It starts with a letter. Somewhere.. someone writes on a piece of paper. Worn parchment that had seen better days a pen being guided with no hand.

Let it be known that I am no monster.. that I am no demon. That I am r e a l. Or at least I was. Please let it be known that my intentions were not to see someone suffer.. to see those I care for suffer. I’d only assumed that my own passing would bring people to understanding that differences must be set aside in order to achieve a better result. Not all think as I do, and I was a fool. 

I died that day in my brother’s arms. I put him through so much pain and still he sought to allow me proper burial among my own kind. They took him from the world and sent him to oblivion. 

He came back and I.. was long lost to the throws of the dark. I lost my name, my face, my body and all that made me ‘me’. 

Experimentation at the cost of what..? The only beings i’d ever known to be ‘family.’ Now I sit here in the dark. Now I wait..”

The Page was originally signed with a name. It’s scratched out. The Page continues with a sentence.  Charise Dreemur. 

I saw him again.. saw the entire world again... Freedom and captivity.. over and over. What are you trying to prove..? Why do this over and over.. doing the same thing? Do you want him to suffer..? Why do you allow him to get so close then run...

Signed, The one who speaks when you call her name. 

The page trails and becomes a vicious scrawl.

WANDERING. WHY ARE YOU STILL WANDERING. JUST DO IT ALREADY STOP TORMENTING HIM

- ???

The scrawl stops. 

I shouldn’t have forced you... He’s gone again. The dark is trailing behind me and I can’t feel anything anymore. Not like I could.. but I could imagine. I can’t even do that anymore. Names and faces don’t mean anything anymore. It’s just dark. 

She invited me to speak on the behalf of those who watch. Of those who listen. I.. feel like something is different now. 

I suppose we will see...

Signed, 

               Hopes Peak Academy for the Gifted, the gods among men, the one percent-- our generations hope, is a tall and imposing building. It's structure is impeccable, as the delicately carved stairs and the walls within. All study, all fit to last years and years of wear and tear and students in the high tech science lab destroying precious materials, to the dorms where there were bound to be parties in those sound proof rooms.

               A prestigious school with a reputation of success. Of godly rights and ropes around that leash in other companies for their gain. Of tight lipped professors, clueless main course students-- pained reserve course farm. 

All success comes from ones misery. 

               It's business. 

               For a flower to flourish, there must be water stolen from the roots of others. As it grows, as it blooms-- it's grabbing at the sun. Ungrateful and greedy. Flowers like humans, they breath-- eat-- drink-- live. But weeds can look like the prettiest of flowers. 

               Weeds are the same-- but they're fast to spout; quick to spread. It looks like a flower, it acts like a human, but is it really either?

The same goes for an organization. A good intention almost never has a good outcome. 

               Everything falls eventually. You all should know that. People, cities, whole civilizations. Nothing lasts. So if existence was just binary, dead or alive, here or there, what would be the point of anything? --That's why you have memory. And the opposite of memories; hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.