Author's Note: Hello! ^_^ And thank you for having taken the time to at least check out this sentence. ^^;; This is my second time writing a Neopets fic, but believe it or not, the last was crappier than this one, if that is humanly possible. :/ Just as a quick disclaimer, Neopets does NOT belong to me, nor do any of the poems preceding the chapters belong to me. They belong to the amazing poet who is Robert Frost, and I am borrowing them without permission because I am not making ANY profit off of this. (People don't pay for crappy fiction.)



Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower,

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day,

Nothing gold can stay.

-"Nothing Gold Can Stay" Robert Frost

Dear Reader:

If you have found this, floating through space within a metal capsule, you are most likely some kind of intergalactic species (most likely not a human, for their ships are laughably primitive, but the reader will be addressed such as, for there are so many of those vermin throughout the universe) or some kind of Alien Aisha, who will undoubtedly find this tale completely ludicrous, even in its utter sincerity. This is the whole and utter truth of my history, said from the hand of a wrongly, yet perhaps valid, criminal.



Let me say this first and foremost: I am not evil.

All too often, people and Neopets alike jump to conclusions, make assumptions about people and things that they hardly know, have no knowledge of its past. Immediately, they give them a classification, a label for them to wear like a horrible badge, marking them eternally. Burned into mind, burned into flesh. Neopets in particular have a terrible habit of seeing things in black and white, good and evil, friend or enemy. Oblivious they are to the fact that everything comes in shades of gray—and, on the rare occasion, multi-color.

I believe a young adolescent by the name of Anne Frank once said, "Despite everything, I still believe people are truly good at heart." The quote is full of the typical naiveté of a child—yet it still holds a great deal of truth in it. There has never been something born, created or otherwise brought to life that was completely black with hatred, with bad intentions. Instead, there is always a shred of light, no matter how muffled and muted by an utter vacuum of ebony, expressing the soul of a horribly lost person. Light is weak—it must be protected by darkness.

But no, I am not quite that bad. There is method to my madness, reason behind every action that I take. Diabolical, I may seem, but that is to the uneducated mind. You do not know me, not really—the immortal in the black cape is not who he seems. Through and through, my intentions are, perhaps, selfish—but not gluttonous for money, striving for destruction. I only desire companionship, and my quest has taken me far.

Too far, though? Why would someone try and mutate a population or destroy a civilization just to have someone, just one sole person? You may say this. But then, you have proved yourself inhuman, incapable of true feelings. Apathy plagues me, but I still have desire, still long to hold someone in my arms, arms that have been horribly empty. The emptiness has chewed away at my soul, making me darker, but never black—water may erode a canyon, but never completely gets rid of all land. Have you never felt love? Have you never felt a burning desire deep within you, urging you on like a horse being flogged by his master, thinking just a little further and they will share it too, they will want me as well? The constant words, repeating over and over in my head: if only, if only.

Their repetition is more than ever now.

But I have said that you do not know me—you do not know my past. Present and future are unnecessary. They mean nothing in the complete process—they are the things yet to be built, yet to be decided. There has been accounts on me but they are unfinished—they begin when I am already fully grown, and are at times inaccurate. Where are the younger years? Where is the adolescence? Did I just appear out of nowhere, a messiah of evil? No. I may be immortal, but I was born.

Yes, born, like a Neopet, like a human child. I do not know who birthed me—I just must say I have hated them ever since. I know WHAT they were—they were Faeries, similar to the Queen faerie, the Earth faerie…you know them all. What right did they have birthing such a hideous creature? That was what all the others wanted to know. I did not bear the resemblance of any of the faeries. I suppose my parents ran away because they were ashamed of themselves; all I know is that I never knew genuine parental love, that given to all others.

It was Faerieland I lived in. Neopia was still a mutated, horrible place—not suitable for any life form. Faerieland, however, high above in the clouds, was protected from the poisonous vapors, the sludge that could devour a person alive. The faeries, the only inhabitants, kept themselves busy with tedious tasks—and myself? I was taken in by an adoption agency, if you could really call it that? Of course, all of the other faerie children were completely normal, quite clearly faeries, happy and bouncing off the walls, casting spells here and there. They were quite cheerful and friendly—if you didn't happen to be horribly mutated and totally unrecognizable as a faerie.

