PREFACE: Everyone’s favorite gentleman vampire (ack! I said the V word!) returns for a new startling adventure. Are you ready? I guess we’re about to find out…
Few things in this world give me more pleasure than the sound of bones crushing under my feet or the sweet scent of blood carried by the morning dew... One such thing is the taste of said blood in my mouth, especially when taken from the writhing body of as despicable a creature as the one presently beneath me. While I rip its throat out, I remark to myself that, although satisfying, this behavior is decidedly not proper and will not help me in any way achieve my goal of becoming more human. I let the dying monster drop to the floor and stare at its corpse for a moment. Branches crack behind me and I spin around... but there is nothing there. I wipe my mouth and lean down to grab my cane, which I had dropped during the brawl. There is a river not far away, I saw it before the ambush. I leave the three bodies behind and head in that direction so I can wash my face and hands. I feel filthy. *** As I rest on the bank of the river, I hear footsteps coming my way. I sit up and glance around. A young boy soon appears, coming out of the forest. He pauses when he sees me. Hesitates, then calls out: “Hello.” Children do not often talk to me. They tend to be frightened by my appearance. Not that this one isn’t, but he seems intent on overcoming his fear. This intrigues me. “What is your name?” I ask. The boy looks around, as if to make sure we are alone, though he still does not come nearer. “Pivir,” he says. “Did you want to ask me something, Pivir?” The child swallows, then nods. “Well go on, then.” “Do you... do you know anything about souls?” I quirk a brow at the unusual question. I was not expecting anything quite like this—especially not coming from one so young. “Perhaps. What is it you wish to know?” He thinks about this for a moment. “Can they be stolen?” I laugh. “Some would say that anything can be stolen.” “Even souls?” “Yes. Even souls.” “What happens to a person whose soul is stolen?” I stare at him. “How old are you, boy?” “Twelve,” he mutters. The conversation is both fascinating and infuriating. What could make a twelve-year-old think of such matters? He should be playing with other children, learning things, having fun... instead, here he is, asking me, of all people, about souls. “Those are... very specific questions. Are you planning to steal someone’s soul?” He looks down at his feet. “No.” After a moment of silence, it becomes obvious he will not volunteer more information. So, I try to answer his question as best I can. “I am no specialist on the matter, Pivir, though I’ve known a few who were. But I can’t imagine anything good would happen to the victim. Why do you ask me these things?” He looks at me with resolve in his eyes. “Are you a monster?” How am I to answer this? Should I say the truth, or should I claim to be what I aspire to be? I’m not even sure what the truth is anymore. Sometimes I feel like the darkness in me is overwhelming, while at other times I can hold it in check and feel better for it. But should I be defined by the horrors I sometimes commit, or by the occasional acts of kindness? Does one have precedence over the other? Why should it? And who can make such a call? “Do you always ask strangers if they are monsters?” The boy holds my gaze. “No. Only those I see ripping throats.” So he saw me. I thought I’d heard a noise behind me. Why am I surprised? It was bound to happen, someday, that someone would catch me in the act. But... should I care? Oddly, I feel I do. Does it tip the balance one way or the other? “I’m sorry you saw that, Pivir, but what is this all about?” I could have claimed it had been self-defense, but would that not be an attempt to justify my act? While it was true they had attacked me, I could have treated it differently. There had been no need to slaughter them as I had. Nor did I feel remorse. There were no excuses for either—at least none a human could comprehend, let alone one so young. So there was no point in giving any. “I want to hire you,” says the boy. “Excuse me?” “I want you to kill my parents.” The request is preposterous. I’d never heard anything like this before. I stare at the boy in disbelief. What could make him say such a thing? “I don’t work for hire,” I say. “You don’t use money?” “I do, but that is not the point...” “I have money,” he says as he brings out a pouch and—no longer scared to approach me—empties it on the ground before me. There is hardly enough there to pay for a full meal, but the boy seems to think it is a fortune. I do not want to dispel his illusions, so I simply pick up the coins, grab the pouch from his hand, and slide them back in. “That is not the point,” I repeat. “I will not kill your parents.” “Why not?” I place the pouch back in his hand. “The real question is why do you want them dead?” He looks away. “Because they are not my parents anymore. They have become monsters.” His eyes lock into mine again, with that same resolve I’d seen before. “And who better to kill monsters than another monster?” *** We talk for over an hour. There are too many things that bother me with this boy and, for some