4 August 2012
I don't have a name, but people call me Shayne.
I don't have an age, but they say I'm as young as I feel.
I don't have any parents, but they say Satan himself spat me out.
I don't have a birthplace, but they say I'm a living piece of hell.
I don't eat, they say I live on the fear of my victims.
I don't drink, but they say I have a thirst for blood.
I can't see my own reflection, and I don't see faces or bodies. I see souls. They say it's because I'm a tortured one myself.
They say I have hair as red as blood, eyes as black as death itself, but then again, I wouldn't know.
I'm not an assassin, or a vampire, or a werewolf, or some sort of hellion devil, I'm a human being.
I don't know why I'm here, but they say I'm Satan's errand girl.
Yet the one thing that none of them understand, the one thing that they can't come up with an excuse or rumour for, is that I am soulless.
Soulless • Opuss № I