Wraiths of the Past

**OOC: This is a thread intended to be written by myself only. Everybody is more than welcome to read it though! It’s essentially the story of Wraith and how she came to be. Enjoy!

Wraith moved from the balcony, her daily ritual of watching the sun set having been done. A cup of tea sat on the table she passed, cold and untouched. Sometimes she just liked to look at it, to touch it and smell it. It was rare when she actually did partake in the liquid refreshment.

These days she preferred something a little thicker.

Coming into her private chambers, she crossed the room, lighting two of the lamps in her path. She did not have need of any of the others that were there. She was a vampire and as such her night vision was excellent. She needed only a bare minimum of illumination for her world to become as bright as day. But she lit the extra lamp because she liked to see colour seep into the edges of her vision. She liked seeing her chambers come alive.

Crossing to her writing desk, Wraith sat before it and pulled from a drawer a single sheaf of paper. Since Erilyn had shown her a crude form of paper making, she had treasured the knowledge and had ordered more of the papyrus like material to be made. But the process was a long one and there were few people that Erilyn trusted to get it right, and so the paper making industry was still in its infancy.

From her desk, she also took a quill which she had fashioned from a duck like creature at the lakes. She also pulled a small puddle of ink in a small wooden bowl from the drawer. It was a primitive form of ink, mixed with a dark reddish ochra and dense charcoal. It was also mixed with some of her spit and the liquidfied fat of the 'duck' she had gathered her quills from. It was crude, and there had been many experiments but so far this was the most advanced form of ink she had created and thus far the most successful.

Settling herself into a more comfortable position, Wraith reached over and held the flame of a single candle on the dried ink. The fat melted and she mixed the resulting liquid with a small stick of charcoal. When she was satisfied, she dipped the quill in and hovered over the paper before making her first precised strokes.

I have been asked by the Lore Master, Akaron Corvus, to write on these pages an account of my history, the First and Caretaker of Illusion Vale.

I assure you that the following words are my own and as true as I can remember them.

Wraith paused, brushing the feathered end of the quill against her chin, luxuriating in its texture. Then she dipped it in the ink and bent to the parchment once more.

What I remember of my past life is a little hazy. To tell the truth, I don't remember much. Images, noises, scents - they're all in there jumbled up together in a tangle that I'm less inclined to unravel.

I do remember my name though. Before I took on the one that I have now, I was called Sarah. My last name, though, ecapes me. I'm not sure I even want to know it, to be honest. Remembering that much if my other life is painful and I would ask that no-one wish me to revisit that, please.

I suppose, to tell this account properly, I should start at the beginning. There really is no other way to say it other than 'I died'. I know that should I ever return to the world I was in before this one, that I would only be returning to a long dead corpse.

It was three hundred years ago that I thought I survived a car crash to end up naked in the desert. Those first few days passed in a daze. I remember only endless sand and blue sky. I discovered at night that there were two moons. After the first night and day, I figured that I wasn't on Earth anymore.

Earth. How long as it been since I saw that? Ah yes, three hundred years, give or take a few. The city lights, the skyscrapers, the television. I miss it all, and yet I miss none of it.

Well that would be a lie. I do miss one thing. Him.

But that is best left to another time. This chronicle is for my exploits in The Vale and how it was formed. And so, I continue.

Wraith sighed and closed her eyes briefly, willing an image of him to come to mind, but as more often of late, she could only conjure a vague image of a tall man with dark hair that rested just below his ears. She had a brief glimpse of hazel eyes before she lost that image too. The man wisped away from her mind and she sighed again, opening her eyes to stare at the wall she faced.

Blinking she looked out at the sky through an open window and her eyes widened. Half the night had already passed! How long had she been there, staring idly at the wall? And what had she been thinking for such a long time. She tried to recall, but though she shook her head to clear some of her mind, she could not remember anything after putting her quill down to think.

