Many call me by my title, but none call me by my given name. My name is Serena, and I have no family. They were all killed when the Mikara attacked my home. I refused to die, if only to slay the family of those who had slain mine. I took upon myself the role of Night Stalker, a tradition among my people since the night the Mikara were allowed into our midst.

It was a living nightmare. My sisters and I had gone out picking flowers. We tied the colorful bloom together and set them on our heads like halos. I stayed behind for a little over an hour, since my head was a little larger than my nine-year old sister's. I was too far away to hear the alarm ring clear through my village. Upon my return to the place I called my home, it was strangely silent. I walked into the house I had been in since birth to find my angels, my beautiful sisters, lying motionless on the ground, the flowers ruined and scattered through their blond-stained blonde hair. Holding back my tears, I went the kitchen, where I assumed my parents would be crying. Instead, their fate was as horrible as that of my sisters, their lives' fluid running silently down non-responsive bodies. I was too preoccupied with weeping to notice the shadow creep out of my own bedroom. It seemed to know that it had not slain all of my family. I heard the almost metallic sound of its claws expanding like a sword being pulled slowly from its sheath.

I spun, my hand on the pummel of my dagger in an instant. Though I knew that the short dagger would not help against the claws of the Mikara, I stabbed forward, hitting only open air. I felt a sharp pain in my back, and I knew that I was dead. I pushed my fingers into the spot on my dress and looked to my fingers, finding them covered in blood. I fell to the ground, too weak to remain upright. The Mikara left, thinking I was dead. My white linen dress was no match for the dagger that had failed my moments before. I applied the sliver of fabric to the gaping hole slightly below my ribs, and screamed at the horrible sensation. I looked to the candle, and say the flame flicker as my world went black.

I'm assuming my villages' doctor found me lying there. I awoke groggy, and was told it had been three days since my living nightmare.

"You're lucky to be alive. You shouldn't be." The village doctor sounded reproachful.

I knew. How could I not? There was a lot of whit light and a gentle ethereal singing coming from beyond.

Beyond what? I couldn't say. It was as if everything was near yet somehow far away. Loud, yet softer than the cotton-like tail of a rabbit. Painful, yet more soothing than a cool cloth on your forehead when you're running a fever. Yeah, I knew I should be dead, yet I was still here.

There was still pain. Oh, yes, there was pain. When I sat up for the first time, it felt as though I had been shot. Although there was no mark of damage sitting below my ribs, and I was astonished at the amount of the work they had put into my healing.

"How many…survived." It hurt to even talk.

"Eight. You are the only surviving female."

That was why. I was the only girl. I tried to block out the images and pin that haunted me, and turned my attention to the doctor. He smiled and I went cold inside. How could he smile at a time like this? This was a time for crying, for screaming, for hate. I pout down the shoulders of my gown and belted them to my arms. I felt the tears slide down my cheeks as I embraced the sign of womanhood. I looked away form the good doctor so that he wouldn't see my tears, and my blue-black hair clung to the moisture. I was a woman, and the only one left in my village. They would come soon, seeking marriage and the repopulation of my village.

No, I wouldn't let them. I was committed to remain my own person. No man would control me. I wouldn't let them.