Elizabeth-Michelle is my name. An alien hybrid is what I am. Ashlyn Country’s secret service Night Operations is what I do. And Izamish is who I am.

I do not belong to anyone except Zelman, my master. I pledged to follow him wherever he goes, and do whatever he told me to do. If he told me to kill someone, I did it. If he told me to heal the ones higher than him, I did it. But what I could not honorably do was kill him. Even when he told me to.

He was shot repeatedly, and he was close to death, I could tell, when he said those vile words: “Ellie, kill me.” I bent down next to him, tears starting to fall from my eyes. I couldn’t do anything but to cry over him because I knew that I couldn’t do anything to help him. Out of all the inhuman, alien powers I had, I knew that I couldn’t do anything for him. All my energy, no matter how great or insignificant it was, could never heal the wounds he had, both in his heart and on his body.

Then he said the words that I could not defy: “Izamish, as your master, Zelman, I order you to kill me.” And simply because he used my alien name, I could not go against his words. Therefore, I killed him, with my very hands and with a heavy heart. Afterwards, I had wandered into the mountain forest beyond the battlefield we fought in and cried for days, for weeks. It felt like there was an iron ball lodged in my chest and burned with an intense pain that I could not escape. Finally, after many weeks of walking, crying, and absolute pitiful stubbornness, I collapsed.

That was when a man found me. Maybe to a normal human I was merely a strangely dressed woman with odd green markings and even stranger green hair. Maybe, to other humans, I was just a physically normal woman who was a bit of a kook, a weirdo, and an absolute nutcase. But that wasn’t the real case, now was it?

I had run away after Zelman died, and that left a bad record. I was positive I had been reported as MIA, and perhaps, as a suspect for the death of (or conspiring to kill) Zelman. This did not look good, and I knew I was being searched for. After a day of rest with this nice man, who I never found the name of, I left in search of my own life and perhaps a chance of finding a good site to call my alien family back to Earth so I could go home.

But my luck wore thin.

By my own unlucky human-like body, I was found pregnant around two months after I had left the man. With the blessing and find of a mountain goblin (that resembled a bird in a few ways, and even going so far as to resemble Garuda), I gave birth to a little green-skinned, bird-winged and beaked goblin, much akin to the mountain goblin that I was now looked after. But despite how this child was physically formed, I knew that he belonged to Zelman. This was the gift he gave me two nights prior to his death, and this was the last order I honorably took from him. Of course, why would I defy Zelman? I loved him, he was my master, but he took it too far to make me kill him.

I became the mountain goblin’s mistress. I learned his name, it was Vatito, and he often told and explained his love for me. No matter how I felt for him, I told him that I loved him too. Because I knew that no matter what happened, Vatito was my new master and I would never escape him unless I was to die. But to die would be selfish, since I would leave my and Zelman’s child in the care of this creature. I would have to put up with how things were for a very long time, long enough for the child to grow up and escape with me.

Even though he knew it was not originally his, Vatito treated the child as if it were his own, and often told me how he longed to have his own child with me, but could not since that would defile his marriage with a human girl. The human wife he spoke of… he never talked about her much. Through what he said, I only knew the girl was younger than I was by many years, and he had married the girl on condition of not having a child with her. But five years after their marriage, Vatito had fallen out of love because of the girl’s own lack of commitment to the relationship (in other words, she cheated many times because she felt Vatito wasn’t enough).

From my point of view, Vatito was like a monster. And in ways he was just that, but I could feel for him and his sadness of losing the girl he loved, not to death, but to other men because he was not enough for her, which is just as painful.

One day, Vatito explained to me how every time his wife were to become pregnant, he’d eat the fetus child so he could stay married with her, and to not defile the vow he made to the girl’s parents of either of them not ever having a child. The action that he preformed so many times already proved to me how he still cared for her, although, as he said, he did not love her. It appeared to me as if he loved her not as a wife, but as a sister or family member. Vatito had told me once that he did not have any family. I can sympathize, since here, on Earth, I have no family, either. After Zelman died, I had no one to turn to, and thanks to Vatito, the child I had with Zelman was tarnished with genes that did not belong to him.

Oftentimes I think of Vatito as a god. He may have few powers, but the powers he posses are strong ones. I have many, but they are weak. In my case, strength in numbers only applies when there is more than one body.

Over the years, the child grew. Vatito and I stayed the same in appearance, but grew same in mind and personality. By the time the child, who was no longer a child but a man, grew to be twenty, Vatito and I had grown a mutual respect for each other. Although, he still loved me, I felt nothing but respect and a type of accustomed care toward him, which only grew because of the two of us taking care of and raising a child. It was around this time when I began to plot escape. I had no idea where I was to go if I were to make it out alive, or if my child were to make it out alive, but we needed to leave. No one needed to know more that Vatito was just a father figure than my and Zelman’s child. No one needed to know more. And when I told the child of Zelman -- of who he was, of what he was to me, and of what Vatito had done -- I was no longer alone in my plan for escape.

Two nights before the planned night of flight, an odd thought occurred to me and I blamed myself for it not ever coming to me before that night: if Vatito could eat his wife’s fetus child to prevent her from giving birth, what prevented him from doing that to me? Did he not speak of how he wanted his own child with me, but feared me becoming pregnant? But contradictions appeared when he told me he prevented his wife from giving birth. Maybe, just maybe, he meant the literal words of pregnant and giving birth. Perhaps, he didn’t want to impregnate me, and didn’t want his wife giving birth. It does make sense.

But as I was thinking these thoughts, I had failed to notice how Vatito had walked into the room, gotten undressed and crawled into bed with me while nude. He wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek goodnight, but this was normal for nights he stayed with me (except him being nude). It wasn’t until he first tried to get on top of me that I was snapped out of my thoughts and tried to get him off me. Of course, Vatito was well prepared for whatever I was to do, and did the exact counter for whatever I did to him. I became limp and decided to let him do as he pleased for the night. This made the night very long, and by sunrise he finally laid down beside me and let me rest. The thought of how long Vatito had to hold in his sexual drive made me give him a sort of forgiving nature, on account of how long he had to go for.

My child and I left two days later as planned, and Vatito did not follow. It felt as if the sex we had were a goodbye gift, since I had not done it for a long time, as well.