My maker once told me, while you were still unconscious and trapped in a world of insanity and blazing screams, how he came to be.

Once upon a time, I guess that is how humans start nowadays with their stories, there was a world where the people still respected everything that existed, worshipped all kind of spirits that lived among them, and the stories of past generations were still narrated by songs and music written by the language of the wind and trees.

Many gods and essences called that time, a time of mystic magic.

Everyone was happy with what they had. The high spirits were venerated and loved by everyone. The other souls lived in harmony with the living beings, and were happy to help them in everything they could through their distinct enchanted stanza. They made history through blurry visions and whispered wisdom through the dancing leaves.

Still, there was a goddess among them that was not satisfied. Her name in that time was known as Artemisa, goddess of moon and mother of the night and all creatures living in it. She is the feminine side of obscurity and the sentinel of the spiritual forest.

Artemisa wanted something very different, my creator told me. She wanted something that seems to be capable for only humans and other living creatures, which lived in her welcoming arms. She wanted to be able to feel a very scarce sentiment; a sentiment, which made you feel a devotion of promises and witness eyes full of rosy smiles. She hunted for an emotion everybody calls love.

Many nights she would walk through the sky trying to think in a way to get a grasp of that feeling. It was in one destined night where she realized one way to finally get what she wanted.

She would take a living thing as a son.

She did not realize, until much later on, that there are sometimes things in this bizarre world, which are too powerful and puzzling to deal. Even the distinguished and elegant goddess thought, for one moment, she would not be able to handle suck task. Yet, nobody said goddesses are not as stubborn as common humans.

In one of her many nights a strange woman of dark skin called her. “Oh dear and lovely Diana,” the woman interrupted her, “I seek for thee.” Between glances of light she became conscious of what the eccentric woman was asking, begging some versions say, from her. To find her a man, a companion, she could marry and spend the rest of her life with. Diana smirked at the preposterously of such task. That woman made the goddess reflect of how dull some humans of female sex are, whom seem to think a man could solve all of their problems, but stopped in thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to get what she wanted in fulfilling the human’s odd wish. Facing the gypsy woman in a quick silver second she accepted to accomplish her wish, in exchange of their first-born child. The human, too happy for at last achieve her desires, accepted immediately the condition.

Then Diana told the dark skinned woman to go to the river at night, take water that is only touched by moonlight and keep it in a silver bowl hidden from the rays of the sun. Each night, she would take it out for the moon to shine in it, and at dawn she would sip from it to later hide it again from the hot waves of red.

Too excited and happy, the woman started that same night, following very methodically the instructions. Neither would realize, until much later, the gravity this wish would bring to gypsy, the goddess Diana, and the whole world of darkness.

Like she promised, the goddess gave the human a fine strong dark skinned man with lustrous green eyes and cherry petal lips. But, there are things even goddesses like Diana will not foresee from a human, especially one as vengeful as this man turned out to be.

As their deal was coming to its end, the first-born child came to this world. His skin was the same color as the skin of goddess-mother, silver in white. His hair had a pure snow color, and his eyes as gray as the moonlight reflected in the darkest and empty of nights. The man, thinking that she was being unfaithful and not wanting to carry with the shame of having another man’s child, lashed the poor innocent woman until death. Then, he carried the child to the forest, leaving it there to its luck.

Upon the orders of their take-keeper the spirits and creatures of the forest left the child alone. Her mother, always watching over him with hazy-blue smiles, raised him and taught him everything she knew about this world. She gave him everything he desired, and was never annul of love. He learned of his descendants, the delicate balance of the world, the respect of all living things, and, too soon, my master learned of his great power.

The power to corrupt whomever he fancies, binding their hearts into the invisible dusk.

With his power, he brought to the people the capacity to feel frenetic pure jealousy, corruption, and the worst of all, fear and hate. He was the one who created the demons that lie within the man’s soul, to slowly slay the dammed ones into an unforgiving world of abhorrence.

He brought to this world the dark ages.

Pretty much we reasoned it was this reason why the last song of the many languages turned out to be about the first moonchilde. This same reason why the world everybody once knew cease to be, and the fairy-tale land became only an illusion between written pages and broken dreams.

Everyone distrusted about everything. In their fear, they started to destroy anything they could not understand, and killed everything that the gods, goddesses and spirits alike had once created with love and care.

