Treat others as you wish to be treated. Such a curious saying, especially when you see how most of the world treats those who are different. Why, one might almost think they wish to be alienated. To be slandered. To be destroyed.
Back in those days, Zepar Blackthorne lived in a quiet village called Grimcrest. One won't find it on any map, nor any mention of it in history books. Tragically this is because it no longer exists. But it was once a beautiful village, surrounded by trees with mountains to the north. In Grimcrest, everyone knew everyone else's name–which of course meant that Zepar was practically infamous just for existing. Everyone hated him–not that he had any idea why, but to them, he was a freak. A mistake. A monster.
This is his story.
Zepar trudged slowly over the frozen ground. The snowfall seemed a cruel contrast to the black ash floating in the air. He breathed heavily, conjuring a bit of fire to warm his chilled skin. It'd been so warm back by the village.
'I should have grabbed a cloak before–' Zepar hesitated to finish the thought. 'Before leaving.'
He shook his head and kept moving, his light brown tunic clinging to his sweat covered torso. Zepar stopped, turning to look back at what once had been his home.
'No, not my home,' he corrected himself. 'My lodgings.'
The orange glow reflected in his inhuman eyes as he dropped to his knees, barely feeling the cold of the snow as he watched Grimcrest burn. He'd been calm–methodical, when he'd done it. But that was then.
Zepar grimaced as he thought of the apple trees that would never again be picked from, a staple of the quiet village. The only good memory he had of the place. A soft, genuine smile spread over his pale face as his mind briefly drifted to the annual apple festivals, the pies, the ales, the teas and candied apples. His smile dropped as he remembered that it was his own actions that meant those things would never happen again. That nobody would ever enjoy Grimcrest's signature apple tarts again.
Zepar laughed bitterly. "Serves them right," he spat, sounding even less convinced than he felt. He stared at the flickering remains of Grimcrest for a long time, something in him feeling that to leave before it was gone would be an even greater sin than he'd already committed. "I never asked to be born! I never wanted your pity! I only wanted–" he stopped, his voice breaking as he held himself back from finishing the sentence. 'For someone...ANYONE, to tell me it was okay...to exist.'
He let out a long defiant scream. The rage radiating out of him in waves at the thought of what he'd been driven to. The scream slowly morphed into hysterical laughter, laughter that just wouldn't stop as his mind struggled to make sense of the absurdity of it all–the hatred, the chaos. It was only a few seconds before hot tears began streaming down his smiling face. To anyone watching closely, it was clear that he had stopped laughing almost immediately. It may have looked like laughter, it may have sounded like laughter. But deep inside Zepar's shattered heart, he knew better.
He was sobbing.