About a Transcended-More Than Just Human series-

Chapter One

Like most stories this one happened once upon a time, which is dreadfully inaccurate because it is simply impossible to have one story happen only once because the fundamental tool to writing is to connect with your audience and how do you do that when they have never experienced something in your story before? Even if it is wildly outrageous like being a vampire or a werewolf. The one thing humans look for in other things is a connection because nobody wants to be alone in the world.

-The Author

---------The Beginning-------

As I ran away at the fastest speed imaginable, trying to get away from the monsters following me at a lesser speed. But since they knew the territory better, they were catching up to me. The solemn tears I cried strolled down my cheeks. I could hear the trees and roots and other obstacles in my way as I ran go whizzing by. I closed my eyes and I thought of home. My escape so to speak.

My name is Zeva Barcoon but you may call me Zev. I was born into the name Jenica DeLorean in a small little village in the country of what is now called Romania circa 1827. Until I was fourteen I lived with my father and my younger sister Zaria, from which my name is derived, in a small but reasonable mansion in the middle of the town. My mother unfortunately was not around for me and Zaria to grow up having died in childbirth to Zaria, a common event in those days. As she lay dying she asked two things of me. Two things of a scared four year old, One I have failed terribly and fear wronged my younger sister to which it can never be forgiven and the other...I'm still working on it, with very little success and very much friction. People don't like dwelling onto the past especially when it is a shameful one.

My father had two wishes for his daughters as well, that they live happily and never have any worries. Which seemed at the time to mean marry your daughter off to the highest bidder and dote upon them graciously when in the company of others. He didn't care much for Zaria, he said she reminded him too much of his young love, which in case your wondering is absolute crap. Not saying my sister was not beautiful she was immensely so, but even when Zaria was not alive he never wanted another child after I was born. Not even a son to carry on his lineage.

I never cared for my father, he was always so...filthy. There was talk from some of the town whores that whenever he would visit them he called them Jenica, but he never touched me. But when a town whore worries for you and is worried about what is happening behind your closed doors, you're pretty much on bottom rung. It doesn't matter now, he's dead now, dead and buried in the same grave as my mother. He deserved no less my mother deserved so much better.

Of course though he never cared for Zaria doesn't mean he didn't spend an awful lot of time with her. When I visited them once after I was married, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him caress Zaria, kiss her neck longingly. I wanted to do something but I didn't know what to do. It was a wonder why my sister didn't kill herself. Instead she turned into an alcoholic at nine, a slut at thirteen and by then no one wanted to marry her so she did the only thing she thought she could do, she became a prostitute at fourteen. Though being in my shadow I couldn't say I blamed her. Someone can take only so much of always being compared to an older sibling. A flawed older sibling.

Though she did come to me, in the summer I was sixteen, she said it was all my fault. She said the stories about our father and his love of me were true, she knew because well, she had been there, to hear him call her by her older sisters name. She told me that everyone compared her to me as if I were so much better. I failed one of the two wishes my mothers had asked of me, to keep Zaria safe. I had failed Zaria and she hated me for it and she had every right and I didn't know what to do.

After her explosion at me she left and didn't return home. I had no contact with her until I had entered my twentieth year and tracked her down, though that meeting was even shorter than our last encounter. At only seventeen she looked thirty and albeit more worn than a thirty year old which is awful to say, but true. She was also harder, more world weary and street smart. I couldn't trust her. So for a second time I left Zaria to fend for herself and broke my promise to our mother to keep her safe.