There is a sense that most humans have, but ignore. It is a sense of the Arcane, the Dark, the Foreboding. It is the prickle on the back of their necks, it is the black blur in their peripherals... it is the inexplicable fear of the inexistent monster in their basements...
As they grow older, they grow more adept at ignoring it. Sure, some relapse when senility comes, but most biofeedback it to death. So most don't know of their misfortunes following them around like a pack of dogs after a dying wolf. It can sense their weakness, but dares not attack until it is absolutely sure of their death. Humans chalk it down as a heart-attack, an accidental fall, a car crash.
The rest of us know the truth. Few humans Change and join our ranks... even if they did, they would not be safe. We're fair game for the stronger ones. It's as if our knowledge draws their attentions. The Seer goes crazy and commits suicide. The Were is sentenced to death by a jury of humans who have whisperings coloring their every judgement. The Witch is burned for suspicion.
We don't adhere well, those of us on the Edge. Peripheral folk are too mistrustful of each other to band together against a common enemy. I blame the humans who come to us with good intentions, only to seel us all out when their weaknesses set in. We try to fit in with the humans during the day, but the Night holds a different world. It's when our Underworld rises to the surface and feeds on the unwary and unwilling.
This is the Ode of the Predator and the Dirge of the Prey.
TempestuousSeas · Mon Apr 16, 2007 @ 12:28am · 0 Comments |