I do not know what to write down here. I was so certain of what I would put upon these pages before they were handed to me. Having the neatly stacked pieces of parchment stare up at me, blankly, waiting for my every word intimidated me.  My ready words and thoughts fled.

But I do not have much time left and these pages and bit of ink were my last request, given to me by a young guard still caring and innocent enough to want to distract me from my fate, so I shall not waste these! I will fill the pages, even if all that pours onto them is nonsense and ink.

To whom I write this, I do not know. I have no family to receive this. Perhaps they will just burn it, useless waste written by useless waste.

However, if you’re reading this, my greetings.

Now, let me begin my tale while there is still time to tell it.

Some years ago, a small village near the border of this kingdom was attacked by a beast known only as Darkfell, a giant black dragon who enjoyed destroying the village a little each day. One day just a farm, the next most of the shops in the town’s square. The monster dragged out the attack for several days, pausing just enough between attacks to give the villagers hope, to let them dream of rebuilding.

Finally, they pleaded with the dragon. What could they give to satisfy him, to please him enough he would cease destroying their homes, stop killing their families?

Cattle, to quench his enormous hunger?

Gold and jewelry, so that he may add to his hoard?

No, of course not. Cattle were such boring creatures after all, what fun would he gain before feasting on them? And what appeal could the jewels of poor villagers hold to such a dragon, whose treasures contained the gems of kings?

Instead, Darkfell demanded what all dragons are likely to demand at such a time.

A virgin sacrifice.

Darkfell told the village they had three days to give into his demand. If, by the third day, his gift did not await him by the outskirts of the village, he would destroy what was left of it. Any who thought to flee would be hunted down and slowly killed.

Or eaten. I suppose it would have depended on his mood at the time.

On that third day one young woman waited at the edge of town, while the rest of the village cowered in their homes, doors shut and windows covered. As if, if they could not see her, they had really done no harm. After all, it was for the good the village she be sacrificed.

So those villagers did not see her stand tall and brave while she awaited her fate, only to fall to her weak knees moments later while terror overtook her.

Her name was Ann, a plain name for a plain girl not much more than a child.

She was my mother.

Did you, perhaps, guess at that?

Darkfell swooped down upon her as soon as the sun fell beyond the horizon. That’s why they called him Darkfell, you know. When he came a darkness fell. He took my mother away, then, and kept her three days.

One week after Darkfell made his demand my mother stumbled back into the village, much to the surprise of the town. She was cut, burned, and battered so fiercely she was nearly unrecognizable. Her eyes, I was told, held a look of absolute terror and a touch of madness.

And in her womb, she carried me.  

I am the child of a poor innocent and a creature of the utmost evil.

So what am I?

When Ann returned to the village the people treated her like glass. In part because she was so injured Death seemed to shadow her, and also, quite simply, how do you treat someone you sold to save your life?

Like dirt, eventually, I suppose. Mother could not hide her pregnancy for long, and when she tearfully confessed it to one person, the entire village knew. Ann, who had saved their lives, carried a child of darkness in her belly. For that she had to be punished.

Let me explain. Darkfell was among a dying race. Creatures whose veins carried magic were being hunted and killed. Their bodies would then be burned and any ashes in result would be buried. Several years before Darkfell attacked the village a decree was sent among all the lands that all beings of magic be slain. Humans everywhere rejoiced and began the hunt.

So while the village had loved and been saved by Ann, it was their duty as good, human citizens to see that she be punished for the crime of carrying a monster. When said monster was born, it was also their duty to see that creature killed.

My mother, as you must have learned, was a brave woman. She allowed herself to be kept in an isolated cottage for three months. Every day the village priest would come and chastise her for her sins. She would be brought out and paraded among the population, who would scream at her, as well as throw stones and whatever else they could at her.

Three months she allowed this. Then, while being walked through the village she wrenched herself free of the men that held her arms and ran.

She kept to the forest and hid for several days, walking when she felt it was safe. Eventually, she came to a road and begged a ride of a farmer going to another town. There she stayed. She found work at an inn and delivered me just two months later, a healthy babe who looked nearly normal. Except for the dark scales that could be seen just beneath my skin and my purple cat-like eyes.

Mother kept me hidden for as long as she could. When I was older, and had to be let out of the room before people asked of me, she let my hair grow to cover my eyes and warned me to never trade stares with anyone. She didn’t let me wash in the warm seasons, so that the dirt would hide my skin, and kept me completely covered in the cooler weather.

We moved from town to town every year or so, in case people began looking at me much too closely.

She tried as hard as she could to protect me, and in doing so did not protect herself. She was killed by a drunk when she wouldn’t let him have his way.

Suddenly, I was alone; old enough that no one wanted to care for me, too young to care for myself.

Like my mother I ran, and like her I too was caught unaware. Some child, short enough to peer up into my downcast gaze noticed my eyes and told his father. His father went to the nearest lord, and now here I sit, in a holding too small for a dungeon. Instead, they put me into a small storage room.

They are no windows but I still hear the birds outside.

It has been several hours since I was handed these bits of parchment, sometime near dawn. At noon I will be transported to nearest city. There, in the largest area available so all citizens may see, I will be beheaded, just as the sun sets. Then, the people will celebrate the ending of my life.

I am, as far as I or anyone else is aware of, the last creature with magic in their veins. Once my head falls clean from my body, the people will cheer. My body will then be burned and my ashes buried. For days, I imagine, the celebrating will continue.

And many years from now my kind will be no more than a legend.

I have done nothing wrong in this life; my only crime was that the blood of my father flows in my veins.

So I ask you once more. What am I?

I suppose, in the end, it does not matter.

I have been judged and sentenced just the same.