reason, I feel a need to understand him. He tells me he is convinced his parents’ souls have been sucked out. They are no longer who they were before. Even others in the village have noticed the change, though no one knows what happened. When the parents are asked, they say they feel fine and that everything is as it should be. I agree to meet them. More out of curiosity than any intent to do what the boy wants me to do. “I will talk to them,” I insist. “But if you believe they truly have become monsters... would you kill them, then?” I cannot commit to this. It would be unconscientious. “We shall see,” is all I say. He doesn’t seem happy with this but agrees to take me to his parents... Though I fail to point out to him how it rarely is a good idea to invite a monster into your home. Their house is on the outskirts of a village named Gainsthorpe. He doesn’t want to go in. Says I should meet them alone. He leaves me at the door and runs back into the woods. My knock is answered quickly by a gray-haired man with a blank expression. He doesn’t seem either frightened or surprised by my appearance. “Hello,” he says. I nod as I glance over his shoulder into the room beyond. There is a table, some chairs, a chimney, and a stove in a corner. A woman sits in one of the chairs, staring in my direction. “Good day, sir, lady. I wonder if you would have a few minutes to talk? It is about your son.” “Our son?” “Yes. Pivir.” He stares at me for a moment, without a single trace of emotion on his features. He opens the door wider and gestures for me to come in. I do. The woman watches me, though there is not a speck of interest in her eyes. The boy’s father pulls a chair for me, then sits next to his wife without a word. “Your son,” I say, “has approached me... He says that you have changed.” “Me?” asks the mother, though the sound of her voice is bland and distant. “Both of you.” “Ah.” I frown. “Do either of you feel anything has changed in your lives recently?” “No,” says the father. “Everything is fine. Who are you again?” “I am Count Varushka. A... friend of your son.” “Our son?” “Yes. Pivir.” “Ah.” The couple falls quiet again. I am perhaps not the best judge of human behavior, but even I have some basic understanding of what constitutes a normal interaction amongst them. And this is not it. On a whim, I decide to push the test to the extreme. Showing my fangs, I grin as I say: “Tonight, I shall feast on your son’s blood.” Both stare at me with blank expressions. After a few seconds, the father asks: “Our son?” “Yes. Pivir.” “Ah.” I stand and, without another word, walk out of the house. *** The boy waits for me where we met. He sits with his legs crossed, head propped in one hand, the other throwing rocks into the water. He turns when he hears me coming. “So?” he asks. I sit next to him and stare into the river. “I’ll concede they do not act as you would expect.” “So you will kill them?” I grunt. “Killing is not the answer to every problem, boy.” “What else is there to do?” “Their souls were taken. The real solution here would be to retrieve them and return them to your parents.” “So they can be fixed?” he asks with hope in his eyes. “In theory, yes.” “Will you do it?” “No.” He jumps up and stomps his feet. “Why not?” “Because I wouldn’t know how. This is beyond my abilities. I do not do magic, and much less have any experience with souls.” Pivir stares at me, then sits back down and starts throwing rocks again. After a moment of silence, I turn to face him. “Tell me everything you remember. When did the changes start in your parents? Was it sudden?” The boy thinks about this for a while. “It’s been over a month... but I think it was sudden. Yes. I remember. They went to bed fine, and the next morning they were like this.” “Did anything special happen the day before?” “I don’t know,” he says as he throws another rock and watches it bounce on the surface of the water. “It was long ago. I...” He pauses. “Yes?” Pivir looks at me. “I think a man came to visit them that night. I’d forgotten about it...” “What was his name?” “I don’t know.” “What did he look like?” “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then adds: “Normal.” “Come on, boy! You can do better than that.” “Well...” A few more rocks are thrown as he tries to remember. “He was tall, about the same as you. His hair was short and black. That’s all I can think of.” Which isn’t much to go by. This could likely match half the men in the village, if not more. “Was there anything distinctive about him? A scar? A limp? Anything?” The boy’s head jolts up. “Oh! Yes! I was in my room upstairs, looking through a crack in the floor, and a reflection blinded me for a second. It came off an amulet he wore around his neck.” Now we are getting somewhere. I ask him to describe it. “It must have been metal to shine like that. It seemed made of silver, at least. And there was a drawing on it, of a crescent moon pierced by a sword.” I try not to show my concern when he says this. “Alright. