I don't know if you're a believer or not. If you're reading for entertainment, you're lucky. If you're a believer, sometimes it can be dangerous.
Take me, for example. Full-time believer. Completely obsessed with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, even Jack Frost. They're not all they're made out to be.
They're the supposed Guardians of Childhood. The nature spirits told me so.
And here I am, scratched by a stupid bear, sitting under a tree. At night. Not my greatest idea.
Yet why am I surrounded in shadows? Why am i so... So... Scared? I thought Guardians of Childhood, ya know, protect childhood? Maybe they're just too busy. Maybe I'm too old to protect. Either way, I die. But I remember something before that. I remember thinking, 'the Moon. It's so big!'
Now here I am. Sitting in the same shadow I died in. In North America. Beside a frozen lake. Beside the small town of Burgess.
The same town, same lake, where Jack Frost was born. Or so says Mother Nature.
The Man in the Moon told me my name, Umbra. He left me alone after that. Nice, isn't it, I die in the shadows, I'm born from shadows, and the one who made me, the only light source I can stand, ignores me. Everybody ignores me, and I ignore them. Most of the time.
I've explored my powers a bit, and it seems like I can teleport through shadows, make shadows, and hide in the shadows. Awesome, right? Wrong. I can't stay in the sun, normal people can't see me, and spirits think I'm the next 'Pitch Black.' Whoever that is.
It hurts. It's been like this for 500 years. I helped children with their fear of the dark, scared spirits with my shadows, etc. It helps with the loneliness.
Sometimes I've seen yellow cat's eyes in the dark. Is that normal? I thought I was the only one who can use shadows.
Anyways, moral of my really random story: never trust the Guardians. They're just phonies.
I know. Random. And I should be updating Mommy. But the idea wouldn't go away.