I remember particularly the ostracizing, the cruel looks they sent in my direction and the snickers that sent jolts through my fragile soul. Kindergarten, first grade—it didn't matter. I didn't show any signs of changing. I wasn't merely an ugly duckling waiting to transform into a beautiful swan—I was a genetically corrupt…THING that nobody wanted a part of, or even to share space with. I had wings back then, I recall, and they were the only thing I could truly enjoy—flying was the only thing I took any pleasure in. And even then I was beaten quite quickly. Faerie wings aren't suited for a heavier, thick-boned form, and I rapidly found myself unable to fly as I grew older, wings becoming just another part of my grotesque exterior, another reason for passerby faeries to cringe at the mutant.

I was unbearably lonely. I was still quite vulnerable back then—soft spoken, just trying to get people to stop noticing me, although they invariably did. I hunched over, tried to make myself disappear from sight. But I stuck out like a sore thumb, a fly in their ointment of beauty, of perfection. I had not begun to hate—yet. That would be learned later on, a black death seeping into the tender fabrics of my spirit.

And then…she came.

I don't know how to describe her well enough. I suppose she must have been an outcast as well, although not as intensely as myself. She still had the marks of a faerie after all, not a completely revoltingly new shape. But she was different—not the run of the mill elemental faerie that came in and out of my life every day, each with a contorted stare on their faces, turning them away quickly and then muttering something to themselves. Her hair was the night sky, speckled with the infinite stars—her body an enigma, slowly transforming into nothing at the bottom. With an eerie grace, she floated about the clouds, dressed unlike all the others, but with her own certain flair. Not a conformist at any rate, I admired her ability to accept herself, even though I found it hard to believe that anyone couldn't accept her. It wasn't just her stunning beauty that made her so remarkable—it was the inner beauty, the way she made me feel as if I was valuable, as if I were worth something. Never before had such a feeling filled me.

I was speechless when I first saw her. Speechless from her exquisite exterior, speechless that anyone would even dare venture near me. Most faeries seemed to be convinced I was diseased, and if they approached me, they would catch this horrible mutation and lose their beauty. What is magnificence worth when one's soul is corroded in such a way? Her first words were quiet and peaceful, without any bitterness or cruelty. A voice that was so foreign to me I wondered if there was a God at that moment, and she had come down to me in this form of brilliance.

"What's your name?"

My name? Oh yes, I had a name. But nobody had ever asked for it before. I stood, wide eyed, gaping. She smiled slightly, cocking her head to the side. Her starlit hair swept in front of her face, covering one of her crimson eyes. The one thing we had in common, regarding appearances.

"You do have a name, don't you?"

Yes, I had a name. I stumbled for it. It felt as if I had lost it a while back from the sheer lack of faeries asking for it. My parents had not bothered to name me—the adoption agency had chosen a name for me. It wasn't one of those elegant names that most faeries possessed. Things like Buttercup, Wildflower, Crystalline…extravagant names were for normal faeries. My name was rough, hard on the tongue, with sharp pronunciation. As ugly and uncommonly terrible as myself.

"Frank."

How I wished I had a different name, something typical, common, so I wouldn't come off as more of a freak then I already was. It was too late—the damage was done. But any turn off by the mention of my name was not apparent on her facial features. She introduced herself as well, with no hesitation between my admittance of my name.

"You can call me the Space Faerie."

Beyond that, she did not have a name. I would get up the courage to ask her on some later occasion, and she would answer me by replying that she had never known any other name than just 'Space Faerie.'

