The Brightest Spark In The Darkest Shadow

Born from the crystallised tear of a dying void beast, a glimmer of sorrow came to life. They didn’t like the darkness — they were afraid of it, and they didn’t like how lonely and dark this world was. They heard whispers, carried upon the backs of wandering shadows, that there was another world: a world where there was light and colour and laughter. A world where they didn’t have to feel the cold and desolate burn of the inky void upon their back, and a world where they could gaze into the eyes of another and be loved.

There was little time for love in the abyss. Life — if you could even call it that — was punctuated by skirmishes and battles and war, each of the factions of beasts constantly fighting for dominion over the eternal darkness. But they didn’t want to hurt people, not in the way that other creatures hungered for pain and penance.

No, they dreamed of this other world, and so when word of a dimensional tear spread, they were one of the first to follow its call. Their curiosity led them to the brightest spark in the darkest shadow, and when they crawled through and took their first steps, they felt something shift within them. This was where they were meant to be.

The form of a satyr came easily to them like a second skin. When they gazed upon their reflection, they didn’t feel beautiful, but they felt real.

The Palatine was a natural next step. Their soul spit fire and shadows upon the world and they burned brighter than any other, a beacon of what it meant to be good and right and safe. They wanted to protect, not to harm, and the Palatine taught them what it meant to guard. The void was familiar to them, if nothing else, and they understood it better than any other. They understood the mercilessness, the rage, the desire for oblivion.

It made sense for them to hunt the killer stalking the streets of New Centuary. They just didn’t expect to fall in love along the way.

He was the first one to make them feel like they belonged. He was perfect, not in spite of his flaws, but because of them, and he was the one thing they could never truly be: human. But as the days turned to months, they realised that being human was becoming less important to them than being with him. He didn’t know where they came from or who they were, and he didn’t care — he only cared who they were in the moment, who they were to him.

Now, they stand over the shattered glass in his apartment and try to pretend there aren’t tears streaming down their face. Now, they're counting down the seconds until the ground opens up beneath them like a yawning maw, dragging them down into the pits of desolation and solitariness once more. Now, they look at him and see him as something different. They see him, for the first time, as a killer.

There’s a voice that tells them they're not meant to be a part of this world. There’s a voice that tells them they don't belong.

And as they watch the retreating back of the one they love, they think that the voice must be right, after all.