At first, it seemed innocent. It gave you things, made you feel good about yourself. You came to it with your problems, and it fixed them. When you asked how you could return the favour, it told you to be patient - that all debts would be settled in due time. That was the first time you heard it mention debts.

You've got Satan as your cornerman, or a demon in your brain. Or maybe the stars glow just for you. Regardless, you owe a debt to something much bigger and scarier than you'll ever be.

Death changed you. It took away your contemplative joy, it dulled your senses, and it left you impossibly hungry. That hunger is always with you, like a hum in your ears that swells and crescendos until you can't hear anything else. Unattended, it will come to dominate you - but feeding it may be just as bad.

There is a certain beauty to what you've become. Your gaunt body, its unnatural form - it draws people in. Your stark disinterest seems exotic. But underneath that disaffected presentation - the hunger, the hunger.

Ghosty ghost. You're dead.

You are beauty eternal. You are the darkness that everyone wants to taste, but no one wants to understand. It's there in your eyes, your carefully-chosen words, and your every gesture: you no longer have a soul.

Some vampire revel in that fact, their afterlife a tapestry of exsanguination and hedonism. Others hate the evil in their skin, solemnly vowing to a chaste and lonely existence. Either way, someone suffers. The choice is yours.

It was your friend when you had no others. It said it would never leave you, hurt you, betray you. It was always there for you. They said you'd grow out of it. They said it would disappear when you got older. They lied. Now you're making new friends. Real friends. It doesn't like that.

Everyone around you seems so willing to play the roles they are handed, to quietly colour within the lines. They've been tamed, domesticated. You're of a different stock. You've broken down the fence built to contain you. You've howled at the moon, and heard it howl back. The transformation is complete. This is what you were always meant to be. Wild. Unwavering. Alive.

Hunting is part of the family business. You were born and raised into it. You always knew monsters were real from an early age, because your own family told you so. You've seen things, done things. You might not be chosen, but you chosen this life, to follow in your parents' footsteps and fight the forces of darkness until your last breath.

You're one of the special ones. A sovereign beauty. You deserve more than the rest of this wretched world does. You deserve the will and worship of those around you. And it's not only because you're better than them. It’s because you make them better. Strong, beautiful, complete. They'd be nothing without you.

A higher power has given you a gift. Or is it a curse? When you've seen so many awful things that are going to happen and have happened, you start to wonder which it is. You have something special here, these visions. But how long before it starts to put a toll on you?

You try so hard to help, and to be good. But you feel like a foal out on the ice and the lake is ringed by wolves and your inner warmth makes the ice beneath you weaken. One of the best things in this world and not long for it.

Your family has strong traditions. You've heard stories about your aunts and uncles: some of the stories remind you of you and your siblings. You all have these little gifts. Maybe your parents even have a speech about it. One's gifts should be used, they say. And if one's inheritance isn't appreciated, it should be seized instead by someone more able to see the value. Someone more fit for success in the Real World. They have an expectation that, by adulthood, you'll be an only child. Either that or one of your siblings will be.

You see what most miss, passing glances that tell tales of control. You've been transformed by your aching desire for power over people. They're hard to acquire all at once, but you can win them bit by bit, piece by piece, string by string. What you've changed into - you're the kind of thing that runs the world. You don't have to be liked to be obeyed, or understood to be feared. There's nothing so excellent as the delicate flavor of power over others.

None of them would understand. What you have here, in this dark and secret place, it’s beautiful. They'd warn you that this sort of beauty is dangerous, like a raging fire. Well some things are worth getting burned for. Love has eclipsed all hope. And the dark has left you feeling beautiful.

It is so hard sometimes. No matter what you do, you always seem to push people away. Even when you don't want to, it can be so hard to share any piece of yourself...after all, if they never know you then they can never hate you for it. People just hurt each other when they get close...and the closer they become then the more it can hurt. Sometimes it is better to just keep to yourself...it's safer that way.

Safer for everyone.

Conceal...don't feel...right?

You're not a leader; you're a follower, a doer. And you're okay with that. It's just hard to find a leader that doesn't abuse your willingness to serve.

You're right. You know you're right. No one ever listens to you but you'll show them. You will make them rue the damned day that they ever doubted you.

The lies started out so small, so innocent. You told yourself they were necessary to keep playing at being a human. Cover your tracks. Double back on your trail. Mask your scent. Keep the human hounds confused so they never found you out.

But they kept growing, knotting up on each other like a tangled skein of yarn. It's impossible to separate one lie from another now. The game has gone on too long, and you couldn't unwind this mess even if you wanted to.

The only thing to do now?

Keep lying.