Anahid tried to reason with her son. She asked, and sometimes begged, with aged gloomy eyes the reason for his strange behavior. Why he was destroying the untainted link that they had once between humans and the unknown. He only ignored her, and cut off any contact he ever had with her. The goddess was more than angry at the things her son twisted with glee in his own hands. Her eyes were filled with thoughts of revenge for not listening to her. Ever so slowly she started to whisper vows of punishment and revenge for the world that once was. It was in that same corrupted time when she gave life to her second moonchild, you.

Like your brother, you got the same fair skin and hair color. Your eyes are as blue as the beam Anahid leaves behind in the starry sky. But, besides your demon eyes, the only thing she made different from her first moonchilde was to give you a woman’s heart.

A cursed heart, which gave you the power to control the world’s shadows and to destroy the sinister imps your brother had created.

A blessed heart you vow to forget every night, while you watch the sky and wait.

You both, now I realized, were created with the shapes of the opposite nature, representing the different sides of Anahid. My master, being born with a male figure, had the power to control whatever is within a human’s soul and corrupt it at his will. Still, you would never believe such unimaginable side of him by looking into his sweet and fake smiling eyes, and innocent empty grins he gives to everyone he comes to get. You, on the other side, were born from the female part of your mother. You had the power to take that enveloping obscurity in human’s hearts and free it to the world to maintain the delicate counterfeit equilibrium of light and darkness. An ethereal beauty with soul breaking eyes whose destiny was turning very sinister with each beat.

Unlike with your brother, your mother left you to the wilderness of the now threatening forest. You roamed the human’s world, not knowing about the dangers that lurked in their hearts filled with hot blazing hate and cold pale jealousy.

You do not talk much about what happened before I met you. You say you do not remember very well, everything is so vague besides the burning screams and sighs of tears. But the truth is you do remember, you remember too well. Your eyes shout at me that you do.

In the first years of your life, in the time when everything was still knew and your eyes never closed, of fear of missing something of extremely importance, you visited one of the villages where it seemed the feelings of the dark ages where still repressed in their hearts.

On one of your excursions, you saw a boy. The same boy that cursed your heart with his black eyes of innocence and a smile so virtuous you could not stop looking at him, while he played with his toys in the sacred garden.

For a few days you kept watching him, never noticing the wicked eyes your presence brought to the people in that village. He taught you how to smile between his clumsiness and laughs. You discovered enjoyment and happiness with his games, and learned what was love with those eyes.

Of course, like the never-ending cycle, that never made the cruelty of the place prevent it from crushing what was perfect. There are nights I wonder if you regret ever seeing him. I know for sure that your regret of taking him into such cruel fate is what still haunts your eyes.

One day, when you came back like you always did, ready to watch that charming boy and fill your heart with all these new sensations, you noticed oddly his absence in his usual playground. Aware for the first time of curiosity, you looked everywhere in the garden for the boy until you detected the small wooden room where the maids and servants usually go. You learned then apprehension when you walked slowly to the room, and terror when you opened the door to watch the scene below you.

There was the boy, broken of his innocence, with slick blood rushing from his veins staining the timber black floor. Your heart stopped and, for the first time, grief occupied your body. Tears blurred your vision. With your head numb and empty, the knees shakily made you fall on the blemished floor. Silence invaded your ears; silence was all you could hear.

Death.

Unaware of your actions you touched the boy’s skin. Touched his smooth and cold skin that once was covered in healthy pink. Very carefully you traced over the slashes that marked almost all of him as if memorizing them. You did not care that you were bathing your hands for your first, but not last, time in crimson blood.

Thousand of years passed in those seconds.

Suddenly everything went crazy around you. You could not understand everything that was happening in that heart of yours. He is dead. All these puzzling feelings and emotions where driving you crazy with remorse and shame. You wanted out, but all you could think, all you could hear was, he is dead…It was also your first contact with the death of a mortal.

He is dead.

A scream was heard behind you, and you turned to see the family of the boy looking at the atrocious sight with the same horror you felt. Then they looked at you, and you saw the transformation in their eyes, a malice that finally covered their hearts and made you feel dread.

The darkness has arrived at last.

And that is how you learned to see the darkness in their hearts.

