it is often said when you live long enough you become the villain. when you live as long as she has....you notice things.... Patterns.... cycles.... always forward. sometimes curvy. sometimes fast. more oftentimes slow and gradual. an elongated molasses drop into pristine immaculate unblemished snow and just as jarring.
all merely blinks of an eye to her. Life merely dust on the wind. people mere blips on a radar. They're born, they live, they die. Most don't come back. But some do. Those that do always for a purpose. always the same personality. Always something other... never quite human... never quite right... Some get to choose; they're the ones that are closest to human. Most, however, do not. They come back more often. less human each time. Until there's nothing left but purpose. she was one of those. One of the first. Few, if any, are older. But what happens when purpose loses meaning? What happens when purpose is no longer remembered. no longer relevant. no longer fulfillable. sustained only by whispers. whispers of aww. occasionally of disbelief. always with a tinge of fear. Sometimes she shifts... animals are the easiest. though even then not quite ....right..... no words only sounds though also not quite...right. Silence is best. She keeps to the shadows. better to be felt than seen. Perception is scary and hard to fool. But she's getting better.