You didn't need to know your crush wants to date your best friend. You really didn't want to know that kid in sixth period kills animals for fun. But they're in your head and you can't keep them out. All their words and thoughts and memories, bashing in until you don't know if it's you thinking or someone else.

You just want the voices to stop, but you don't know how.

You tricked the poor kid into making a deal. What the kid didn't know was that the deal meant they had to vacate the premises and you would move in. The screamed until the final moment, but now you have control. This is your new car and you intend to take it out for a spin and enjoy the ride until you burn it out and need to find a new model for a new generation. Sure you have to figure out what the kid was like before so you can blend in, but it shouldn't be that hard. Right?

You feed off people's dreams and understand their darkest fears. But maybe some people deserve to wake up screaming. After what they've done, they shouldn't sleep so well.

You aren't welcome in heaven right now. You're locked out of its gates, and the lord isn't ready to take you back yet. He wants you to redeem yourself first. You've got all of his expectations and conditional acceptance on one hand, and all of your own might and desires on the other. Is it better to subjugate yourself to a higher power, or to live in autonomy and sin?

He wants you to redeem yourself. Will you?

In ancient days, your family held dominion over this world. They were powerful, deadly, and wise. At least, that’s what they tell you. But all you’ve ever seen is empty faith and crumbling dreams. You just want to live your life like any other kid, but they have bigger plans for you.

They say that there will come a day when the serpent rules once more. That once again they will swap secrets with powerful allies and venom with powerful enemies. But they need your help first. After all, what is family for?

At the edges of this world, just beyond the veil, there are colours that few mortals even dream of. Beauty enough to shatter any heart. The Fae live and breathe at the edges of this world. They keep a dusting of that magic tucked behind their ears, just in case. And the Fae are willing to share. They're nothing if not generous, asking for only one thing in return. A promise. Keep it, and the true beauty of the world will be revealed. Break it, and feel the wrath of faery vengeance.

Once you had it all. Wealth, power, station, the adoration of the people, love, magic. You were in your rightful place, at the head of the table, and it was good. Then it was all taken away from you, leaving you with nothing but darkness and the slow passage of millennia. Now you've awakened, and while the world has moved on, some things never change. You'll have your rightful place again, and you know exactly how to get it.

Not all monsters have claws. Some are made by just the right combination of genetics and privilege. You don't consider yourself a monster, of course. Are monsters so well liked by their peers, their teachers, their community? You have made a name for yourself, because of your looks, because of your talent, because of your brains, because you've been able to knock down others on your way to the top. You are on top now, but you have gotten careless. You have made enemies along the way. You don't always look before you leap. You've started to rely too much on others to clean up after your mistakes. Be careful, when you're on top, it's a long way down.

The world needs you. It needs someone brave enough to walk blindly into the darkness, and to shine a light for all the lost souls out there. They need a champion. They can't do it alone. There's just that one nagging worry, the one that rears its head at the worst possible moments: what if you're not good enough?

In every lock of hair, every furtive glance, every secret note that transfers hands during history class - there is an invitation. An invitation to be fucked with. Not that witchcraft is about fucking with others, exactly, but it's hard not to notice how utterly malleable the world is, once you know a thing or two about magick. Of course, a good witch like you knows restraint. A good witch turns a blind eye to all those invitations, and doesn't think about how sweet vengeance and control might be. A good witch is above that sort of thing. At least, most of the time.

Everyone around you seems to have it figured out. They flirt and joke and walk around holding hands. You don't have it figured out. When people look at you, you want to disappear.

Others' lives are just so fascinating. That's why you want to walk a mile in their shoes... and pants... and shirt. That's why you want to look out through their eyes, make a few promises with their voice and maybe kiss someone via those sweet lips. Look at that smile. You could be anyone.

The weight and crash of the water was your first home. There are times you miss it terribly, and raise your keening voice, and those that can hear are moved... closer. You have a removable pelt that you were born in beneath the waves. When you wear it, you look just like a seal. And when you remove it, you feel raw and beautiful. You're living on land now, far away from everything you've known; shocked by newness and possibility, burdened by longing and the tyranny of choice. The air moves fast over you. What do they call it? Ah, wind.

They call you frigid. A prude. An ice queen. Your friends think you're just too uptight, and you'd be fine if you'd just loosen up a little. Have some fun. Let yourself like someone.

But you know the truth. When you let go - when you lose control, even for a moment - you can feel yourself starting to change. The terrible animal in you is always roaring at you, always trying to claw its way out. And when it gets out, people get hurt.

And the worst part? Sometimes you kind of like it.

It really isn't as bad as you might think. You don't have to watch your weight, for instance. You can wear what you want and never get hot or cold. You never have to pee.