He is dead...

So many people blamed you for the boy’s death, and you believed them. They sneered at you, and called you many different names from “witch” to “the mere devil.” They brought you to some dungeons where you spent hours of torture and cries of broken purity. They planted the seed of darkness inside you in those dungeons. The scene of the boy would not leave your head, and in your heart that seed of darkness grew more and more.

Time became irrelevant between your screams. You would just focus blankly on the moon on those many nights, which, it seemed, was your only sanctuary. Everything was just a repetition of screams, cries and stares. Many days where the same, and you did not notice when they took you to some kind of stake with all the people of the village there to watch you. They showed you fire when they burned you on that stake. How cruel it must have been to find that you were immortal, and had to endure hours of that heartless and mocking scarlet tearing each skin, tissue and life out of your small body. Ever since then you cannot stand fire.

But it was not that fire what really destroyed your heart, it was their eyes reflecting the inferno in undertone of revulsion and obscurity. Those eyes were the ones that let the darkness inside you take form and control you. Your mind was filled with sentences that were running one right after another. Why so much pleasure of seeing someone die, why kill something as pure as that boy, why they hate me so, why, why…

Why must I be the one that dies?

In your last spark of light you laughed at them, and then you blacked out.

It is rumored that you absorbed all of their dark desires and grew into a terrible monster, and fired their inferno back into their bodies and houses, destroying the whole village in one breath. I, one night, asked you about it though you did not answer. My answer came in your eyes when I could see that same firestorm staring back at me.

We both figured that fate likes to play with all creatures when the same creature that brought that blazing and deathful darkness was the same creature that took you under his wing.

Even now I still do not know the reason why my creator took you that night. Might have been that terrible burned skin and those hunted eyes of yours. Might have been your plead for forgiveness and redemption. Might have been nothing at all. All I know is that he took you in his arms and brought you to his house. In one of his many rooms he laid you on a bed, and slowly started covering your burns, cuts and bleeds.

He then created me; I am the first and only one of my specie. A dark creature, necromancer demon you would name me later, which only ate rotted meat. My creator made me this way to be able to take care of you. My job was to get rid of the bad muscle and tissue, waiting for the healed ones to rematerialize on your body.

I think it was your magic, or your tortured and disfigured face, what changed something within me. In few weeks I started to transform in such unimaginable ways. I started to wish I could do something much more for you. To ease you of your nightmares that sought after you every day and night making you moan and shed tears. When the moon would be way up high, I would stare at it and, while listening quietly to your sobs, kept yearning.

It seems that even in the nature of a dark creature as me something can alter. I was granted, with slow developments, the ability to read minds. Finally I was capable to take care of you. I was able to liberate you from those spidery webs of blame-trauma that enchained your mind and poisoned your body.

I started to infiltrate your unconscious body and, surrounded by your own magic, made the first demon grow a heart. With the little emotions I could to obtain, I felt in love with the scared little girl, who was crying and begging for release, surrounded by that same inferno you got burned in. I tried to reach you many times, I really did. But there was this invisible force, your own feelings that kept me away from you.

Later it would be that same magic the one who would give me the power to change my shape. I have morphed so many times ever since I realized this new ability that I forgot what my real form was like. But held into one image, the image, I always got every time I visited your mind. A boy of grins and laughs surrounded by roses and little toys. A boy running, smiling, and, even out of breath, would still have the energy to jump up and down excited when something good happened. An image of that same boy trusting his hand at me, staring with a wide smile, saying, “be with me.”

I stared and I held into that image so long, that I even got to know the boy, but it did not matter to me. Soon I realized that I tamed my shape into that of the boy, thinking that it will ease your pain, if only a little.

So I kept looking after you, cleaning your wounds and, very little by little, freeing you from those blazing red and yellow lights.

Days were born and died before your body got rid of every putrid part of your body. I watched how each inch of your body started to destroy everything that was once deformed by hate.

Months it took for your body and hair to reappear. You hair grew beautifully long and delicate, silver locks made of the finest silk.

Years passed before you opened your eyes once again. I have wanted to see your eyes so much that I think I smiled for the first time when you first opened them and glanced at me.

Of course as soon as you saw me, between sobs and screams, you threw something so white and excruciating, that I ran away from that room shattering in pain.

