I always thought that when I finally kicked the bucket I would feel something, anything. In all of my fantasies about my death there was a consistent sensation of relief that washed over me, and sometimes, very rarely, I even felt fear. I would only be lying to myself if I didn't concede that the big question about what lies beyond the great, annoyingly unrelenting journey that we call life didn't keep me up at night questioning my own exsistence, but when you've lived through a couple centuries, give or take a week or so, suddenly an enternity of darkness doesn't seem half bad. Maybe I would finally get a good night's rest for a change, and after spending two hundred years trying to find a way to put myself out of my misery, you would think I would at least feel the tiniest bit of happiness or pride in my accomplishment. After all, it's not everyday that an immortal figures out how to off themselves, and believe me when I say that I've tried just about everything.

It seems like only yesterday that I secretly sparked the French Revolution all in an eleborate plot to end up on the wrong side of the guillotine. One might suggest that overthrowing a monarchy and letting an entire country's streets run with blood just to take your own life might be a little bit excessive, but hey, i'd always been a fan of theatrics and look how much better off France is now, so you could say that I might have even done them a favor, but since I'm still here to relay this story, you could probably tell that my plan didn't exactly pan out. No one informed me that immortals could survive beheadings. Someone go ahead and explain how that works to me.

Anyway, that about sums up the greath lengths I would go to just to end it all, so imagine my surprise that when the time finally came when I would get to ultimately rest, I felt absolutely nothing. There was no relief, no fear, or even any surprise that my plan actually worked. There was just the sound of my heartbeat slowing as I began to accept that this really was how I was going to meet my end. Almost six hundred years of escaping death only to be taken out by a simple cure. There had to be some irony in there somewhere. It all just seemed too easy, almost like it couldn't be real. Was this really how I would die?

Just when I was beginning to think this really was the end and everything had begun to go dark, my heart began to race and my eyes snapped open. Of course it was too easy. How could I ever believe that my enternal punishment would have such an easy loophole. If there is a God, then he's probably having a good ole laugh at my expense right about now. Too bad I'll never get to meet him. I groaned internally. Another day, another failed death. When will this nightmare finally end?

The sun is sinking down over the horizon as I gather up a hand full of sand and then release it, watching as it cascades down like a gentle waterfall. Ceony sits beside me glancing toward the ocean and towards her. Serena and buttercup gallop along the beach, kicking up sand as they go. She is pressed close to Buttercup's back, her golden hair mixing with Buttercup's pale blonde mane.  Looking at her now you would not think that she could ever have been in any danger, but she was and still is. 

As if reading my thoughts Ceony murmurs, "we almost lost her today." 

I nod, a feeling I don't often get rising in my chest.  Serena whips around, joy clear on her face. When Serena is happy her whole face lights up and her eyes sparkle like the sea when the sun shines down upon it. I feel myself begin to smile and glance down at the sand, sifting through it with my fingers.  She's so bright, so full of life and to think that she will not always be around brings an aching feeling to my heart. I can feel Ceony's eyes on me, watching me closely. Ceony and I have been spending more time together than usual, bonding over the impending loss of Serena. Sometimes I think she hopes there will be more than just friendship between us, but her hope will be in vain.  Though they are sisters, Ceony and Serena are nothing alike in regards to personality. If Serena were the sun, then Ceony would be the moon. 

It must be tough on her to be the responsible one, to have to stay so strong when your family seems to be falling apart.  I pity Ceony and I value her friendship, but I could never love her, not after Serena. I do not think I could love anyone after her. Serena shines so brightly that everybody around her seems so dull in comparison. 

"Do you love her?" Ceony asks.

I do not reply. It's a question that does not need answering. What does it matter if I love her? It will change nothing. 

"She is going to leave us. One day we won't be able to stop her and she will go. All the love in the world could not stop her from leaving. Heaven above knows that I love her, but she will leave me too," she says, grief filling her voice. 

I pull my cap down to cover my eyes and lean back into the sand. Ceony's words sink in and suddenly I do not feel like watching Serena ride anymore. She burns too brightly for this world so one day, all too soon, she must leave it, and I must let her go. 

I am in love with a girl who is destined to be a mermaid. She has made peace with that fact. It is time I moved past it as well.

I eyed The Lucille fondly as the crew unfurled her sails, getting ready for our next voyage. The dark oak wood that made up her hull and deck shone brightly in the early morning sun. I stood on the forecastle deck and turned to face the bowsprit looking out over the sparkling sea and smiled.

“Captain, we’re ready to head off sir,” called my first mate, “are you sure you want to bring the girl? The crew warns against it. They think she’s mad.”

I followed his gaze to the lone figure of a young woman with long raven black hair standing on the main deck, leaning solemnly on the railing as she looked out towards the sea. To bring a woman on a pirate ship is almost unheard of, especially one who seems so frail.

I nod, “She wants to be free of this place, and we shall help her. That was the wish of the woman who shares the name of our magnificent ship after all.”