Sometimes you miss getting the ofrendas, but it's cool to help people out, push them along the right paths, without asking for anything in return.

Better to keep the truth secret, though. Your friends can handle you as an oddly perky goth. You're not sure a walking, talking skeleton would be quite as popular.

You never wanted this. You never wanted to be different or special or a freak. All you ever wanted was to fit in. To be liked. To be accepted. Maybe even to be loved. Was that so much to ask? You're not a bad person.

But they wouldn't let you fit in. They hurt you. Taunted you. Called you names. Exploited you. Betrayed you. They pushed and pushed and PUSHED and PUSHED.

They're all going to be sorry when you start pushing back.

i can See it sometimes, the staLker or whatever the fuck it is, out there at the Edge of the woods, watching me. al-ways watching with No eyes. stanDing there in that black suit, like a funEral director, but so tall, too tall. what does it want fRom m69742077617320737570706f7365642 0746f206c65617665206d6520616c6

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oMeone please help me, please mAke all this eNd!

They set out to make something from nothing. It's not clear whether they succeeded or not. See, it turns out there's a lot of grey area between something and nothing.

You're alive, but you’re not real. You don't have a soul. You don't have childhood memories, because you don’t have a childhood. You don't have parents; you have makers. And those makers forgot to give you a place in the world.

Torture. It was torture. In one way or another, you can't pick a better word for it. Now it's time for revenge - one by one if you have to. Even if they had nothing to do with it. Wrong place, wrong time and all that.

Where did you come from? How did you get here? These people aren't your family and you know it. The answers are out there, somewhere.

Three wishes. That's the rule. You always warn them: "Be careful what you wish for." They never listen. They never learn. They're too greedy. They want it now and they don't care that there's a cost involved. They don't care that when you grant them a wish, you're taking something from them to give them what they want. By the time they realize though, it's already too late. You've given them what they wanted, but snatched everything they needed. And then they come crawling back to you, asking for just one more wish. Some way to turn it all back...that's when you have them exactly where you want them. And you take the rest.

You didn't ask for this, and you're not sure why they gave you this assignment. You have to find The Chosen and you have to train them. Teach them. Guide them. And if necessary, take a bullet for them. You don't have much experience with this, and you're trying to deal with the fact that you have to babysit the person who is supposed to save the world. If you don't do your job right, the Chosen dies and you take the blame. And they aren't happy when you fail. If you fail, then the world gets a little darker, and you'll wish you died in the place of the Chosen.

You're toxic. Once someone is in your arms they can't get away. You give love freely, and take more than your lovers can give. Everyone knows that you're bad news, but they still can't resist you.

You became what you are because once someone loved you - and then they left you for someone else. Now every relationship you have goes up in flames. You can't help it.

Love hurts.

There are spiders and there are flies, and you are a spider. You are the weaver of webs both physical and spiritual, and while you may play the fool, you always get what you want...eventually.

Sometimes you feel bad. Some of the flies are neat, after all. Sometimes you want to help them. Sometimes you even do help them. But eventually you always come back to what's really important...how they can help you.

Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know. Because if you don't keep everything under control , especially yourself you're going to start screaming. And when you start screaming bad things happen. Bad for you, and even worse for other people. Keep it in, don't let them see and whatever you do, don't lose control of your emotions.

Last week at the prom, when the captains of the football and basketball teams were making out in the locker room while their girlfriends wondered where they'd disappeared to, none of them saw you.

But you saw them.

Yesterday, when the calculus teacher hid in the supply closet during his prep period and snorted coke until his eyes looked like a doll's, glassy and shining in the darkness, he didn't see you.

But you saw him.

Earlier tonight, when the nerdy, sickly kid everyone picks on lured the head cheerleader into a dirty alley, sprouted fangs, and sucked her dry, they didn't see you.

But you saw them.

Nobody ever notices you. But you can see everything. All the things they do when they think no-one is watching. And maybe it's time you started taking advantage of that.

Everyone wants to stand out. To be unique. To be different. To be special.

But no one wants to admit that being special hammers wedges between people. No one understands that the machinery of society runs smoothest when the gears are all the same size.

No one except you.

You're intelligent but common. You're a diamond in a turbulent sea.

If only the others around you truly knew your talents...

You're the one. You're the murder.

You're part man, part machine. You barely feel human anymore.

The purpose of your design is not to destroy but to protect and serve. You're not a cop, but you might as well be one. You could make a real difference in the world, but is it really worth it when you hardly feel a part of it anymore?

Humans were supposed to be the enemy. The ones who neglected and abused you. But who knew being one would be so much fun? They say curiosity killed the cat, but does that still hold true if the cat is not a cat anymore?