text: (WP) Of Monsters and Men They say that there is a subset of men who do not succumb to the temptations the sirens or even the harpies present. Men with hearts of stone and sand, slippery and cunning, killers with eyes like the blackest onyx. And my people have sent me out to capture one. To study, they say, to observe and see if their curses can be broken. Call me a cynic, but even the most powerful magic cannot soften the hearts of such stubborn beings, so far removed from their humanity they were closer to the monsters they’d set out to slay. Fear lives in my heart, a constant companion, but the vengeance I crave burns brighter than that ever could. For a single, fleeting moment, the night I lost everything comes back to me: the rusty iron tang of blood, splattered everywhere like so much fresh paint, windows broken and our rooms destroyed, and the only sound of my anguished, breathless scream. I snap myself out of it; out here, I cannot afford to lose focus. The night is cold and clear, and the stars stare down at me like so many bright, watchful eyes. The silence is broken by the thunder of many hooves; these monsters that used to be men are nomads, following the people that they hunt. I cannot hear any people up ahead, but my senses aren’t nearly as sharp as they should be. Despite my anxiety, I volunteered for this mission just before my nineteenth birthday, eager to settle the score. And no one had objected; I was but an orphan, losing me would cause no real harm, I thought bitterly. The village had never truly accepted me after the loss of my family; their eccentric ways had made them, and me, by extension, outsiders. So, the elders had no problem sending me out after the men who’d transformed something that wasn’t quite human or monster, but something more, something in between. I sneak along the golden dunes of the desert from a distance, watching, every muscle in my body preparing to spring. There’s a rustle behind me, and I whirl around just as one of them sneaks up on me, snarling its rage, spitting and hissing through thick, sharp pointed teeth. “Human,” It growls, its bright golden eyes gleaming with malice. I glance back at the herd ahead; this one must have scented me, even from this far away, because they are still riding their steeds, paying me no notice. I take out my dagger, the one enchanted with magic so my aim will remain true, and the long, serrated knife glimmers wickedly, the edge aglow with violet. The monster grabs me and snaps his teeth so close my nose almost comes clean off. I curse and plunge the knife into his stomach, but it’s like trying to gouge a wound into a boulder. His grip is like steel and I know if I move, he’ll snap my arm like a flimsy twig. Now I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, if I’m not ready for this after all. But before the monster can do anything else, a dark figure streaks toward us, hooded and holding bright, golden chakrams engraved with strange runes. A voice screams ‘Duck!’, and I do. The last thing I see before I lose consciousness is the monster, its massive body going one way and its head the other.