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Luna's Journal, Page 512

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The page is yellowed and worn with age. Stray ink smudges and teardrops lay along the handwritten script.


‘Normally I can sleep through anything. Last night… well last night I didn’t sleep at all.’ It’s been ten years. Ten long miserable years. Ten years of pain. Ten years of fear. Ten years of being alone. Ten years ago to the day, I became the last of my kind.

But, that’s not where our story begins is it? No, this story begins many years ago. At first we did not exist, like all other sentient species, we were created by chance. A being of great power, even I do not claim to understand, decided he was tired of wandering the universe alone. In his shortsighted desire to rid himself of loneliness he crafted one thousand children from a decaying star. I, Luna Coronis, was one of those thousand children. For five years we lived in harmony, exploring the universe, watching life come into existence in our creators wake. It was in a word, magical. The thing we didn’t know, was that we were all dying. The thing about life is, you need a soul to sustain it. In his haste to create beings to relieve his loneliness he had not gifted us souls. By the time we discovered this flaw in our existence, it was too late. Once again, our creator acted without hesitation or forethought, we made haste for a planet in the galactic core of the Andromeda galaxy. To this day, I refuse to give it a name. There my creator did the unimaginable. He shattered his soul, giving each of his creations a shard of it. This shard of his soul granted us a fraction of his power, and his immortality. What I would not give today to rid myself of the terrible burden of eternal life. In the fallout of losing our creator we made something of a society. Of course, no society is free from turmoil. It took only fifty years. My brother, Mordekai, dealt the first blow. He had a dispute that came to blows, in the end the blood of our sister, Syierra, covered his hands. Our ranks reduced by one, war consumed us.

The initial blitz was hellish. Hundreds of us died within days. When the dust settled there was fifty of us left, and so we buried them. We buried our brothers and sisters, and wept. With so few of us left, we decided it best to move our separate ways. We also agreed to reunite once a year on this planet of life and death. The years passed swiftly as I explored the universe once again. Each time I returned to the resting place of my brothers and sisters, I felt angrier and angrier. Here I was, celebrating life and mourning death, with the very same beings that robbed me of those in the graves. It then dawned on me what I must do. I would hunt them down one by one.

The hunt consumed me. The thrill of each life I took drove me to the next. I became obsessed with death, obsessed with murder, obsessed with ending what Mordekai had started all those years ago. My sister, Nathalia, was the last to fall. I took no enjoyment in ending her life. To this day, when pressed on the issue I deny involvement. I honestly tell those who ask that she was murdered, yet I never tell them it was I who took her life.

And so here I was. The anniversary of her death. It was a simple thing to prepare for, the journey took little energy, and I would only be removed from my citadel for the day. No need to pack heavier than simple funeral garb. Taking a breath, and steeling my will I created the portal, and stepped through. The journey was instantaneous, I stepped in one side, and stepped out the other on that planet of death. My ritual was simple, I would spend time at each and every grave, reminiscing about the good and the bad times we spent together. The times we laughed, the times we cried, the times we brought pain to one another. Each memory was vivid, a condition I also regret. It would be so much easier to forget them and move on if I didn’t have to relive the memories each year. Finally after many hours I reach her grave. I reached forth to brush the dust off her marker, yet my hand wouldn’t move. I tried to will the dust to move, yet it wouldn’t. And then I collapsed. In that moment the pain of killing the penultimate of my father’s creations nearly killed me. I lay there, writhing in pain in front of that grave for what felt like a millennia. When I finally regained my strength I swore to never return. To do so again would surely only bring pain.

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