I do not indulge my crew’s idle gossip, for I alone no what ails the girl. She searches for something that is quite rare, she craves it, and we can take her to it. Call it madness if you must for a young girl to join the open seas, but truth be told, all who tirelessly seek with feverish ambition are somewhat mad, myself included. It is my belief that to seek greatness you must be possess a bit of madness.

Loving her wasn’t something I planned on. How is it that one day you’re going through the usual motions and the minute she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles at you, your whole world bursts into bright, vibrant color as if you’ve spent your life walking through one of those black and white, silent films? It’s funny how it took something so simple to make me finally see the feelings I was blind to for so long, or maybe I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. I was in love with my best friend.

How do I describe my shadow to one that does not know the true me, the one that few see? How do I describe my shadow in a way that one can comprehend its meaning to me? You see, my shadow is a part of my very being. I owe everything that I am to my shadow, for it is the reason I strive for greatness, for glory. Despite this, I resent that accursed shadow. I am confined to it. No matter how hard I try, I cannot escape it. I cannot hide from it. I cannot run from it. It is ever present in the far reaches of my mind, weighing heavily on my shoulders. It taunts me, ridicules me. It wishes for me to know only the deepest pits of despair, and so I must constantly struggle against it. I cannot allow myself to give in to its desires and the desires of those that conspire with it. My stubborness prevents me from doing so. It is a trait that often leads to the downfall of many, but it is my salvation. It is the source of my determination, so I fight with every ounce of strength that I possess. I must. It is a never ending battle between my shadow and me, a constant crusade to break free from the trap it has ensnared me in. My one wish, my only hope is to one day be liberated from the shackles of my shadow that bind me to these feelings of unworthiness and become my own person with my own thoughts and ideals beautifully unique to me. The day my life is no longer ruled by my omnipresent shadow, I will know what it truly is to be free.

A sudden gust of wind sent a chill down my spine, though the desolate village that surrounded me did a fine job of that on its own. I trekked through the deserted marketplace, looking for any signs of life, anything to suggest that people still occupied this land, but found none. I ran a hand over a snow covered booth, finding two silver coins and a broken wooden sign that once listed the prices of the goods sold here. I picked up the coins, holding them by the edges with gloved fingertips, and examined them closely. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them, they weren’t particularly old, nor were they newly constructed.

Abandoning the coins, I moved on down the street, forgoing the marketplace for the village homes. I entered the first house without much resistance. The door, though rusty, was unlocked. Inside, I found much of the same scenes I had previously noticed. There were signs of the house being inhabited, but nothing to suggest that anyone lived here any longer. In fact, fruit sat on the kitchen table, sunken and rotted, as if someone had prepared it to eat, but had never gotten the chance. I quickly moved to investigate the first of the two bedrooms, but stopped short. It was a child’s room, the scattered toys and the size of the bed gave that much away. A small worn doll lay just in front of the doorway, torn beyond repair. I bent down to pick it and was shocked to find a small object embedded in its neck. A gentle tug released it from its binds and allowed me to identify it. It was a steel needle, the kind more suited as a weapon than as anything else. Being careful as to not damage the needle in any capacity, I shrugged the burlap bag off my shoulder and flopped onto the ground beside it. From the bag, I retrieved my book and paints. Setting the needle down carefully on a page ripped from my book, I set to work constructing a case, just large enough for the needle to fit snugly inside. My brush strokes were quick yet graceful as the box begin to take shape on the page. When it was finished I set aside my brush and removed it from the paper, watching as the two dimensional image I painted became a physical box as I lifted it. I quickly moved to place the needle within it. Though it might have appeared worthless at first glance, it was the only evidence I had managed to gather. Once it was secure, I placed it in my sack and started to do the same with my paints but hesitated. Hastily, I composed a new object, bringing it into existence with a touch of a my fingers.

A doll with black knitted hair and emerald glass eyes lay cradled in my hands, an exact replica of the one they lay in tatters only a few inches away. I replaced it with its newer counterpart, tossing it into my bag along with the rest of my supplies. I was glad in that moment that I was alone. If Aiden had been here, he would have just reprimand me for wasting resources and time. In reality, the girl who lived here was probably dead, and if by some miracle she wasn’t, she would probably never come back to this place, none of them would. I stood, shouldering my bag once more, and sighed. She would probably never return, but still, I wanted the object she held dear to be here, waiting on the off chance she did.

After checking the rest of the house I moved back out onto the street, mulling over whether it was worth it to comb through the other houses or not. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a black blur. Anyone else from our clan would have immediately been on guard, their weapon drawn, but I knew immediately there was no need. Turning to face the direction of the blur, my eyes landed on a raven perched on the roof of the house I had just exited. It’s slick black feathers were a heavy contrast to the snow that surrounded it and its beady eyes seemed to glare at me with intense interest. As soon as it noticed me staring it squawked loudly and hopped once in place. I sighed and turned my attention back towards the other houses.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” I told it, turning my face back up to look at the raven, but instead finding a boy crouching in the exact spot where the bird had once been.

“I finished looking through the houses in the last town. There were no survivors. Any luck here?” He asked before standing and nimbly jumping to the ground only a few feet from me with ease.

