My name is Mara. Mara Harlow, the Anti-Cupid. This is where my story begins.
On a random day, I don't even know what, I was born. A new mother who didn't want a child, and a father not in the picture. I was your classic mistake. When I was born, I was different. Sure! I looked normal... at first. But I wasn't. I was born with a purpose. A purpose I wasn't given a choice in to fulfill. The markings on my back gave it away. Tiny, raven-colored wings. My eyes were darker than night. The few hairs I had on my head, black with somewhat purplish undertones. My skin was pale and almost sickly looking, but I was healthy as a horse. Weird, right? Not when you find out your child is going to be filling the role of bringing loving couples apart, making them feel hatred and disgust, causing anger and resentment where-ever they go. It's just known, it's what will happen after all. It's supposed to be like that.
So, what happens after all of this? It's a weird, and very much hated process. I basically get pushed out of society, chastised, overall hated and seen as someone who can do no good. In response to all this, I basically resent almost all people. I get taken away once i'm old enough to basically get trained by the, now former Anti-Cupid. I get gifted my arrows when I come of age to carry out my duties.
I'm now 22. I've been in this position for 4 years now. Naturally, I have one enemy. Cupid. Stupid Cupid, is what I call him. The guy is impossible. I can't stand him. It's doesn't help he is my natural enemy. He is so kind, it has to be fake. He such a hopeless romantic, it makes me sick. He is so perfect, that he has to have something bad hidden. I can't stand him. Somehow, he is still praised. I mean, the dude has a whole holiday. Is it clear i'm bitter?
Today is a pretty normal day for me. I wake up and roll out of bed. I get dressed for the day and slip on my black ripped jeans, a random t-shirt I found on the floor, and my high top black converse. It's basic, but it's fine. Not like I have anyone to impress. I look in the mirror. My long, raven-colored hair is slightly messy. I sigh as I throw it into a quick and easy, but not very smooth looking, ponytail. My dark eyes that seem to carry no light stare straight back at me. The sharpness and intensity of them a normality for me. My raven-colored wings that match my hair are out on the sides of me, practically itching to get stretched and ready for a flight. I get done getting dressed and ready for the day. I sling my quiver over my shoulder, my arrows ready for the day. My bow in hand, as I take flight and prepare to bring the heartbreak others will have to endure.
