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“A man once told me a story about the Angels and the Demons that walk about us. He said Heaven and Hell weren’t about death and life, or right or wrong, but a game two play against each other. That same man told me it was all a contest to see who would come out in the end. At the time, I was young, and believed it all to be a bed time story made up from a fathers creative mind." A.H.

It was a dark night that Utopia returned from her long travels to the land of Tyrant. The moon hid somewhere in the blackness, refusing to come out. She felt the same way, that she should hide. After all, she had become ashamed of herself, which was why she had fled in the first place. She watched for so long, wanting to approach, but she felt so strange and wrong.

Something was different about her this night, and she cursed her father and his heritage for it. Bless her for cursing the dead, but frustration and hate poured through her like her cold blood. Those dark eyes had light to them and her pale skin shone brightly even in the pitch black. Only when she turned did the trees whisper secrets of those strange things for a vampire to carry on her back. Finally rising through her bloodline, a pair of white feathered wings clung to her. She didn’t know how to take them. She didn’t know how others would take them, for that matter. Namely, she wondered of the man she loved and was engaged to. Would he still hold a place for her in his blackened heart? Would he understand what she was now, or why she left?

“Have you ever tried to sit and write a story about your life? If you do, what goes at the end? There never really is an ending, and if there is, you certainly aren’t there to write it.” A.H.