To say that we were an inseparable duo would be completely incorrect. My times with her were brief—she lived quite a distance from where I resided. According to her, she lived in the skies, away from Faerieland. Why she had descended initially, I never found out. Perhaps relatives to see? Her reasons were never extremely lucid. All I knew was that I longed for her visits. I only lived to see her face one more time, to hear her oddly soothing voice, the gentle brush of her delicate skin. She was resilient yet fragile at the same time. A weapon crafted of glass.

And slowly, it was no longer just looking for companionship, for someone merely to talk to. My eyes were open, though with no rapidness, to a sexual attraction, a curious passion. Faeries are spiritual creatures—rarely do they find love in each other, find comfort and solace. Their comfort is their element—yet I had none to dissolve myself into. I suppose you could say I was the first remnant of a human anywhere near Neopia. Humans specifically feel this way—it finds its way into Neopets as well, though not as instinctual. They breed to continue their numbers—humans breed because of sheer yearning for another.

Unfortunately, this makes humans vulnerable, able to be injured internally and emotionally in a much easier fashion. And these wounds inflicted by someone close, tearing open the delicate flesh of one's emotional skin, cannot be healed merely by words. And when they are sealed up, the scar remains, a painful reminder of an ill-fated time.

Friendship, however, was clearly transforming to something more. I was never sure whether she shared the feelings or not—all I knew was that there became a frequent times when I found myself just gazing at her as she talked, unable to focus on her words. Everything about her attracted me. Her personality was so open, willing to accept anyone and anything. Just the thought of her face still arouses me, makes me tremble inside. The passion cannot be contained any longer…but at that time, I somehow managed to choke it down, to let it settle in my stomach. Letting it simmer, bubble. It was a seed, sprouting up from the ground and blossoming in my bosom.

My hopes were greatly lifted when she invited me to live with her, up in the sky. I had always wondered what was past Faerieland, what the stars contained. A secret inkling inside of me was fantasized at the thought of all the places one could go, to claim land for their own. A greedy little voice, but so quiet as to be only an inaudible whisper at the time. I ignored it and joined her in the stars, escaping a world that had never truly cared for me, and to one that just possibly could.

I was sorely misguided. And I paid for my mistake with my soul's entirety.

We lived along just fine, with civilized conversations. It was almost unbearable being so close to her but not being able to admit to my feelings. There was a ticking time bomb inside of me, just waiting for the proper moment to burst and ruin everything that I had so longed for. But it was inevitable, just as the sun must rise everyday on Neopia. My fate was already spelled out somewhere in the fabric of time. I was merely a movie of tragedy, playing itself out, the climax steadily approaching.

Being the emotional wreck that I was, one spark was only needed to alight a bonfire of insanity, slowly building piece by piece, seemingly doused in gasoline. That spark came in the form of rejection, as it does for many. My confidence had slowly been built up by being next to her, talking with her. Finally…finally I managed to wrack up the nerve to confess my love. I wanted to do it appropriately of course—something romantic, surprising. Sweep her off her feet, so to speak.

I knew that the moons of Neopia were to be eclipsed by its sun today—a mysterious force, sharing her peculiar beauty. I decided to tell it to her there, as we both planned to go back to Faerieland and watch it, though far away from civilization for my good. The ride there was nominally uneventful in one of the escape pods that she frequently used to travel. She had showed me the commands, so I manned it while she looked out the window, entranced by the space that embraced her. And I had calculated I would replace the space—desire for me first, all else second.

We landed somewhere desolate, but still peaceful and beautiful. The Cirrus' floated about happily, puffing about as little cotton balls. We sat in the fields made of cumulus clouds, away from the rest of the faeries, not knowing of our presence. They themselves had some sort of ceremony for this occasion—yet this was ceremony enough for me, just sitting next to her.

Slowly, the moon in the sky began to give way to a circle of darkness, the light peeking over the edge, desperate to still shine true. My body leaned closer to her—she did not withdraw, whether she was aware of my strengthening company or not. The world was then washed with a shade of crimson, the color of fervor. I reached slowly for her face with my hand, cupping it gently. My hand was awkwardly large for the task, her face being smaller and delicate. Her attention turned to me, away from the natural phenomenon, scarlet eyes meeting mine. My heart thundered in my chest, seeming like it would leap right out. "I…love you," I whispered. The moon became a diamond ring, the last of its rays illuminating the world, and then becoming a solid band of silver.

