November 27th
My name is Leyanne Cruden, I have graced these lands for what feels like an eternity, although compared to humans I guess I have lived that. I have persevered through some of the worst and best decades and now I find myself in present day, the 2020’s. I keep this journal wherever I go to record my thoughts and feelings, my memories, so that my mind can let go of the mundane yet never lose a way to reminisce because I have lived hundreds of lifetimes. I hope that one day all that remains of me are these memories and I would have finally found peace in death, although it seems unlikely.
I have practised in the magical arts since my birth to my mortal mother and always known I was different. I was born with a knowledge she never possessed and abilities that terrified her, terrified people around me.
My father was non-existent, a travelling high priest known as a Dru wit, but in modern times you refer to them as druids. Little is known about them, where they came from, or to why he chose to bear a child with a mortal human. What my purpose may have been in his design for me as a child, for along the way I have yet to find it.
I am alone.
Only one of my kind it seems and although I have travelled near and far in an effort to find others like me or even remnants of the druids, I find nothing but fakes and mimics. People who want to be what I am, who convince themselves they have gifts and powers, but when faced with someone like me they soon pale in comparison. Even among the immortal breeds, I stand out as something else.
Witchcraft is a dying art and those of you who still possess power have lost the knowledge to harness it in any meaningful way. Very few true witches of great power remain. So I have been forced to dampen what I do and limit it to appear as human as possible while I navigate this modern world.
The beings you were once so afraid of now hide in the shadows and the cracks out of sight. You have no idea what dwells in your world with your little fairy stories and movies about dark monsters you think stemmed from bedtime stories and folklore. I know better, I can see all that would rip your little world apart, yet I am untouchable. Nothing can harm me; I have been graced with a power that so far is unmatched in any realm of this little planet that I can’t even find a way to commit my own suicide.
I have researched the lineage of my father and find nothing to point me in any direction that may be of help. Conspiracy theorists believed they were of another planet, who stopped by to grace us with knowledge and ideology, but I find nothing to back this up. My powers seem to follow witchcraft in many ways, but then I also have other gifts which no witch has ever harnessed through no amount of conjuring or spell work. I don’t know what I am.
Here, now, walking among you in a small southern town in the United States of America; I have travelled from my birthplace in the highlands of Scotland many times, I have travelled the world and always find myself back here as though being tugged by an unseen force of destiny. My gut tells me that somehow, the something I have been looking for all this time is manifesting in the warmer climates and southern accents around me. My powers brought me across the sea yet I'm still searching for where I am supposed to go. I cannot shake the sense that I have missed that detail any time I have left these shores and gone elsewhere.
I’m staying in a small guesthouse run by a family called the Clairmont's. I have been here before, almost 200 years ago when this land was farmed by the Clairmont's of olde; I find it amusing to see the similarity in the faces that greet me now. How their genetics pass down reused features and colouring as though giving familiar comfort to those reborn into their new lives. My kind believe you will always return to something connected to you no matter how many lives you live.
I often wonder if I resemble the man who never stayed to lay eyes upon me and burdened me with this eternal life on a lost path. I know I never looked much like my mother or other clan members of my family name. I never knew him, saw him, or have evidence beyond my mother’s brief tales.
I reached an age of maturity along the way; I cannot say when I stopped ageing as I am not sure. I don't know if it was something I did to myself or something I was destined to always be. I look young, yet old enough to be a mother. I guess you humans would put me at thirty or thereabouts. I'm tall and slender and have dark hair that hangs down my back with light curling of the ends. I am of ivory skin and dark brown eyes with green flecks that dance like a ring of fire around my pupils.
I am neither beautiful, nor ugly. I’m average, considering the abilities I possess. I have a plainness that suits my longing to blend into my surroundings. Maybe I could have changed how I look if I was so inclined, but maybe I am meant to stay invisible and unmemorable as the druids faces seem to have been in artworks across the globe. Either way, I gain enough male attention on my travels, yet not so much as to be a hindrance. I prefer it this way.
I have a darkness inside of me that translates to humans as sexuality, if only they had the sense to take it as a warning to steer clear instead of flocking to me with hopes of amour.
I can wither plants and trees with a look, I can bring about a tornado with a glare. I can heal but I can also take life away if I see fit and I have a heart that can do either without remorse. I have no idea which path they would consider me to be on, light or dark, as I do not even know myself if I’m someone you would call good or evil.
I don't kill unless I have to, I heal when I feel compelled. I do nothing unless I feel like it. Emotions are not my strong point and up until now I have been happy with my solitary lifestyle. Taking on tasks from immortals when I feel it benefits the peace and sanctuary of our secret lives.
Don't get me wrong, I am no sweet innocent virgin. I have had companions in my past who taught me a lot about love and pain and loss. Those who followed me and did as I asked, teaching me about seductive persuasion.
I have never needed to form stronger bonds other than physical with men for what would be the point? Anyone who links a life to me soon withers and dies over the years and I am left alone once more. My last lover died some 30 years ago, and I have grown bored of watching it. He had grown old and tiresome and although he confessed to love me, I felt nothing but relief when I walked away.
I left him when he no longer appealed to me and years later when I learned of his death, I felt no sadness for his passing. I know I’m cold and unlikeable but that’s what fate gave me. I can’t push myself to have emotions I don’t think I possess and if I ever did, then they are so far in my past that I no longer remember them.
I think there is maybe a part of me that is broken inside and what I see around me of love and happiness never seems to touch me. Maybe this is how I am meant to be for when my purpose reveals itself maybe I need to be the one with a foot on each side of dark and light to be able to do what needs to be done.
