There are stories of legends told far and wide. Spilled from the mouths of witnesses that have seen such legends destroy the enemy, seen them slay dragons, and conquer lands from terrible kings. People travel land and seas to see with their own two eyes these legends, to shake their hands, and praise them of their victories. The legends themselves allow these praises to stroke their ears, pat their egos, and forever grasp onto their reminded victories. But what happens when a legend or hero, however you prefer, turns the other way and takes not the path in which the writer foretold. What if. What if, they took another route or another way? What if, there was neither hero nor villain? This is their story. The story of a villain and hero in which their paths joined. Where who the hero or villain is completely up to the reader. It may also be possible, that there is no hero nor villain.

In the land of Va, there lived three kings in which all of the land was divided into three equal pieces. The three kings each ruled over their people with strength, harmony, power, and some even mutter the words "magic." It is believed that in the lands of Va, magic had once coursed through the veins of its people. Until the evil Ker came, stole all the magic of the land, killed the three kings, and declared himself ruler of all. He then changed the lands name of Va, into "Kerva" and made sure all people remembered its name. Nearly 20 years later, magic had been forgotten and lost. But remember, my dear reader, that even things that are "forgotten" may be remembered and sometimes even found.

Down by the valley in the land Kerva, where the river bends and creates an ‘s’ shape into the land, lived a young woman of 20 years. She spent all of her life creating imaginary swords out of tree branches, the trees her enemies, and the bush near her window as the dragon that terrorized the people of the village. She spent many afternoons and evenings, “training” for the day someone would come, find her, and see just how amazing and valuable she is. The neighborhood kids, would come around, making it quite obvious she was someone losing her mind. She had a shock of black, curly hair that was never brushed in her early years. Her eyes where the color of a blue, arctic ocean, with green, brown, and gold mixed artfully in her eyes. Whenever the children would come near her, they would call her “Mon the witch.” Due to her wild hair and even wilder eyes that glimmered with hope, and imagination. The children would bend over their rounding stomachs, with their faces red with laughter, and their mouths slashed with the chocolate they stole from the candy store in town. They’d point at her hair and twitch with laughter at how she resembled her crazy mother. She held her head high, allowing their laughter run past her, but when night fell and the sounds of her mother arguing to the wall spilled through her door. She let her mind travel to the cutting words of those ‘innocent’ children, letting them roam free in her hurting heart. She decided then, that she wouldn’t allow herself to be made fun of ever again. So, from that day forth she kicked and slammed all those kids into her hurt and made sure they felt and knew who, “Mon the witch” was. “I won’t let them hurt me, not anymore” she’d whisper as she peered through the crack in her door and watch as her mother sat slumped from drinking too much in a chair, with the fingerprints of men still carved into her.

As the storyteller of this tale, I want to remind you that many accounts of this story may be true or may be false. It depends upon the reader, you, whether you believe everything or some. I am merely the narrator and I share the tale, with the memory of stories I've heard throughout my many years.

Further on down by the valley, near the end of the bend lived a young woman of 21 years, who lived an extraordinary life. She lived in a grand castle filled with jewels, rubies, and emeralds. She frolicked in the various jewels and drank from the fountain of ‘youth’ or so her grand-mama told her. She was beautiful, with a long, slender neck bedecked with jewels, a head of golden, brown hair, that never seemed out of place. Her eyes were that of warm chocolate with specks of gold, and her smile was a dazzling one. There is even a tale of how her smile turned even the coldest of hearts into a mushy, bloody mess but that is another story for another time. Her name was, Belinda, and wherever she went, she made sure they always remembered her name. But who exactly was “they,” for her parents were known throughout the village as the minions of the sinister, Ker, and she was not allowed out, out of fear she would be placed in danger in the hands of their enemy. Ah, but what would a tale be, if there were no monsters, sorceresses, wizards, dragons, and goblins in the story.

To be continued...