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to help.” Pivir then hugs me, which startles me. I blink and awkwardly put my arms around the boy. It is uncomfortable... but also somewhat comforting. *** Over a thousand years ago, a man founded a new religion. He promised redemption and eternal life to all who would join him. Many did so because he held powers that convinced them he did, in fact, communicate with the divine. They named their god Uthar. And Uthar was not a kind, or patient, god. Uthar was demanding, unforgiving, and hungry. Oh, how hungry was he! He would consume anything offered to him—be it flesh, bones, blood... but what he hungered for the most was souls. A rare delicacy that was most difficult to obtain. Over time, the members of this sect became experts in the black arts and developed an elaborate ritual that allowed them to capture souls. But when they fed on these themselves, they discovered it increased their powers and made their thoughts clearer. That was when they became known as the Soulwraiths. Though they still adored their god, they would feed themselves before they fed Uthar. They rationalized this by claiming they could not properly praise Him if they did not feed on souls—for this alone could make them worthy of His benevolence. As often with religions, this one made little sense. Should their god not have been outraged by this? If Uthar was real, and unforgiving, should he not have struck them dead? Be that as it may, the Soulwraiths grew and thrived. And their sigil was that of a crescent moon, pierced by a sword. *** Knowing now who is responsible for this outrageous act, I have little hope left that the boy’s parents can be saved. Soulwraiths do not linger. They capture souls to consume them. Right away. There would be no point for them to wait. I do not say this to the child. Here, too, there would be no point. But I promise to help because I can. In my own way. The only way I know how. By exacting revenge. To find the culprit, though, I will need help. There are other realities beyond the realm of men. One of these is the plane of spirits. There is a creature there, known as Ythvir. It has abilities I lack. I take myself there, by twisting the fabric of reality and opening a path between both worlds. Its edges shimmer and twirl as I walk through. On the other side, all is dark and faded, almost translucent. My mind reaches out, scanning, calling, summoning... It does not take long before I sense a response. It echoes in my mind and grows. “I come!” And there it appears before me, the guardian of the gates. Enormous in size, ageless in years, and as wise as a thousand seas. It has no form, but a mass of swirling colors and a cloudy disposition. Ythvir stares at me. “It has been long.” I nod. “Yes, it has. I hope time has not treated you too unkindly.” “Or you.” I smile. “I need your help, old friend.” The creature snorts. “Don’t you always?” “That is unfair...” “Is it? When was the last time you visited when you did not need my help?” I think about this for a moment, then sigh. “I am afraid you are correct. Please forgive me, old friend. I should come more often.” “That you should. Apologies accepted. What do you need?” I tell Ythvir about the boy’s parents and the Soulwraith. “Can you help me locate him?” “I could, but I will not.” “Why not?” I ask in surprise—though I suspect I know the answer. “Because I do not involve myself in the matters of men. Nor should you.” “It would only take you a second...” “Do you think there have not been other mages feeding on souls? Shall you hunt them down as well?” “No.” “Then why trouble yourself? It will make no difference.” “I have made a promise.” The creature sniffs. “Well, that was a mistake. You should not have.” “Perhaps. But I have. And now I must keep it. And you will help me.” “Will I now?” “Yes. Because though the mages are humans, their god is not.” There was a moment of silence as Ythvir pondered this. “Uthar has little to do with this, and you know it.” “Do I? Who do the Soulwraiths serve, if not Uthar? If Uthar had not captured them under his yoke, and made them obsessed with souls, would we be standing here having this conversation?” The creature frowns. “I’ll grant you this point. Still, Uthar is nowhere to be found. We do not even know if he exists.” “Precisely.” “I do not follow you, Count.” “If he does not exist, does that not make him immaterial? And thus a denizen of this plane?” Ythvir stares at me. Then laughs. “Now I remember why I like you.” I smile. “Furthermore, if he cannot be found because of his nature, then should you not punish his servants in his stead? Is this not the way of the Guardians?” “Very well,” he finally concedes. “I will help you. What do you know of this man?” I give him the boy’s description, knowing it is not sufficient. However, with the timeframe and location of the act, Ythvir can find the unique energy signature of the mage I seek. Still with no clear sense of his identity, he can trace it to its current location. After thanking my friend, and promising to visit him again soon, I return to the realm of men. *** The man lives in an old mansion near a lake in Sudrun. I watch it during the day. I prefer to strike at night. He will be sleeping, while I’ll be stronger—for such is my nature. At the stroke of midnight, I crawl into the house through a broken window on the first floor... I’ll admit I helped it become broken. One must do what one must do. I