Hello once again everyone, I have returned after a long time. My time in the shadows has kept me away from doing what I love and I think depression has been getting the better of me lately. However, I am recovering slowly but surely. And it begins with a new chapter in my writing. I have no idea if I will continue my other stories, but I've been piecing the next chapter of BTF and have been thinking about reissuing Hematite, a complete rework. For now enjoy this: A collection of short stories based on characters I've created over the past two years. I'll try to post a new chapter frequently, but I cannot promise this. As the description says, these will be one-shots of different characters. I will more than likely write multiple stories of the same character, and if you want me to write a standalone story just let me know. I might post these to my Fictionpress but seeing as how this account has more of you lovelies viewing it, I figured this would be the better place to make my return.

I apologize for my absence, please enjoy,

A Tale of Grief: Breaking.

Blood pooled around the tiefling's feet as he stood breathless, admiring his work. His poison had done its job well; the guard's muscles and face were twisted and contorted into expressions of the agony that came with the dissolving of muscle tissue. Still, he had put up a fair fight all things considered. The fire of a soldier is not one easily quenched, but it was eventually snuffed. That was everyone on his list: the merchant, the guard, the priest, those bastard children, and his miserable excuses for parents. None of them would be able to make fun of or hurt him again, and all it took was one week's effort.

As the tiefling began to sheathe his knife and smear the warm blood into words on the stone wall, something flickered behind him. It was a spark reflecting in the sanguine, a small light at first that grew. Pinkish in hue, it expanded from an amorphous dot into a humanoid form, then it dimmed. Standing proud and tall was a woman, of sorts at least. For he had never seen a woman with wings and small horns, nor has he seen such a beautiful and flawless woman clad in such…for lack of a better term, whorish garb. She did have a tall, like him, but it was a thin and delicate thing with a spade-like point on the end. He lips, hair, eyes, and devilish features all wore the same sanguine as beneath his shoes.

The woman's smile was the first mark of beauty that caught attention, but wandering eyes could not help but briefly gaze upon large, youthful breasts, narrow hips that widened into larger curves which gave foundation to powerful legs, and a poise so elegant and so provocative with her chest pushed out and hips drawn into a subtle shift at the side. But the eyes didn't wander for long and icy blue met those crimson pools that so beckoned in a comforting and mischievous way.

"My, how you've grown," the voice was silky and disarming, and brought a sense of calm to the tiefling, "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Who..who are you," he said snapping back into reality, "I've never met you before."

The woman walked towards him, swinging her hips and playing with her long hair idly. She chuckled for but a moment as she walked around him, adding to the sound of heels on cobblestone.

"Oh, we've met. You just don't remember. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. Not that at least."

"Why have you come here," the tiefling stood rigid and unmoving, his blood-soaked hand creeping towards his blade.

"I've been watching you for quite some time. Longer than you would think, in fact. Only you were rather dull until recently. Until you created that wonderful toxin. How was it, killing that priest? He was the first to go, wasn't he?"

"He was."

"Well, how was it? Your first time."

"Exhilarating. Frightening at first, but It was fun to see that bastard's life drain away." He shook his head and the grin that had begun to form washed away in an instant, "You still haven't answered me. Who are you?"

"Someone who holds you close at heart. Someone who rejected you a long time ago until you became…useful."

"In what way?"

"In many ways, my dear. With the proper training, you'll become irresistible to me?"

"Training? For what? Are you wanting me to kill someone?"

The woman suddenly stopped, now behind the tiefling, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Cold lips pressed against his neck and immediately he was filled with a sort of frigid comfort. At first, he naturally resisted, but something was enjoyable about it. Something made him relax and smile. He could feel things stirring inside him, things more mysterious, but similar to the euphoria he had gotten from his murder. Delicate fingers danced through his hair and ran across his think horns. Her body pressed against his, leg wrapping around leg and chest pressing against back. Then, she slinked back and he turned around, still in the lingering effects of her touch.

"What was that?"

"Like I said, training. I want you to have similar powers so we can do each other some favors. You'll be rewarded handsomely, I promise."

"That sounds all nice but…I don't exactly know where to go from here. I have no family, no home, no direction."

"My dear, you still have one of those things, and you can certainly have all three if you join me. Give you mother a hug."

"Mother," the tiefling stumbled back in shock, "No, no my mother is dead. I killed her, just last night. Stuck a blade in her throat and listened to her choking."

"Oh, so you haven't figured it out, pity. Well then, you obviously can't be the true son of those cruel devils, now can you? I mean look at yourself! They were both human and, well, you're something else entirely. Something better."

"You mean to say…"

"Yes, dear. And I'm so sorry. I didn't want to give you up back then because I knew you would be useful. But your father was out of the picture and I wasn't exactly able to care for a child and go about my own work alone."

"My father," the tiefling now had his knife in hand and pointed at the woman, "What do you mean out of the picture?"

"Oh, he died when you were conceived, the poor sod. He'd given up on life and I gifted him with a wondrous night of passion and the sweet kiss of death. Turns out he had given me a sort of parting gift as well…you."

His mind raced rapidly. What was this woman saying? That she killed his true father and abandoned them? Could he have lived a life that was at least more comfortable, less judgmental than the one he had experienced? He didn't know, and he couldn't piece anything together. His fragile mind was already unstable from the shock of murder and the ever-picking question of "what now," this was just something inconceivable. Abandoned, abused, tortured, deceived, how could she? How could she? How could she?!

"AAARRRGHGH," this was the only thing he could let out as he lunged forward with the knife. It missed when she stepped to the side and sparked across the wall behind her.

"Now now, I know this is quite a lot, but I am offering a lot. You should at least be a little grateful."

"Shut up you bitch! I'll rip you apart!"

Again he swung at her, and sliced nothing but air. The poison that filled the scabbard had freshly coated the blade, and dripped off here and there as he swung. Already it was burning the stone and sizzling where it reached the pool of blood. Again. Again. Again. He had to kill her, he had to. She would die, she would. So many had fallen to him and so would she. She had to. She had to. She had to.

"That's enough of that," she said after the eleventh swing. She put her hand up and the tiefling flew back when the psychic wave hit him hard.

His head throbbed. What was that? He could feel his mind fracturing farther and farther still. What was he doing? The knife…the knife was still in his hands.

"Oh, you poor dear. I'm sorry to leave you like this but I guess you're still not ready. Oh well, I'll check on you another day but until then, have fun on this world. Make some art."

Yes, yes some art. The woman faded out of view as a dull pink light briefly surrounded her and her entire form shrunk into a mere speck, then nothing. Art. Beauty. Love. He was an artist, that's what he was. Art made people feel things. All kinds of things. Something that he felt his entire life. A virtue, yes a virtue. Something to gift the world with each new corpse, each new scarlet-stained canvas. Grief, that was it. And sorrow but mostly grief. This was his purpose, his direction, his name. It would be done, he would bring it. Grief.