gardens, and fromt he garden, the woods extends into the horizon. In front of her, the balcony now crowded by occupants. She gets up slowly, leaving her possessions on the table, knowing that they will be safe from thievery. Skirting from shadow to shadow, she makes her way to the garden, closing her eyes, she breaths a sigh or release. Quickly drawing energy from an unwanted weed, she makes her way towards the center of the woods. Upon reaching her destination, she drops to her knees and bends her head towards the ground, mumbling a spell. When she looks up, her eyes are completely white, and a soft white glow surrounds her entire body.
Lieutenant, how fare the realm?
"The Captain of Arms has disobeyed your orders thrice time. We have put him in the dungeon at the moment, but many men remain loyal to him. The damage is great, but we have been able to put it under control."
How many are dead?
"We have counted 13 angels and one vampyre."
At that news, the white light around her began to take on a hint of darkness and a soft growl can be heard.
Very well, take care of the bodies and I shall take care of the Captain. Bring him to the central courtyard and have an audience. I shall make an example of this.
"Aye, my Queen."
She 'followed' him down to the dungeons to drag the struggling Captian of Arms into the central courtyard, where already and audience of his followers has gathered.
"We are ready, my Queen."
&nbps Let it be known, anyone who disobeys my orders, will receive the exact punishment that will be adminstrated to the Captain of Arms at this very moment.
Proceeding the announcment, a shriek of pain is heard throughout the realm, followed by another, until the Captain of Arms rolled over. Dead. She proceeded to administer the deadly mind blast long after the Captain was dead.

Hours later, she returns from the woods, stopping once again at the threshold of the room to mask her face. She looks towards her table, only to find the old man that had stood over her, reading the parchment. Anger burned inside her, and she struggled to keep it in control.
"I believe you are reading what one calls 'private property.'"
He looks up, a slight smile on his face. "Aye, m'lady. I believe I am, I also believe that I am able to understand what your write."
This only serves to anger her further. "As I said. I care not for what you can or cannot do. You are not to read my writings."
"I believe it is not private, when tis writ for one other than yourself."
Knowing her eyes are turning gold with anger, she turns away and leaves for the now empty balcony. Gripping the railing until her knuckles turn white, she lets out a low, angry hiss.
"M'lady?" His gentle voice floats past her.
She does not turn to greet him, nor does she answer his voice, her body frozen stone as the balcony.
"M'lady?" He repeats again.
"Will you not let me be?" Her voice barley audible now, her grip relaxing on the railing, yet she did not turn.
"M'lady, I apologize. I did not meant to upset you."
She turned then facing those brilliant blue eyes of his, but her voice was cold, though lower than a whisper. "You never do listen do you?" She turned around once again, her gaze settling on the horizon.
He remained silent at that question, his eyes lingering on her back.
"Why is it that ye are so intrested in my writings?" She asked after a moment, though her back remained facing him.
"I live to learn, I suppose would be a suitable answer."
"Ah." Nothing more was said, though the two figures remained standing as they were.
Slowly the occupants of the room filtered out, leaving the two figures alone. He remained in the doorway of the balcony, his gaze never leaving her, yet never once did she turn after their conversation had ended.

She turns now, brushing past the old man as if her were nothing more than a piece of furniture. She gathers up her belongings and proceeds back to the balcony. Spreading her wings, she takes off, in search for her new home.
The old man continues to watch long after her figure has disappeared into the horizon, shaking his head, he turns and slowly makes his way to the side door, the exit.

Perhaps when I was 13 weeks, my wings began to grow. It was not noticable at first, only slightly protruding humps on my back, but by the next two weeks, one could hardly miss them. For this reason, my father left me on an uninhabited world to look after myself, him not wanting to bear with the troubles my wings will cause. Uninhabited...or so he thought.

She puts down her pen then, slowly closing her eyes and leaning her head back. A memory floats behind her eyes and she is almost forced to tear up the parchment. Covering her face with her hands, she slowly brings herself back to present time.
:Oh why must you do this to me! Taunt me and force me to write what I wish to keep hidden. Tis my life...tis not what I want creatures as yourself to know! Leave me be!
She lets out a sigh and shakes her head of the memories and thoughts. Looking down at the parchment, she is once again compelled to write down her life, though she dearly wishes she were able to tear it up and never look at it a moment longer.

