A/N: Lilith is an original character I created for my Highlander fiction. She has been featured previously in my fanfiction Adam and Lilith. This series of vignettes will give you some insight into her mind and backstory. Any similarity she bears to other people whether living or dead, real or fictional, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
I, of course, do not own Highlander, nor do I make any money off of these silly little stories. I compose them for my own amusement as well as, I hope, for yours.
We are remnants of a bygone era, sort of history's memory. Or maybe we are simply the guardians of history.
Perhaps we are here to ensure that the truth of what has happened throughout the ages will never be completely forgotten.
There are fragments of my memories that are gone from my mind, great gaps in what I remember clearly, but I have left journals behind. Oh, many of them could not be connected to each other, save by someone who actually knew me in those days.
It's quite possible you've read one of those dusty old books and thought it either a mundane telling of day-to-day life in whatever city or province I was living at the time. Otherwise, you may have thought it the outlandish ramblings of someone with a wild and twisted imagination.
Whatever you may think of me, however you might view my strange story, it is a story that needed to be told, even if it's in fragments. Though, if I'm perfectly honest, I tell it more for my own sake than for yours. Too much of history has been lost to sands of time and personal biases. Too often, it is the victors' versions of events that is related to the masses, with the truth skewed and twisted to suit political agendas.
And, yet, after the years pass, and those who lived that part of history have all died, the story, however incomplete or illogical, is accepted. There are those who question it, of course, but I fear the -
Well, there's a good reason so many advise you to question everything, including what you see and hear for yourself.
Methos, the oldest of us to still have his head (as far as we know of), has kept journals of his life, as well. Like mine, some were composed in languages now long dead and forgotten. Others, we have translated together.
How often can you say "I would trust him with my life, with my very last secret" and truly mean it?