move quietly through the house. All the lights have been off for hours now. I spotted the last window to go dark, and assume it is the mage’s bedroom. The stairs creak under my feet, but the house remains dark. I make my way to the room matching the window and slowly open its door. Though it is pitch black, I can see clearly—for such is my nature. It is a richly decorated room, with a bright red carpet, beautiful paintings on the walls, a large dresser, a table, some chairs. Against the far wall, across from me, is the bed. A man sits there, staring straight at me, with a wand pointed in my direction. “Who goes there?” he asks. I realize he is looking at the door, not at me, since he cannot see me in the dark. I must act quickly, before he thinks of turning on the light. He must have heard me on the stairs, but is likely still sleepy. I can use this to my advantage. In a swift and silent movement, I crouch and crawl closer to the bed... then slide underneath it. After all, why not? It amuses me to be, this once at least, the monster under the bed. The light goes on, then. I hear swearing from above me. “Where did you go? I know someone’s here! I warn you, I will fry you to a crisp if you don’t show yourself.” And how would you do this, fool, if you cannot even see me? Humans can be quite silly sometimes. All I need do now is wait for him to either get out of bed or decide he dreamed it all and go back to sleep. He rises. I see his feet come down and slip into his slippers. As he stands and walks cautiously toward the door, I crawl out... slowly and quietly. I get on all fours. Then, as he looks in the hall beyond the door, to the right and to the left, I spring. He must have heard a sound, because he spins and utters a quick Word which throws me back before I reach him. I land on his bed and roll off it just as he waves his wand. A bolt of lightning scorches his sheets. “Who are you?” he screams. I show him my fangs. “You are still asleep, and I am your nightmare.” He blanches. “Stop! I warn you! I have powerful spells ready!” “You must pay for your crimes,” I continue, undaunted, slowly making my way toward him. As soon as he makes a Gesture, I phase into the spirit plane. The new bolt goes right through me. I phase back into the real world and jump at him. But I land on an empty spot. The man is quick, I’ll give him that! Or perhaps, more to the point, prepared. As if he had been expecting someone to come after him... which is odd for one of his sort. I go through every door, wary and on the lookout, fully aware I have now lost the advantage of surprise. “What do you want?” I hear the mage’s booming voice resonate through the house. I pause. “Who are you and what do you want?” he repeats. “Your life.” “That’s not going to happen.” I continue to open doors. “I wish you no harm, whoever you are, but I cannot allow you to interfere with my plans.” The next one leads into a hall. As I step into it, flames shoot out from the walls. And while I don’t feel heat, fire can still burn my skin—and it does. I phase out, though not quickly enough to avoid the pain. It is possible to merge two planes for a little while—be physically in one, but see through the other. Though quite taxing, I decide to do this as it will lower further risks. My body cannot be hurt in one plane, if it is located in another. In fact, to the mage, I have become invisible. But I can still hear him. “Whatever your grievance is with me, it is likely a misunderstanding... If not, I will gladly make amends.” Amends! When it is blood I seek. Still, his words trouble me. Soulwraiths are much like their master: cruel, violent, unforgiving... this man’s discourse is not in line with this image I have. Could I be wrong about the sect? Or, perhaps, about this man, as he suggests? Or maybe he’s just trying to trick me... but if so, shouldn’t he be crying? begging for mercy? swearing innocence? Any way I look at it, it feels off. I pause and phase back into the realm of men. I have chosen a darker room, where he will not see me. “Did you, or did you not eat the souls of a couple in Gainsthorpe, five weeks ago?” A long silence follows my question. “No,” he finally states. “Though I did take them. But... it’s complicated.” Could they then still be retrievable? Was he telling the truth? How could I be sure? “If you did not feed on them, then you must return them to me. Do this, and I will let you live.” “I cannot. Not yet.” “What does that mean?” I ask, anger flaring up. Another silence follows. “If you’ll agree to a truce, I will show you.” I only hesitate for a second. “Very well. But this had better be good...” *** It is good. The mage—whose name is Nervshim—takes me down, underneath the foundations of the house. There, in a dark pit, floats a huge mass of swirling colors in the shape of an orb. It strangely reminds me of Ythvir. And, also like him, it is immaterial, its borders shifting and dancing. An indistinct hum resonates from within its form. It vibrates with life. While I cannot quite place it, a sense of wrongness emanates from this thing. It is disturbing. “I once was a Soulwraith,” he explains. “But I left after my former brothers, despite all my begging, reaped and fed on the souls of my