Blanks in memory did not overly concern her these days. They came and went - sometimes a haze of a memory clinging to her mind, but less and less did she have to come to and find her body covered in blood and her thirst slaked to beyond reason. It had been just over a hundred years since she had last lost control of her Hunger.

Blinking again, she realised she had once again drifted off. Gripping the quill suddenly, she stabbed it into the slowly congealing inkwell and began to write again, slashing the ink across the paper with frenzied strokes.

It wasn't until she broke the quill did she collect herself again. Visibly shaking, her fingers whiter than their usual pale glow, the quill snapped and spluttered ink all over the paper. Wraith gasped and scooped up the parchment, dismay in her eyes as she realised just what she had done.

Angry tears in the sheet were revealed as she held the page up to the light, her eyes able to discern the tiniest of imperfections in the paper. Her neat hand had suddenly degenerated into slashes and stabs and she realised that she had not even been writing. Just running the nib along the paper in an aimless but frustrated manner.

Frowning, she gently laid the sheet down again, off to one side and gathered another, blank page. This time she took the time to collect herself, breathing in deeply before dipping a fresh quill into the ink which she had reheated.

It took her less than five minutes to copy down the legible parts of her first copy - and she was careful not to let her emotions run through her so wildly again. Honestly! She didn't even know what she had been so angry at in the first place. Crumpling up the torn piece, she stashed it into the drawer and took up her quill again. She had to get at least a bit more done here - before she had to go out and Hunt.

Licking her lips, feeling the Hunger begin to creep up on her, she dipped into ink and placed the nib onto paper once more.

There comes a time when Time does not matter overly much anymore. For me, it came within the first year being here. I wandered for many, many days and only had the presence of mind to hide during the day.

You see, though I am now quite immune to the sun's effects during the day, when I first came here I was not nearly powerful enough. I was lucky though, I could stand the heat and the sun - if I was only in shade. I could not stand direct sunlight for too long, my skin would begin to burn and I would get itches and feel a sort of madness welling up inside me. I would break out in instant blisters and they would torment me for several days.

So I learnt to bury myself during the day. I had no idea then why I had such a sensitivity to light, but somewhere inside I recognised a primal urge to stay alive. Though I had no idea where I was, or what to do next, I latched onto that one thought. I had to live. If only to find my way back.

Wraith stopped then, rubbing her wrist absently. Jonah had broken it and injected it with Silver some time back, during the War, and she had had to literally claw the filthy stuff out of her system. Luckily had been strong enough to fight off the effect of the Sickness, at least long enough to get the silver out. Though it never really did hurt again, she could imagine the pain. Remember it and her body would react instinctively. Her fingers curled tightly around her wrist and she only realised what she was doing when she felt the tingling in her gums that signalled her fangs elongating.

Closing her eyes, she calmed herself down, forcing her fingers to unwrap and calmly placing her hands side by side, flat against the desk in front of her. Only when she felt her body stop shaking did she open her eyes again and take a long, deep breath.

Glancing out of the window, she peered down at the paper again. Shaking her head, she gently lifted the page up and placed it into another drawer. She was done for tonight. It was harder than she thought it would have been. Akaron had better have a good use for her painful trips down an extremely long memory lane.

The ritual of packing everything away and placing them all in their precise places helped her calm down and by the time she was finished, she was focused on her next task for the night.

Swirling her cloak around her, she raised her hood and stepped out of her chambers. It was a universal and unspoken code. When her hood was up, during the day, she did not wish to be disturbed. During the night, however, it signalled the beginning to her Hunt. Most people stayed away from her when her hood was up - night or day. Then again, some people stayed away from her regardless. Especially the older ones, the ones that could remember who she had been during the War.

She didn't blame them. She blamed herself, for not being strong enough. But that was another thought for another time. For now, she was hungry and it was time to Feed.

Wraith did not travel to her usual Hunting Grounds that night. Instead she passed them and continued to go, right through the forest and breaking into the desert beyond.

She would not return till the next night.