Our lips met under that sacred half moonlight. I was sure that confirmed it—confirmed the shared emotions that we both held. Although perhaps in size we weren't perfect for each other, myself looming over her like a giant, I believed that it didn't matter—it was destiny.

But then, she pulled away, retreating, shaking her head. "No…" she said softly, her eyes tragic. "Faeries do not love other faeries…I love space…and only that."

Those words killed me at that moment. Dead, to never be brought back. To have such a desire, innocent and pure, turn into an obsession…and the evidence of such started early. The rest of that night was spent silently, even as we returned. My heart was shattered inside my chest, the fragments impossibly small to even attempt to repair. And in slipped a darker shade of gray to my soul, convincing my mind that insane things were righteous. Forever more, the end would justify the means.

It was nighttime it happened. Of course, in space, it is always night—the stars always glitter in the sky, and yet the sun is always out simultaneously. Days are not counted by the sun rising and falling—they are counted by the person living in that vast emptiness, by the days one wakes and falls back asleep. She was asleep then. I wasn't. Feverish burnings were keeping me up—not that of a physical condition, but that of a mental state of mind. My eyes kept wandering towards the door of her quarters—then darting away, ashamed. Pulse rate rapidly rising, lungs needing more oxygen to satisfy their need to supply my blood with…

I don't know how I got in there. The door was locked. She never failed to do that, although I wondered what intruders she would be afraid of. Now I knew. Had I knocked it down? If I had, I have no memory of such an occurrence. Heart racing, my mind spinning and unable to catch up with my body's actions, the leaden weights I described as feet began to move.

I will not go into extreme detail what exactly occurred then and there. The images are burned into my mind eternally, photocopying themselves day after day and posting the horrible memory on the bulletin board of my mind. Perhaps it is this detail that drives me to insanity, the constant reminder of my actions. Vividly, always, are the screams of protest, haunting my dreams at night, cackling demons dressed like faeries dancing about in an odd, hypnotic dance. My body was not my own at that time. It had belonged to another creature, even more vile and revolting than me, but finding purpose, finding life in such an act.

No, I did not attempt to steal her body, to molest her, degrade her to a common whore. I feel as if it came close—if I had somehow become more attached, suddenly floating above my body in a dreamlike, half-state of mind, it would have come to that conclusion. Instead, I found my hands around her neck, thick fingers becoming eight great vices, clamping down on her trachea. In death, she would be free—and then I would free myself as well. It sickens me to the core to reminisce on the horror of the moment: the betrayed yet petrified look in her crimson eyes, staring back into mine, so similar, such resemblance.

At that moment, we were one single entity—I could feel her pain and she could feel mine as well. I could sense my own fingers grasping down on my neck, attempting to cut off my precious supply of oxygen. I was dying, finding my life slipping away with hers. And she? She could finally know what it was to be truly different, what it felt like to have no one to love you, no one to find you worthwhile. She was meaningless—I was meaningless. She was dying—I was dying.

The screams. Oh, what God would allow such screams full of anguish, contempt, a lust that could never be fulfilled and shared? Emotions coursed through both of our bloodstreams, a flood of adrenaline shared between two to unite into a singular organism. This was when whatever remained of my wings just vanished—incinerated, I suppose, by humanity, horrible, horrible dark humanity. Not black, but darker than dark, a shade lighter than that of a black hole.

How she broke away from such a connection will always baffle me, confuse me. The union had seemed to utterly complete—in our deaths, we understood each other. Love was unnecessary—it was assumed. All I can understand was that I was instantly banished, and sudden decision made me break away, stumbling backwards. Fleeing seemed to be the only option then—the Space Faerie still seemed dazed then, perhaps unconscious. It was easy to get away, to run to the escape pod she kept handy. Easier to run than confront her, to explain my nearly lethal actions. So much simpler to run…