Once upon a time, my life consisted of breathing to keep myself alive. Breathe in, breathe out, keep your heart beating strong. Simple, right? So unbelievably simple. A natural instinct, and undeniable impulse. You live day by day and worry of tomorrow’s inevitable troubles. You laugh so hard that you cannot see through the mirth. You cry so that it feels that you are breaking apart at the seams, and you feel the sting of heartbreak. The remarkably painful sensation of betrayal.

At the end, you will feel the life draining from your body and remember everything that once was, what has never been, and what will be, and if there is, actually, anything beyond death. Or maybe you will not have time. It is possible that you will not see anything but the abyss sent to steal away your heartbeat. God, or whatever supreme being gets it’s cheap thrills by watching his helpless pawns in the game he created, has a nasty way of determining your fate for you.

There was once a girl named Braelyn, who felt the blood draining from her body and watched, entirely resigned to her fate, as the stars faded to black. Death’s clutches had reached up greedily to claim her, as they had so many others, but she was fiercely ripped away. The simplicity of the ordinary but pitiable life she had once known was then gone forever.

A simple, naive human, blissful in their ignorance of anything but their own world, can possibly be turned into something else. Something considered disgusting, wicked, and evil. Something gone horribly misunderstood. Something unknown, hidden flawlessly in blind sight. A once-human might wake up from what they thought to be delicious oblivion and panic. An understandable response. Terrified beyond all reason at their stopped heart, at their ability to not need to draw breaths, a once-human might turn on themselves, and rage at whomever is in close enough proximity.

Human reactions. Human emotions. They are primal and strangely simple, but they stay with you.

Human. It’s just a word, isn’t it? A word like every other. But it is a word generally reserved for science fiction movies and books where immortal creatures exist. However, every myth has a basis in reality, and every far-fetched story has stemmed from one thing or another.

Once upon a time, a girl named Braelyn felt the sting of betrayal and was brought to the brink of death in a dark, filthy alley because she had nothing left to live for. Death snatched her and was then hurtled away, snarling at its loss. This Braelyn, once naive but in actuality, different than most others of her kind, was led to a world where nightmares exist and murderers walk free. This world possessed a variety of the same basic foundations as the one she had once been a part of. However, the depth and intricate measures this world had taken to hide itself from the sight of those who would prosecute it, were unbelievably complex. For thousands upon thousands of years, since the very beginning of time, it had existed under the noses of those who had never, and would never, know it was there.

A selected few are shown this life. Others would not to be able to handle its idiosyncrasies. Others would be let in and consequently attempt to tear it apart or expose it, and therefore be torn apart themselves in the process. However, this Braelyn had willingly left the world which, for so very, very long, she had not felt a part of. This new world was not a haven, but a new beginning where day had morphed to night, right to wrong, and wrong to right.

Braelyn did not question her decision. Nor did she resent the one who had, ultimately, made it for her. There was resentment, deception, and an intricate, tangles web of lies that had led her to the broken road where she now stood, but she did not dwell. If she did, she would never live to get past it.

Braelyn simply went on, learning and growing stronger, but never forgetting her story. It was what kept her grounded. It kept her sane in a world where insanity graced the edges of what held it together. It reminded her of who she had once been; the person who she would never again be.

Her story is my story.

It is one of heartbreak, of betrayal, of smiles, tears, and laughter, and it needs to be told.