There’s a saying: Those who are alike stick together. But I seemed to be the exception. Family, friends, lover—I lost it all. Not because they died, but because I did. Or at least, everyone thought I did. Even me. Though I walk and breathe again, I know a part of me was left behind in that place. The part that trusted people, perhaps? The one that believed all things could be resolved peacefully? Maybe the part that thought everyone had a place? I’m not sure what I lost; I only try to focus on what I’ve gained. The awakening of my inner monster. And together with it ...freedom. When you’re betrayed by friends, when your teachers try to kill you, a child—an “easy target” just to ease the mind of a high blood kid gone mad for you’d stolen his girl—what you’re usually left with is a bad taste in your mouth. Often, that taste is your own blood. Hm. At least her lips were just as I imagined. If we were a little older, I might even say that losing my life for a kiss like that could be worth it. ...But who am I kidding? After losing so much, most people in my place would be burning with anger, thirst for revenge. Not me though. Not because I was some kind of exception, but because I couldn’t feel anything anymore. For a whole year, I was dead inside, bedridden by my injuries even. At first, those around me thought I’d never even eat on my own again. But against all odds, I healed. Alone. I fought my way back to feeling, to life. I’ve rebuilt myself, piece by piece. And now that I have my body and emotions back, I don’t see vengeance as worth my time. I have other priorities right now. I need something else first—a place in this world, a position of strength and freedom. When I’m satisfied with what I have and where I am, then I’ll settle the score. On my own terms. That's the whole reason why I came back from the dead. I want to live and die on my own terms, I want my life to unfold according to my own will.