Bitter Seclusion

It's been such a long time since I've spoken to another, laughed with them, played with all the innocence only a child can have. So long.
(Creeping loneliness, eating away from inside)
Am I deformed? Perhaps, but surely it's enough for a child to overcome. Young enough, they have no prejudice. No fear of the strange and the twisted. 

The laughter. Am I hallucinating? Years since I heard it, instead of the bitter tears and screams I've become accustomed to. This time... perhaps this time, it'll be different. 
Laughter. He stripped that from me when he altered me, tore my innocence away. The snow was stained berry red with blood that day, the rich liquid staining my soul. 
Closer. I can almost see them, smell them. And then they are there. 

No parents with them; as trusting as mine were with me. I wonder sometimes what they thought, whether they searched and gave up. I knew I would never go back, could never go back. Ten years old and I knew it. 

Closer. They show no fear, and I know I was right. They're too young to fear the monster under the bed, aren't they? Too young to know the real monsters are what we become. 
(what we became)
And with a burst, I spring from the trees and play. 
What's that look on their faces? It's joy to have found another playmate, surely!
No. I know the look well enough from my years of changedness.
Fear, pure and unbridled. 

My back burns and I lose control. He's at the wheel now; the Lord of the Forest pushes me to a back seat. 
He used me. Used me. What an idiot I was to think he'd ever let go of me. 

For I am not alone. I will never be alone. He will always be there, with his monstrous branches and unreadable face. He will never let me be alone. He will never let me go. I am too useful for that. 

A Closed Mouth Tells No Tales

"A closed mouth tells no tales."

Isn't that what they say? A proverb, an old saying. In my case, it's not entirely true. I can still write, if my shaking fingers allow me to grip a pen and put down on paper my story. 

My name is long forgotten. I go by Epsilon - the creature that changed me has gone through five names in his abominable existence; Set, the White Emperor, the Drowned Knight, the Ghost and now the Lord of the Forest. Five names, five horrific monsters throughout history. Epsilon is the fifth Greek letter and I bear this name as a permanent reminder of my shame. 

When I was only a boy, I enjoyed playing in woods and forests. I was an avid tree climber, and I loved the smell of woodlands in Summer. 

Maybe I frequented the forests too much. Maybe it was that which drew me to his attention. In any case, all I remember is the forest leaves slowly turning black and withering, decaying. 

The day He found me began like any other, climbing alone. My parents were following a woodland trail. I was an only child. 

The next part I only remember in flashes. 

My laughter as I swung between branches. 

My laughter dying as the branch started moving. 

My fear as it pulled me along. 

My terror as I saw what it truly was. 

I will tell nobody of it. I still wake from nightmares in a sweat after dreaming of it. 

I would like to say that He took me away and I woke with these... Deformities. That would be a lie. I was conscious throughout the entire excruciating process. 

My lips were torn open, hundreds of tiny needle sharp shards of darkness piercing them and knitting them back together before a burning heat fused them as one, melting the skin and flesh underneath. 

My hair was stripped, replaced by bristles. To make me a better tracker, no doubt, yet it made the pain no better. 

The worst was still to come. He turned me round and with one movement snapped my back. All I recall is screaming and wondering why I wasn't dead yet. 

I felt the hot gel pour into my spine and coat my nerves. As it cooled and solidified, I felt tendrils invading my mind and whispering dark thoughts to me, talking of the glory I would win as one of my master's Altered servants. But I could only think of the pain. 

Set free? Only to be called upon for His bidding. Whenever He wished someone found, I could do nothing but respond. My body bent to His will, when He willed it. 

But I still had some will left, enough to escape. It was not as hard as I thought, perhaps He could sense my despair and allowed me to leave His service. He knew I would not survive long back in my old life with my changes. 

He was right. I did not even try to get that life back. 

He is my master whenever He wishes, so there is only one way to stop the endless, helpless killing. 

I must kill one last time. 

Will I die when I stab my heart? Or will I find that only black tar seeps from the wound, healing me, dooming me to serve Him for evermore?

A closed mouth tells no tales. A silenced one tells less.