15 year’s old. Just a toddler, dakotian wise that is. Not even a teen. That’s when It showed up. I was so weak before it happened. Before I was cursed. But… maybe I was always cursed, and it was just there, sleeping inside me.
When everyone found out they left… they abandoned me. Beat me. Even when I couldn’t fight back. I had no control what so ever of It. What was it? Why would no one tell me?
It was like a parasite. It was a burden to me.
If I had known that just at the still young age I’d grow to par with an adult. Like I hit an early puberty. Twice the size of before that I was. Barely two feet, now around four. Only at 18 years old in human years.
Why was this? The power that awakened before became tenfold. It became like a wildfire, born from a simple campfire.
What did I do to counter this? I hid it. I hid myself. Lied. About everything, my age, my origin, even my own name. I ran, far away from the place I called home. Why?
Because I wanted it all to stop. No matter what I did before, nothing helped.
They were all incompetent. Fools that saw only something to pick on. Like a vulture ripping apart roadkill, piece by piece. So bad that those worded attacks and gentle beatings turned to the worst kind.
Pure hatred within their strikes. I got lucky, Oh so lucky. Those wounds healed, but one didn’t.
The claws of a vampire dakotian were just as deadly. They dug deep, deep into my face. Three scars trapped on my face.
Two more years. Spent training to control this curse. Age 20. It gained a conscience. Voices. They sounded so sad, so furious. There were so many, but one truly held a conversation. No taunting, insulting, commanding.
Her voice. It was beautiful. So smooth. Restrained. Most of all persuading. Her name…
So kind, so kind despite everyone else in existence. Like she understood. I trusted her. Why did I? How could I come to trust someone so easily. After all that happened. I had no answer, not yet anyways.
My life had gotten better since running away. I had good reputation, a home. A successful job as a warrior. It appeared that I had mastered control over it. Or it was just biding its time.
Age 36, I had grown into myself somewhat. She Came along. Armata, a beauty. An Angel that attracted me, a cursed being. She seemed so holy. While I seemed like nothing but a demon, a demon in a child’s body.
Why has fate damned me so?
By now some knew at least a small fragment about my past, but not enough to hate me. Shun me. Thank the two mighty gods.
Both of us took a liking to one another. Staying close like true friends. Her eyes always void of judgment, that glare I would receive by all. A true smile, with feelings behind it. One only could ever smile like that at me.
Armata showed me the pure holy power of the Heaven Dakotian. Telling me about these stories. Her ancestors riding the world of all the evil. Evil beings called Shadow Dakotians. Just like her own power. Darker power. The embodiment of pure hatred.
It was then that I realized what I was. The power, the voices. The appearance of this power. It was all…
The cursed power of the Shadow Dakotian…
Why has fate damned me so…
I never told her. I couldn’t, not yet, or anytime soon.
Age 63, We became more than just friends. Lovers. It was true love, wasn’t it?
But secrets don’t always remain hidden. They bubble to the surface now and then. I stopped listening to Tarue, and more to Armata. That blew the fuse. My power returned full force, acting like a savage tiger that was once a tame house pet.
My secret and my chance at a family seemed to have been destroyed. Destroyed the moment when I was trying to fend off a gang of ruthless thugs. Trying to act brave and win her favor and her heart.
That form took place, throwing the innocent side out like trash. In front of the Shadow Dakotian’s enemy. It looked to be over for me. However the look in her eyes said otherwise.
So here I am, now a fully fledged adult. Living out what would be the happiest 20 years in my life, ever. But it was only meant to be 20 short years for me, for us...