The Real Villian

A Story by Caitlynn

Who are you? Are you the Villian? The hero without a cause? The traitor, or the coward? Maybe your nothing, an invisible spector, a puppet with no strings. Who are you, in your own story?

Let's begin:

Ah, subject thirty six, you're finally here. Good, than we can begin. I must tell you, I didn't think you would show. But you did, so let's get on with it. Let's start out, with a story. You might recognize it, it is your story after all. I'm just the one telling it. You remember, don't you? When you met the four legendary heroes, or rather, the them before they changed. Ah, yes, what a group you must of made.

You had the coward. Such a sweet, fragile thing. Running from her own past. What was her name again? I forgotten, oh yes, Willow. Her eyes always did seem to shine, didn't they? Her words always fell from her mouth, quite ungrateful if I must say. How did it feel, when she died? You were there, weren't you? She pleaded and cried, her tears like crystals. You remember don't you, you are the one that killed her. In both body, and soul.

Oh, then there was the hero. Such a courageous lad. More brawn than brain. So typical, he had dreams, and ambitious. Did you feel bad, crushing his hopes? He had so much trust in you. So much hope. Don't you remember him calling out to you, as the fire raged on, and you turned away. Were you ashamed? Heartbroken? The look in your eyes, the tears shining like diamonds. Your name was the last thing he ever said.

Oh, and we mustn't forget the dreamer. Oh yes, weren't you in love with him? His ideals, his passion for life. Oh yes, he was like a bird, always flying towards better horizons. And you my darling, were his cage, you captured him, tamed him, and your fire, your hatred, burned him alive. He died fighting. For you, his own ideals. He died, thinking you were an angel. He never knew that you were the reason he lost his life.

Ah yes, we can't forget your best friend. Such a lovely little temptress. You were always jealous of her, were you not? She was elegant, sweet, and of course graceful. Did you cry for her, when you stabbed her in the back? She gave her life for you, betrayed her own kind, her home, and yet you used her. You stabbed her. Did you really cry? Or were you really happy when she was gone? One less competition.

Yes, my dear subject. You know the story all too well. You were, after all, the traitor. You burned your friends. And you killed the part of you, that ever had a heart. How does it feel, to betray all those that loved you?