Nyx Raven; A Witch's Creature

It's happening again. I'm leaving.

Of course, I can never stay anywhere longer than this. The eerie glow of the full moon is terrifying. I raced through the night, silently slipping through the leafless, bare trees, a silver glow radiating from every inch of my skin. My bluish black hair whipped around me, snagging on the lower branches, but I didn't notice.

I was too busy running. Always running.

It's funny, really. In a terrible, sick way. I am named Nyx for the darkness and terror of the night. I am named Raven for the horrific poem by the demented Edgar Poe. Put together, I am a thing of the night. An evil, demonic creature.

If only my parents hadn't cursed me with such a terribly evil name, maybe I wouldn't be such a terribly evil creature. Would it have been this way if I hadn't been dropped on that witch's doorsteps? Could my parents have just been Poe fanatics who wished for their daughter to be so as well?

If only.

If only I had a normal life. If only I had a home. If only I had a place in this world. If only I wasn't alone. If only there were people like me.

Believe it or not, demonic creatures of the night have to eat and drink too. Considering the fact that I have extreme speed and precision, I grabbed a rabbit from the brush and quickly ended its life. I drank from the creature's throat until it ran dry and empty. Now I know what you're thinking. "Oh, come on, another vampire story?" Before you run off and forget all about this, let me tell you. I am not a vampire. I am not a werewolf. I am not a ghost, although you could say that I certainly am a ghost of my former self.

I am a witch's creature. I am very much alive. My heart beats, my lungs take in air. I am, however, immortal. My life supply is held in a moon-shaped crystal hung on a silver chain. The only way to end my life is to destroy the crystal entirely. It must be ground into dust and blown into the ocean.

Why, you ask, have I not done so? There are two very legitimate answers for this question. One, I have been making futile efforts to find this crystal for the past six hundred years. The witch cursed me to this life had it hidden, so that I might never find it.

And reason two, every crack, dent, or chip made to the crystal feels like a thousand deaths to me. Once, when I was very young, the witch allowed me to hold the crystal. I, of course, wanted to destroy it and end this horrible life and threw it to the ground. I felt such extreme pain that I refused to touch the stone ever again. I have never hurt so bad in my six hundred and nineteen years.

Now you're caught up. I warn you that if you decide to continue on with reading my story that you flip on your light switch.