Chapter 1 :  Struggle for Identity

Too many souls live in the present. I am not such one being. It took a heavy betrayal of trust, an unhealthy tryst - perchance inadvertently administered by my mine own hand, for the revelation to goal.

By then, I was in the state I am in now - stolid, cold, boiling with inward rage... an internal inferno consuming long petrified viscera.

Among my own kind, my appearance illustrates ill portent - contrary to the reaction of the uninformed innocents who embrace and harbor me.

When all is awry, not only do they attribute me no blame. To my extreme pleasure, they pity me with misdirected sorrow.

The masses are indeed colossal asses.

I am not undead or Nosferatu, but to claim I am alive would be a gross exaggeration even though for all intent it appears that way.  For your benefit,  I will admit that I could indeed occupy a single demesne with the undead and be devoid of discomfort or fear.

Like them, I live in the everywhen but I do not hide in the shadows. I am a product of Alchemy. I am simply... immortal.

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