She was damaged before she got the chance to feel whole, a broken child with a prophecy much bigger then she was and way farther than she could see. She was destined to die, and not in the way where every single person that you'll ever get to know or pass will one day die, but as in she was raised as if she was preparing her own funeral which her parents made it very clear that she was. It was her duty to die before she knew how to live, before she could define herself as a human being, before she could even attempt to understand herself. Her name was Bain Taylor, and like she was destined to die, I was destined to tell her fate. However, I advise you to proceed with caution as like most tales where someone is meant to die because dying is never fun when you know who it'll happen to. That doesn't go without saying that it's any fun when you do know who it'll happen to either.
Perhaps I should restart because this beginning doesn't feel right. They said that it would come to me as naturally as breathing does, but it hasn't, so does that mean that I am not breathing right? Or does it mean that for once they got it wrong, that this isn't my real fate, though as far as I know those are just stories. The more I try to write this story, however, the more I'm beginning to doubt if they really are just stories. Let me tell you this before I proceed: this is more than just a story. This is a life that intertwines with mine, and a source of all things good and bad. This is a story of the future. Shall we begin?
She was damaged before she got the chance to feel whole, a broken child with a prophecy much bigger then she was and way farther than she could see. She was destined to die, and not in the way where every single person that you'll ever get to know or pass will one day die, but as in she was raised as if she was preparing her own funeral which her parents made it very clear that she was. It was her duty to die before she knew how to live, before she could define herself as a human being, before she could even attempt to understand herself. Her name was Bain Taylor, and like she was destined to die, I was destined to tell her fate. However, I advise you to proceed with caution as like most tales where someone is meant to die because dying is never fun when you know who it'll happen to. That doesn't go without saying that it's any fun when you do know who it'll happen to either.
Perhaps I should restart because this beginning doesn't feel right. They said that it would come to me as naturally as breathing does, but it hasn't, so does that mean that I am not breathing right? Or does it mean that for once they got it wrong, that this isn't my real fate, though as far as I know those are just stories. The more I try to write this story, however, the more I'm beginning to doubt if they really are just stories. Let me tell you this before I proceed: this is more than just a story. This is a life that intertwines with mine, and a source of all things good and bad. This is a story of the future. Shall we begin?