It turned out that a chylde, perhaps a couple of weeks older than I, resided in that place. Outcasted by his own race, because he was born of murderous parents, to strive for himself or let the wilderness claim him. He being alone all his life, knew what it was to take care of himself. He was called Khat Ashkeyne, a Krisman. He took me in, sheltered me, fed me and cared for me. He was a mercenary, and because of my training, my skill was an asset to him. Not long after, I began following him to his assignments. I was not born a killer, yet because of my father, I was close to being born as one will ever be able to achieve. We were soon known as the Vrondi Ksyteran, death's chyldren. Quickly I became cold and unfeeling, though I had always warmed up to Khat, I could never be cold to him. He was my saviour, my friend and my lover. I owe him my life and I will never be able to repay what he has given and done for me. Perhaps I shall never be able to love one as much as I loved him. I do not know. We lived for each other. Soul Linked. Love Linked.

A single tear falls onto the parchment, forever smuding the ink that spelt Khat's name. She wipes the tears off her face, a course of memories quickly scanning through her mind.

It is known that one will only meet their soul mate once in their lifetime, and they will either make the right choice or the wrong. It is also known, though rare, that if the love for your soul mate is strong enough, their love for you can be born in another, and you given a second chance.
Perhaps I will be given a second chance. A chance to prove to him how much I love him. Perhaps he alread knows. Perhaps I will never know.

Returning to the central building of the Realm of Illusions, she finds the occupants from the night before. Deciding that she is able to postpone her life a day, she seats herself in front of the fire. The fox automatically trots up to her, sniffing curiously. A deep intelligence shows through her eyes, one that belies that she is not only a fox. Reaching out she pets the fox on the head and is responded by a soft purr and a nudge for more.
"I see the fox takes a liking to you." The gentle voice again.
"Perhaps, though I very much doubt it."
"Why might you say that, m'lady?"
"Not many take a liking to me. I know from experience."
"Then they are fools as to dislike one which is so beautiful."
She laughs and turns to look at him. "I give thanks to the compliment, m'lord. But whether one likes another does not require beauty."
The fox looks up at her, as if agreeing with the old man.
"The fox agrees with me, don't you Le'il?" He bends over the back of the couch and pets the fox, brushing up against her slightly. "What if I were to say I took an interest to ye?"
"I would ask, Why in the goddesses names would ye? We have only met once and to say it went well would be a complete lie."
"I asked myself the same question, but alas, I have not an answer to give you." After a moment's thought, her began. "Perhaps we were meant to be."
She quickly looks up to him, a trace of hope, shrouded by fear hints in her eyes. "What exactly do you mean, m'lord?"
He falls slient for a moment. "I do not know. Tis only a feeling I have." He laughs. "You must not heed the ramblings of an old man, m'lady."
The hope dies in her eyes, replaced by an unsettling gaze about the room. Not knowing what to say, she remains silent and turns her gaze back to the fire, a hand gently petting the fox.
"Did I say something wrong, m'lady?" His gentle voice brings her back to the present.
She shakes her head. "Nay, m'lord. You did not."
"Then why did ye suddenly fall silent, m'lady?"
"Tis nothin, only a memory, false hope."
"False hope, m'lady?"
She remains silent at this question, realizing she had let more slip out than intended. She shakes her head and looks down at her lap, where the fox rests her head and now looked at her with silent eyes.
Sensing that she did not wish to speak any longer, the old man silently slips away and melts back into the crowd, turning once to see how she fares, but she remains sill as a statue and just as beautiful. A small ache is felt in his heart as he looks to her, he cannot deny that he felt a surge of power go through him, when his flesh came in contact with hers, if only for a second.

Khat was slain during one of our assignments. We were discovered near our target and a fight had started, a wooden tipped arrow was aimed at me and Khat had dived in front of it to save my life. It pierced his heart. There was naught i could have done for him. Even with healing powers, there was nothing that could have saved his life.

A cascade of tears stains her face, falling onto the pages before her, she covers her face with her hands, suddenly feeling very tired. She puts her head down, the parchment now stained with ink and tears.
:I will rest my eyes only for a moment. She slowly closes her eyes, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
He remains watching her from across the room, slowly shaking his head.
:Why must she always be alone?