It's been quite some time; my game is not being played as it should. Though seeing as I've yet to acquire my audience, it makes no difference. And the reason behind my absence? I had to grieve for my child, and hunt down his merciless killers. Slowly...slowly I showed them the pain that they have caused me. And they call us Wretched Beings! Ha! It is they who are wretched. Pitiful excuses for mercenaries of God. I've lived for many a year; God has yet to show himself or any mercy on the world we live in. So I say - what God? Where is he to save you now? There was nobody to save my James as he was away from his mother. I wasn't there to protect him - like all children, they love to stray from home, they seek independence. But he was mine! How dare they take him from me? So young...
Of course, its not my real son. Though we are bound by blood. Ha. Blood related - a whole new meaning. I took James as my own, I gave him the best this world had to offer - I passed onto him my strong blood given to me by my maker, one of The Ancients. He was my son. I took care of him. 100 years ago I saved him from death's firm grasp, and gave him a new life, which he quite enjoyed.
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Adela . . .
ReplyDeleteI know you care Robert, and I'm sure its hard to find such words to say filled with comfort when there truely are none. Even replying to this makes me want to go hunt down more "Witch Hunters" and those who wish to banish us to Hell because of what we are. Yet those fools don't know that we face Hell every day. They have no idea what the real Hell is. But oh boy would I show them... The She Bitch of Hell, my old title. Writhing in pain they would call me by that name, and I would smile in return and finish them off just a bit slower than I had originally intended...
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