I always loved watching him fly about like that. When he was human he still retained that bird like grace. In fact, he retained more than just that, his dark hair had the same luster as his feathers and his eyes still gave off that intense look, as if he could see straight into your soul. I pulled the bag off my shoulder once more and pulled the box out from within it.

“As far as I can tell, there’s no one left. They’re all gone. I found this though.”

I handed him the box and he lifted the needle out, handling it with extreme care. His expression was unreadable, but it often was. Aiden didn’t let you know what he was feeling unless he wanted to on his terms.

“It could be nothing,” he replied placing the needle back into its container, ”but it’s more than we’ve ever been able to find. We should check the rest of the houses to see if they’ve slipped up with anything else.”

“Be my guest,” I told him as I sat down my bag down on a nearby porch and begin to paint once more.

“What are you doing?” He asked me, coming closer to peer over my shoulder.

“It looks like it’s going to rain soon and since we’re staying here a while longer I need to get the needle back to our village,” I explained to him as I coaxed from the page a timid hawk.

I tied the box around its body, careful to make sure it was secure.

“Take this home right away. Do not stop and guard it with your life. Find Bex and give it to her.” I told him as I shooed him off the page. “Now, go before the rain comes.”

The hawk took flight, shooting off into the distance with incredible speed.

My drawings, though real in every sense of the word, were still paper at heart, meaning that too much water, especially a downpour would reduce my creations from living artforms to ruined versions of their painted psychiques. A general rule of thumb was the stronger the medium I drew on, the stronger and more resistant the creation that was formed from it.

Aiden glanced upwards as if just noticing the storm clouds overhead for the first time, which I found immediately strange, not only due to the fact that he spent part of his life as a bird, but also because Aiden was one to never let any small detail slip past him, especially one that could affect are mission in any form. I set my brush down and looked at him fully. As to be expected his dark eyes and stoic expression betrayed nothing.

“What’s on your mind?”

Aiden’s gaze shifted from the sky to me. He was silent for a moment as if contemplating his next words. “How can we stop an enemy who leaves no clues to what they’re planning or their methods. We’ve never even seen a single body, it’s as if everyone from the villages they raid simply vanishes.”

I shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. Aiden was brutally honest to fault. We had been trailing this enemy for sometime now. We refer to them as Stalkers. The name's origin is a mystery, but it’s been their moniker for as long as I can remember. They are our natural enemies, in fact, they were once a part of us. We are guardians, users of thaumatology unique to each individual, but still human in every sense of the word. They are something else, monsters who were once humans, more specifically, guardians who committed an unforgivable taboo. They craved power, the power to utilize more than one type of thaumatology. They speculated that by killing and consuming another guardian they could achieve this, but to mix a guardian’s magic with another is like poison, twisting the body, mind, and soul until what’s left is something else entirely. Only a hand few of guardians have survived an attack against a stalker, and the tales they recant are enough to give the most courageous of us nightmares. They clamber out of the forests at sunset, their sallow skin, stretched tight over elongated limbs and faces devoid of hair, can no longer tolerate sunlight for very long. Elder guardians impart accounts of their dark, soulless eyes, seemingly void of pupils, and their monstrous grins complete with gnashing bloody teeth that often dug into their gums. They are a far cry from the Verinian citizens they once were, yearning for the taste of us like breathe itself, a consequence of their treachery, but will settle for ordinary human flesh as well. As a result, we are little more than prey to them, but we do not go down without a fight. We train our entire lives to protect our villages and the land of Verinian, even if it means skirmishing with monsters like them.

It would be an easy explanation for the missing bodies if these raided villages were ones belonging to clans of guardians, but that wasn’t the case. There were only a few towns and villages in our region that were almost completely inhabited by guardians alone, but none of them had been attacked. In fact, the guardian population in the raided villages had been scarce. Stalkers could eat ordinary human flesh as well, but it did practically nothing for them. Stalkers were known for being relatively dumb, and it was not easy to take down a guardian. For this reason, it was believed that the stalker population was almost extinct, in fact a stalker sighting hadn’t been reported in years, but this had to be the work of stalkers. There was no other explanation for something so strange, as much as I hated to think about it. I had only seen a stalker once in my life and I wasn’t too eager to do so again. I shuddered at the thought, but quickly composed myself.

“We’ll know soon enough. They can’t stay hidden forever, and when they come out of the shadows, we’ll be ready for them. After all, that is a guardian’s duty.”

His eyes stared into my own as if trying to determine whether I truly believed the words I’d just uttered and a small smile betrayed his lips for a split second. “You’re optimism is contagious. Now, let’s get moving before your thaumatology becomes completely useless.”

I nodded back, grinning broadly. There was something about that moment, Aiden’s smile and his belief in me though he was cynical about everything else that made me feel as if I could do anything. Let the Stalkers come, one after another if they must. I could handle it. With Aiden by my side, I could handle anything, and I had to be able to, because that is what it meant to be a guardian. You had to have strength, the strength to never give up, because even creatures in the shadows can be brought into the light.