But I was once again beside your bed by midnight, fully healed, and still loving you.

After that my creator took you and me to train and educate us with everything he knew. He showed us the world, a world that he transformed, with all the wicked and darkness within. In that time of education and survival, you learned to deal with my inability to show emotion, and I learned to love the blankness of your heart. A friendship was born between us both.

And, in that friendship, I took the opportunity to watch you.

I watched how your movements were measured and graceful, just like those of your mother. I watched how, even though you reflected nothing in your eyes, little by little you learned how to display passion and gloom through melodies and whispers. I observed your silent pleads for forgiveness and your transparent longing for death. In between lessons I would see how you would gaze at my creator in blank love, while he would look at you mesmerized by your darkness. I watched it all.

I stared mesmerized at the beauty you concealed in all that burned and scarred soul. Your physical body, although perfect, never meant anything to me. I discovered at how you began to discover and control your true powers; you would practice very late at night with me as your audience and the moon your teacher. I observed how every night you would look up at her light and stare, just stare. I said nothing.

Also, for the second time, you let your heart feel. I could clearly see how your eyes would change for my creator and only for him. I was not jealous, I do not feel such emotion; only being near your presence was, and always has been, enough for me. I may not have all the emotions you carry in your curse, but I could tell the sadness that grew with each passing night. I always wanted to ask why, but I never did. It would all become clear the day you told me you had to go away.

Though sad I became, I did not, would not, stop you.

How cruel the hands of fate can be. Playing with our lives and considering us just mere toys to mess with, while we are fascinating and new and innocent, to latter be toss to the forgotten.

That same day my creator brought his new victim, happy with his capture. He loved his victims to be fresh in all essence, especially the heart. It was such a jovial moment for him that he did not mind our presence in the room. When he withdrew for the first attack, you ran up to the prey and covered him with your body.

Both, my creator and myself, stared in shock.

You stood up, still covering the person, and faced us with a serious face.

“Step aside,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. This regime is over. I will not let this go on anymore.”

My creator did nothing but smile at you. And, with those fake-compassionate eyes, he said, “you think you can stop me?”

“No.” You answered with that same expressionless face. “ I do not. But that does not impede me from doing whatever I can until I do. Besides, our mother seems to think so.”

“Our...?” He asked, for the first time in his life unprepared. He recovered quickly, “why are you doing this? Did I not give you shelter? Protection? Why turning now against me after all this time?”

“You may have given me shelter.” You walked up to him, and stood inches from his face. “But I have given you something much more than that.” You touched gently his face, and looked at his eyes. “Something so great and much more powerful than any darkness you can confer. But-” that nightly sadness came, and I knew. “It is because of your nature that you will never understand the way I feel, and why I do what I’ll do.”

Suddenly you started to walk towards the victim, helping him stand with your arm around him. “Now you will let both of us go without a fight, and know that from now on you will have me to fight with and stop you from your conquests.”

He did as you told, and you started walking slowly towards the door. After a few steps you stopped, and turned to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll keep wishing, forever, that you will be able to love me one day.” Then you disappeared.

It was after a few seconds of silence that my master spoke to me. “Go.”

I turned to him, confused, “master?”

Turning around and walking away from me, he kept saying, “I want you to go with her. You are no longer under my command, but as my last order. Go with her.” His face was hidden in the darkness. His reasons to do what he did still remain unclear.

You left the place where you for once felt safe, a place where you could have been happy and stupidly in love. But now here we are, destroying all kind of species born from the hands of my once master and maker. Showing through this kind of actions real and pure love.

I do not feel responsible for this, for killing my own family. We are doing what we are supposed to be doing. You follow your mother’s orders, and I go along with you.

But, if there was one thing I could wish, is to see you smile for once. You still blame yourself for the boy’s death, and do not let your heart rest from guilt. You would not let yourself love another, afraid. I do not hold hopes that one day you will love me, and I am not foolishly human to try to force such feelings. You told me very clearly the day we left that I should not go with you if I am only looking for your love. I listened and kept following.

I see how sometimes you silently cry for death in the late hours of the night, and every time I’ll ask, “Mimteh?” You would just shrug and say, “just living the curse, Sharon. Just living the curse,” and would stare at the void some more.