Summary
There was always that one misunderstanding that can throw peace into chaos, one unruly judgment to corrupt the right of ...
~Intro~
To my beloved ones,
—¥—
People say that books tell a story that was forgotten long ago; that their ancient history would soon crumble beneath the weathering pages of an aging book.
Some would say that there is no such thing as fate and was written off as a fantasy story for children to read at night with their parents.
Most would say that werewolves were savaged beasts seeking the power of the full moon and kill under its light for fun; gaining strength and becoming more dangerous at night.
Most would say that vampires have no heart and feed off the weak for power and immortality to live for all eternity; killing the lives of innocent for their own selfish needs.
But everyone would say that dragons were vicious beasts. Craving the blood of others and bringing chaos through their fiery breath.
But they were all just written off as myths; made up in the ink-black pages of the oldest of books.
What's one thing they all have in common?
They're all wrong,
Humans may believe what they want to believe and nothing can change their mere minds.
If humans really saw beyond the crippled pages of a worn book they wouldn't be able to handle the reality of their childhood fantasies coming to life.
Their small minds hold limits too tight for their childhood fantasies to come alive. They would prefer to keep the supernatural within the pages of books and go back to life how it was, keeping mother natures talents locked away within the ripped, yellow pages.
But everyone knew what existed beyond the books of their fantasies. Everyone knew it was impossible and unbalanced to God's creation. So then they wrote new chapters in their books; telling of how the supernatural were monsters sent from the depths of hell.
They were right.
Fate. Werewolves. Vampires. Dragons.
They were all monsters in their own sick, twisted way.
But humans will never know how much of monsters supernatural really are. Only the crumbling pages of their weathering books will ever tell even the slightest part,
Of the monsters within. . .
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