Saturday, April 30, 2011

Hiding Something?

Before dawn, I saw Emily leave her dorm. She hasn't gotten up that early so far in my vigil, so alarm bells immediately went off. I followed her to the edge of a pond, where she removed something from her pocket and threw it out into the water.

She went straight back to her dorm without any detours. Didn't even see me standing just a few feet away from her.

I wonder what it was she wanted to dispose of? I'll have to check tonight when she's sound asleep. Can't risk leaving my post when she's awake.


Thursday, April 28, 2011


She left her dorm. She went to class. She ate lunch. She went to class. She met with friends. She's back in her dorm.

Nothing interesting about this woman whatsoever. Occasionally, she'll look over her shoulder, or cringe when she hears a noise, but otherwise she's a perfectly normal, boring, girl. Boring boring boring.

Maybe she'll do something interesting tonight. Like get drunk and run out in front of speeding bus. That would be hilarious.


The Mark

NAME: Emily Rivera

AGE: 18

SEX: Female

RACE: Filipino

NOTES: Currently living in California. Attending college and working at a day care. First encountered Master at work. Has sighted Him numerous times over the past month. Has never blogged or otherwise kept a public record about Him. Currently suffering from minor paranoia.

MISSION: Observation. Nothing more.


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Inside the Empy City

This morning Master took me to a grand city, constantly reforming itself and devoid of life. He warned me that should I see any humans wandering its streets, I should not interfere. We are the City's guests, and it would not take kindly to us messing with its food.

Master took me to the top of a sky-scraper, where no wind blew. Five figures awaited us there. A child with skin of cold diamond stood on the edge of the building, watching the City rearrange its streets and humming to himself. A woman carved from wood with a painted on face and clothes and strings wrapped around her body and limbs regarded us with blank unmoving eyes. Two young girls stood on either side of her. One smiled. The other shook.

And the fifth figure crouched behind me, and crawled on all fours into my view. He wore nothing, but he had no genitalia. No hair grew on his pale flesh, and knife-like claws jutted from his fingers. But it was his eyes that I was drawn to. Black and empty, like staring into a void, and yet somewhere deep within them I could see something uncomfortably close to humanity.

The Cold Boy. The Wooden Girl. The Rake.

The Rake seemed almost to nod to Master, though its movements may simply have been the mad twitching of a beast, and then it turned its attention to the Wooden Girl, a low growl escaping from its throat. The Cold Boy turned around to watch, wearing the smile of a child who had just been presented with a new toy.

I felt information pour into my mind as Master explained the situation to me. The Rake is a very territorial creature, and the Wooden Girl had been hunting victims in lands that the Rake had claimed. And so the Rake demanded compensation. Master and the Cold Boy had been called to bear witness.

The Wooden Girl nodded, and one of the girls with her-- the trembling one-- walked toward the Rake. All the while, her body shook and contorted, and her eyes were wide with fear as she struggled against the Wooden Girl's power. She could not have been older than 12. It reminded me of Crystal, and what the Archangel had done to her, and I was seized by the impulse to look away. But I forced myself to watch. That was my old life. Joey's life. I am Steward.

The Rake examined the girl, and sniffed every inch of her. Satisfied, he brought his claws to her stomach and tore her intestines out.

The girl opened her mouth, as if to scream, but no sound came out. I could see strings bundled up in there, running deep into her throat, cutting off her cries as the Rake brought his claws across her again and again, before finally he opened his mouth to reveal a row of fangs, which he sank into her neck, and then he pulled his head away, dragging her throat out with his mouth. Blood ran from the girl, and she no longer moved. The Rake let her collapse to the ground, and then he pulled her heart out and ate it.

We all just stood and watched.

Master nodded to the Cold Boy, and he clapped his hands. The four entities left, leaving me with other of the Wooden Girl's toys. This girl smiled at me. She seemed older than the remains that now lay strewn about the ground, though not by much. Fourteen or fifteen most like.

"So you are the Tall One's new pet?" the girl asked me. "What do you call yourself?"


The girl walked toward me. "I'm Charlotte," she said. "I have been serving my mistress for as long as I can remember. It's wonderful, isn't it? Being a servant. You don't have to think or anything. You just do what is desired of you. I do so love it when mistress controls me."

I kept silent. Charlotte stood on her tip toes and whispered in my ear: "I live to serve."

I ignored her breath against my neck and very pointedly refrained from looking at her. Master needed me alert at all times. He'd told me.

Charlotte shrugged and walked away. We waited in silence for an hour longer, and then Master and the Wooden Girl returned. As I left with Master, I saw Charlotte wave at me.

Tomorrow I will be starting on my first true assignment for Master. I must prepare.


Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Farewell, My Past

I have met the Blind Man. I found him in a library in some city in France. He looked straight at me, and kept looking even as he opened his book and wrote my name in it. When he turned, I caught a quick glimpse of the blank skin where his eyes should be.

I can't remember anything before my twelfth birthday.

My past is shed, and I am as far away from my own humanity as I am likely to be. I am now worthy to serve.

Tomorrow, Master is taking me to the City. I can hardly wait.


Monday, April 25, 2011

The Blind Man

There is a man who wanders through the libraries of the world. He wears a long black coat and dark sunglasses over his eyes... or rather, over where his eyes would be. His face is that of an old man, if not for that one missing feature.

In his hand, he carries a dusty old tome, and though he cannot see, he often stops to write in it with an old quill pin.

He is the Blind Man, and within that book he keeps his collection.

What does he collect, you ask?