I was only 7 years of age when i had my first look at what war looked like and what it could do to a family or person. The war between vampires and werewolves had begun a few years back but nothing had happend to my family because both my parents believed in peace and forgiveness not hatred and war.
Nonetheless, the filthy pack of werewolves that attacked my house didn't care either way if we were apart of the war or not, that didnt stop them from slaughterring my parents right infront of my eyes. I was seven for christ sakes, as you can guess i didn't take it very well. I wailed out in protest but following my fathers last plead, i ran from my childhood house out into the woods seeking help or just to be safe.
The tears poured from my eyes, blurring my vision. I felt the emptiness taking over me when i collapsed in a clearing. Curling up in a ball, I was too numb to realise that someone was picking me up and carrying me away.
