This is her story. Her beginning, her journey, her end.

In this story, her story begins not at the beginning but the end.

Truthfully, it is not a story. It is, was, her life, and her life began at the end.

This is her life.

And she wants her life to ring free in all ears.

So, I will begin – with this.

A girl, at the age of 14, perished.

In a house that could barely be called a house. It was an old house. A rink dink broken-down beat-up house. As she lay in the old house, a young man looking for food sees her. This is her end, she knows it, but she doesn’t stop the young man from doing what he must. In her world, her kingdom is stricken with famine. Some of the citizens resorted to ungodly acts of cannibalism. The young man was such a person.

He feasts upon her.

It’s a gruesome sight.

His eyes are black, pitch black. His ribs poke at her when he leans over her for the first bite.

Chomp.

There he goes; first, the legs get torn apart so that she doesn’t even think about running away. Then stomach, you can see her intestines steadily slip out of her stomach. He ravages her body.

Maybe the young man didn’t notice because he was so hungry, or maybe he’s just lost all sensitivity to the outside world and others, but the girl was seething with rage. Not at him. He only does what he must, but at the universe, the world, her kingdom, her betrayers, them. They are the reason she is enraged beyond comprehension. Her environment, her very being, shakes with maddened energy. She wants to consume the world, burn the world. Fire. Fire. Fire. Burn. Burn. Burn. Hatred.

But with the second bite out of her body, her burning energy dissipates. She’s dead.

Dead.

Died.

Deceased.

Sparkles.

There’s a spark in the air above the house—a tiny spark, barely noticeable. The spark becomes heavy. Denser and denser, so heavy it drops out the air and grows. It spins about itself and gets wider and wider. It falls through the house, crushes the boy, and absorbs the girl’s body.

She’s gone. Disappeared. Vanished. Where is she?

If we take a step back, not just a step a leap, no thrust yourself into the galaxy and look. She’s still here, just not there.

Look with your eyes, and you will find her, beginning a life. A new life.

There she is.

Now she’s 11, living as someone new. In a new world, with new people, with the same hatred.

Let’s flip back to the start of her new life and watch her grow into what she is today.

In the beginning, it seems she was born into a prosperous family, a duke of some kind. Yet, the duke discarded her because he only wished for sons. Her mother was killed, and she was given to be a slave. It seems she understands her situation.

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Reincarnation.

But not in her own world.

From here on, she becomes a slave. She’s beaten and raped. Used. Tortured. But the fire never dies. When she turns 9, she escapes the slave trade, the fire has calmed a little, but it’s still there. Waiting for vengeance. Not once did she think she couldn’t get back to her world. She will go home and slay her betrayers; that’s when she will truly be able to die. But for now, she must gather her strength and find a way home. She will find a way home; she knows it because this new world is overflowing with energy.

Magic.

Now, let’s go back to the present. Currently, she is venturing across the grand world, seeking power. In the two years since she’s escaped, she grew immensely. Her aura constantly dripping, leaking out her body. With each step she takes, the energy around her vibrates and sings a song of death. A melody so harmonious it sounds persuasive. It speaks the words of death to anyone that might hear it.

She carries a broken sword. The broken sword is heavy and too big for her, yet she carries it anyway. She says the sword speaks to her, coaxes her to release the rage on this world. But she will not. Never will she wish death to thousands in this world. She may not admit it, but the beauty of this new world has changed her. It has slipped a piece of itself inside her and made a home inside her heart.

Years go by, and she becomes an all-mighty god of her new world. The new world becomes hers. People describe her as all-knowing, benevolent, omnipotent, strength itself. They say her broken sword lengthens when she activates her strength. Lightning envelops her body; the world turns dark, her figure shines brighter than the sun. Others say she eats up all the matter in the world for a second and uses it as a weapon, then restores the world after she destroys it. Many say different things about her strength. They still tell stories about her even after she disappeared. No one knows where she went. They say she died, or she got tired of taking care of this world. But she didn’t.

Look deep once again. Where is she?

She’s found a way, the way back to her kingdom. She steps into the black hole, she gets swallowed by darkness, and out she steps from the other side at the old house where she died. At the same exact moment of her death, she witnesses it all, and she walks, marches toward her palace.

She marches through the crowd of beggars and robbers with her broken sword at her side. No one notices her. She is nothing but a small ripple in the water. But with that ripple, she brings a storm.

Finally, she arrives at the front of the palace. She unsheathes her broken sword. With this swift motion, the dam breaks. The air screams, and the trees whip at her, begging her to stop. Her persuasive song begins to sing as she lifts her broken sword and slices at the building. With that singular swing, nothing happens, and she begins to march once again to find them.

She takes a leap across the planes of her world and lands in the very room they are in. They stare. Astonished. Confused.

Plunge.

She stabs her brother.

Slice.

She cuts her sister in half.

Punch.

She shatters her cousin’s skull.

With that, their lives are null, and the building collapses. Everyone else that witnessed her feat is in chaos. Screaming. Crying. Scared. Then she left. Gone once again.

We can’t find her.

Not anymore.

She doesn’t want to be found.

She erased her existence. The only thing that she left of herself was her story and a blurred image of her face in the minds of those that ever dared to lay their eyes upon her. If you peered ever so closely at this visual remnant of her, you would see her vibrant red hair and deathlike eyes.

And so, she was dead to everyone that knew her.

But what was her name? No one could tell you. For she never told a soul in the new world, and her name has since been erased from the minds of all in her old world.

But we do know that she lives in peace. Unrewarding peace.

She doesn’t deserve to live a peaceful life after she killed your mother, son. I couldn’t find her in all my years, so now it’s your turn, son. Find her and avenge your mother for me, son.

And with that, the father, the bearer of her story, dies. The son now carries his legacy upon his shoulders. His shoulders are heavy with responsibility; the weight of his father's wishes rests upon him. So, the boy does the only thing he can think of. He kills himself. Without his father and mother in this world to nurture him, how will he survive the ordeals of this world, the boy thought. He only ever thought of the stories his father told him as fairy tales. Her story rings through the ears of the boy as he descends into pitch blackness, and he dies.

The final listener is gone. Now how will her story be told? It can’t be told. So, she decides to descend upon the universe again, to start anew. With her new life, she has a son named Grendel, and she finds a friend. To this friend, she reveals a name. Her name. Her name is