entire family. They laughed at me. Said it was the price to pay to become a true believer. That I should thank them because it would free me of my bonds to this sinful world. They said I no longer needed my family because they were my family now, and that was all that mattered. Could I not see this? Truly, I could not.” I squint at him, then look back at the orb. “And what is this supposed to be?” He smiles—though it is a sad smile. “This is my revenge. I have been gathering souls, but not to feed on them—how could I do such a thing, after what they did to me? No, I instead placed them all here... in there.” He gestures at the orb. “I will soon have enough to draw all my brothers in. Once I do, I shall activate the orb. Such a mass is bound to attract them.” “And when they come, what then?” “This entire room is a trap. I set it up before I even started collecting these souls. There are many spells here, each one set to trigger another. It will destroy the house and all who are within.” I quirk a brow. “Yourself included?” He nods. “It is a small price to pay. Besides, with all my family gone, what do I have left to live for?” “What of the souls?” He shrugs. “My spells can only destroy material things. They are not that. The chain reaction will release all the souls. They will go back to their owners.” I ponder this for a moment, observing the swirling colors. There is anger boiling inside me, though I realize it is now directed at the Soulwraiths. I am outraged by what they did to Nervshim, their blatant disregard for human lives and emotions. This is unacceptable to me, who so wishes to be more human. How can they so dismissively discard what I so aspire to attain? They fully deserve this punishment. “How many more souls do you need to complete your project?” “Only two,” he states, eyeing me curiously. “Then I shall help you.” *** I don’t know why I returned to Gainsthorpe. Did I think the city deserved to be punished? What for? For not believing the boy? For not helping him? As if they could have done anything... Or maybe, knowing the souls would be returned, I felt it would be more appropriate to reap those new ones from here. They, at least, had already experienced this. The trauma was there. No point in inflicting this on a different community. Whatever the reason, I am back. With Nervshim, we wait for the night, then enter an isolated farm. I had seen a couple here after visiting the boy’s parents. They are neighbors. The mage brings out his wand and utters his Words as I hold the man in my grip. The woman lies unconscious on the floor. Her husband screams as his soul is ripped from him. I let go of his limp body, then watch as Nervshim performs the same process on the wife. Once it is finished, we turn to leave. Pivir stands in the doorframe, watching us with horror in his eyes. “You truly are a monster!” he yells at me before he turns and runs away. “Pivir!” The mage grabs my arm. “Let him go. He would not understand at his age. But he will, later. You’ll just have to be patient with him.” I want to scream at him that he has no idea what he is talking about. This boy is not just a boy. And if anyone should have patience, it is him toward me. Though, in reality, patience has little to do with anything. Have I not betrayed the boy’s trust? And what if I had come back here hoping he would see me do this? Could I really be so cruel? Was the darkness in me making decisions without me realizing its intent? Why had I chosen not only this village, but this house—so close to Pivir’s home? I yearn to be human, but can the monster in me be resisting my attempts in this fashion? By sabotaging my relationships—if you can call them such. But I say nothing. Instead, I nod, my anger bottled within. Anger at myself. “Let’s go,” he says. “We can activate the trap now.” *** Back at the mansion, we wait. The orb is complete. The trap is set. Already, the pull can be felt. Soon, the Soulwraiths will be here. “You should not stay,” remarks the mage. “If you do, you would die too.” I smile. “I already have.” “What do you mean?” “There is no life left in me. There hasn’t been for a long time. I am not of this world.” “Where then are you from?” “The Gleaming.” “I have heard that name before,” he muses. “It is a dark place dreaded by most mages.” “Rightfully so.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “How did you end up here?” “I was betrayed, then the usurper banished me.” I do not say more, for I do not like to remember. There is still pain in those memories, despite the age of those events. While I wait for the Soulwraiths to arrive, I wander through the mansion. Today, I find a small room behind a hidden door. It is a stroke of luck. I’d been looking through the books in Nervshim’s library. While leaning against a wall to read, something clicked. I must have pressed a lever that activated some form of mechanism, and a panel slid open. Inside is a small desk with a candle. It is not lit, but the darkness does not bother me—I can see just fine. The desk is cluttered with papers and books and writing material. As I approach, I see what lies open on top of everything else. It is a diary. I turn the pages and read. And as I read, anger rises inside of me. And as