My son was named Barra and by the time he was five years, he was taken from us.
The Elders wanted to take him once he was able bodied enough to travel such a distance, but agreed to wait until he was old enough.
In the time with him, I spent little time with anyone but Cant and Barra.
I had spoken to several Elder women and had been adding and editing pages in The Book. It was the only remaining book with the original scrpt. It was filled with years works of monks desperate to spread the word of our kind. They were too late - they died like the Phoenix, in fire.
It wasn't my kind, we don't know who or what it was. It may have been vampires, but there were witches and creatures beyond imagination in those days long since passed.
The Book which now sits on my lap was originally written by a young monk, about fifty years, with rather scuffy writing, such you would expect from a teen these days. In those times, only those of religious teaching and the rich knew how to write. And monks were the only ones to live past ninety. They were taken on around fifty, which is why the writer of The Book is labeled as young at the very front. Just called "young monk..."
There is, actually, a personal letter, or will of some sorts, hidden between pages of the book.
I don't know what it is, but it has killed and is killing the others.
It is blood thirsty, it does not rest.
We have fired it and others have tried to kill it with swords, but nothing pierces it's seemingly stretched skin.
I don't know how long I have left, the monster has already had her claws an teeth in me. Yes, tis a she who plagues us. And she has a taste of my blood to hunt me with.
I fear I am the last and that this is the last copy of the decades of work. My friend had gone out to kill the monster near an hour ago. He has not returned and the monster's screeches can still be heard.
Alas, now I hear the screeches louder and louder and the feet upon the ground like loud drums. Dum dum dum.
I fear this will be the last anyone hears of me. I have great fear, but I will face my fear - though it will certainly result in death - in the hope that this book survives.
God, allow my death and all the others to not have been in vain.
I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor monk who knew he was going to die.
Some of the pages are slightly burnt, but most of the original pages have been replaced or re-written. It's saddening knowing that a man gave his life for this, and others just came along and replaced the whole thing. I would feel bad at myself, but I only find myself correcting the newer pages, not the scruffy writing that is almost unreadable.
Cant chases fireflies while Edward wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck softly. Cant likes to have fireflies by his bed, and see if he can keep them alive long enough to set them free at first light.
I had told Edward about Kanto some time after Barra's birth. It seemed like some weight had left his shoulders. Even after these though years I still remember Kanto's pleaing cries as I cut off his manhood then threw him into a fire...
I was a little angry that day, I'll say that much.
Thankfully, over the times Kanto had taken me, I'd never fallen pregnant or shown any obvious signs of internal damage. External and emotional damage was obvious from the start...
Another tear left me and I thought of it as the memories leaving me forever.
Sorry for not updating, tiring last few weeks.