anger rises, the darkness in me grows. *** Many tunnels lead to the orb from the outside world. All of them have been made obvious enough for the Soulwraiths to spot them. And soon they begin to arrive, filing into the gigantic room, surrounding the orb with fascination. We watch them from above, unseen by the writhing mass. There are hundreds of them. They all attempt to consume the souls but only meet with frustration as safeguards are in place. Nervshim wants to be sure they are all here before he begins his incantation. But I know now what his true plans are. He lied to me. He does not intend to destroy them, but to rule over them. The orb can give him this power. If he feeds on such a large amount of souls at once, he would become unstoppable, and all of them would be forced to yield before him. I cannot let him do this. Both my hands rest on the skull-shaped pommel of my cane as I watch and wait. I must keep my anger in check. If I time this right, I can kill two birds with one stone. I wonder if some of the mages down there do not worry about the origin of the orb, not to mention the way it is shielded against them. Should this not give them cause for concern? And yet, they remain there and pursue their desperate attempts... There would be much to say about human greed. An hour passes, maybe two, before I see Nervshim’s fingers twitch. I wonder what he plans to do with me—especially since he now knows I am already dead. Surely, he must have prepared a trap for me as well. I will need to act quickly, before he can spring it on me. “Is it time?” I ask softly. “Almost,” comes his response. His voice quavers a little, as if he was contemplating doubt. “Are they not all here yet?” He shrugs. “I don’t expect they ever all will be. It is merely a matter of gathering as many as possible... I can sense two more coming now, from the northern tunnel.” My grip on the cane tightens. Soon the two mages in question emerge. Confusion marks their faces as they consider the assembled crowd of their peers. It vanishes quickly as their eyes fall on the orb, replaced by insatiable greed. Nervshim’s hands suddenly shoot up to sketch a Gesture. Even as he does this, I thrust my cane at him. The blade at its tip pops out just in time to pierce through the mage’s back. It goes right through him, coming out from the other side. I slide it back out and he turns around to face me with surprise and shock in his eyes. He tries to speak, but only blood spurts out of his mouth. Then he drops to the floor. But I do not wait while this happens. As soon as I retrieve my cane, I turn to face the orb and phase it out of this reality—along with myself. It is strenuous because of its volume and nature, but this is the only way I can proceed safely with my plan. Sadly, the Soulwraiths will escape. Nothing can be done about it, for there is no trap. That much was obvious from reading the mage’s diary. But it also included notes about how the souls are held together. And while I am no magician, I do understand the mechanics involved and feel confident I can reverse the spell with the help of the amulet around my neck. Placing the palm of my hand over its star-shaped surface, I voice the Words which will unlock the souls. I can feel power building inside of me as I speak. Channeled through the amulet, the energies spring out and the orb bursts into a million smaller patches of swirling color that shoot out in every direction. Within a few seconds, they have all disappeared. In their current form, they are not bound by any plane, so I know they will all find their way back to their respective vessels. Now, I can rest. *** Once again, I return to Gainsthorpe. I cannot help it. I must see him. Make sure he is alright. From a distance, I watch Pivir’s home. Hours pass before I finally spot him. His parents must have seen him through the window because they run out to meet him. The boy pauses, surprised. When they reach him, they take him in their arms and hug him tight, tears streaming down their cheeks. After a moment, they walk back together into the house. I stay there for a long time. Until night falls and the lights inside go off. Then, slowly, I rise, turn around, and walk away. I would have liked to go to him, to talk with him, to explain myself... but what good would this do? There are no excuses for what I have done. The boy is right. I did betray him. I was, and still am, a monster. Despite all my attempts, I cannot get rid of this darkness which gnaws at my soul... I laugh. Do I even have a soul? Perhaps this is why it is so difficult for me to become more human. But I will keep trying. Yes, I must keep trying. Want to read more of Varushka’s adventures? Check out: If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to forward it to your friends or to share it on social media. And don’t forget to like by clicking the little heart below this post ;) Thank you! — Text (c) 2022 by Alex S. Garcia. Header: royalty-free stock image and a picture of my brother, edited by me. — Want to read more free stuff? Sign up to The Sample for a large selection of nonfiction (and some fiction.) For free genre stories, click on the banner below.
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