Maybe I was created to be this way so when the hard decision hits, I’ll be the one who can make it.
The breeze lifted the layers of my lightweight tunic dress up in a swirling motion from my legging-clad thighs, twisting them in an uncomfortable way which irritated me. Always one to dress the part of ancient witch, with layers and jewellery surrounding my naturally slender frame and yet it can be inconvenient when travelling to different climates. I push them down in annoyed flicks, with my eyes closed and facing the sun, trying to remain focused. Listening intently to the sounds of my companion ravens in the nearby trees. The feathery friends are always a constant in my travels, my protection, my companions, but yet today something is notably different among their crony calls. Pulling me towards them with intrigue. A new voice among them stands out like a sore thumb to my trained and observant ear. A shrill, high-pitched chatter among the ramblings and insults of my birds.Jangling the bangles on my right arm I send out a gentle vibration across the ground and towards them
'Cora? Isn't she some damned little wild witch from east of the Rhine? She has barely the power to grow a fungus let alone trail the mighty Leyanne.' Rinny snorted, unconcealed dislike for any other witches in my domain. Her cute loyal love for me shining through.'Shut up, you're showing your age, Rinny dear. They don't refer to those parts as East of the Rhine anymore. It's Germany now. Not a particularly magical name but it suits the modern humans, I guess.''I am well aware, darling, but habits die hard when you pass a thousand years old, luvvie. I don’t know why they have to keep changing things when our old ways and names were perfectly fine.''Cora leaving the shores of safety to trail after me are a most definite sign that something is centering where I am. My skin is almost crawling with the buzz I feel around me and the energy in this place is heavy. Newark is meant to be some centre of earth point of interest from tribal rituals or some nonsense
By moonrise I’m back in my room at the Clairmont's quaint white picket fence house, drawing back the curtains as I unload my alter items from my wooden chest that I carry wherever I travel. Just in time to ready for tonight and all I need to prepare, despite being weary from walking around all day. I have to do this every month when the moon comes full circle again and I feel like this time is long overdue.I move to cover the table by the window under the light of the moon with a black velvet cloth to absorb the rays. My carved wooden trinket box, engraved with a pentagram, filled with my healing stones and runes that have travelled with me for a lifetime are laid to the left. My crystal ball, more of a sentimental keepsake from a Roma witch I met some hundred years ago and holds a modicum of gypsy magic is laid to the right. A black candle and a white for balance, both steeped in rose water and oil before burning, are laid to the back, standing tal
'Hunter!' I cry out breathlessly in shock. 'Oh my god!' yanking my phone from my pocket I punch in Rinny's number, fear gripping my heart in a way it has not done for almost five hundred years and breathlessly cradle it to my face, the blood draining and leaving me feeling cold inside. I’m not one to fear anything in this world, but this isn’t just some random man being scarred for life.'Hey up, what's wrong? Two calls in one day must be a record!' Rinny's cheerful tone suggests she has carried out her own moon ritual and is back in the sunny mood of a demon who has once again caged her darkness. I don’t do small talk and cut right to the chase.'I had a vision and then a talisman was left on my alter.' My voice is trembling, my hands shaking, as I turn over the tiny silver charm in my hand scrutinising it over and over. So not me in this moment, where my emotions are getting the better of me. I’m shaken and worried, two things I forgot I
December 2ndLeyanne’s journalIt's been a few days since the moon ritual, and I figured out my purpose for being here all along. There is a hunter awakening somewhere in this state and I have been drawn here repeatedly through the decades in anticipation for him. I guess Khonsu wants me to intervene in some way and has been trying to guide me all along. Not that I even know how to do that right now.I do not know what a single Hunter could do to the beings of our world, but my gut tells me that it's not good. For a creation five hundred years after the extinction of his kind I assume Ra the sun god has some major plans for this one and it wouldn't surprise me if he rewrites all the rules of what a Hunter is. I shouldn’t relax with expectation and my previous knowledge and expect something worse to prepare myself.We are so far from the origin of the Aztec's that I do not even know what I'm looking for
'Cora, I see you brought a guest.' I flick my eyes over the handsome stranger with tell-tale poreless skin in a flawless beautiful face. Ethereal and definitely not human in his handsome perfection. He has fair hair and I know even in darkness his eyes will be red. Normally they should glow in this dull light, but I sense something off about him.'He’s been assisting me, Leyanne. This is Cornel Gabor, he is from the ancestral line of Romanian vampires and has been my companion for a while.' Cora seems shy and although darkness conceals it, I can sense her blushing. A coy young girl feel to her vibe and I immediately assume she has a crush on her Vampire sidekick.I smile politely, not surprised by this revelation and already sensing what he was from afar. I deal with vampires a lot in recent decades, given they are still an organised and rather charming breed who often require assistance in the mundane. Not being able to conceal what they are among humans means t
'How do we do that?' Cornel finally quips in, no hint of confusion on his face, suggesting he also knows what hunters are and it's then I notice the sway in his movements and his trembling hands, possible dizziness as he’s sat fire gazing quietly. Vampires have impeccably steady hands and almost steel postures normally; this one is fading fast and not in a good condition.'When did you last feed on human blood?' I ignore his question with one of my own. “Don’t you have your tribute travel with you?” I frown at him, unsure why an ancestral would leave home without their gifted human that meets their feeding needs. It’s unheard of not to have access to human blood regularly. Tributes dedicate their life to serving Vampiric masters treating it as a great honour.Cora flashes a look at Cornel in minor surprise and a fleeting look of concern once more graces her face. A hint of guilt and a high blush forming on her cheekbones which sugges
8I chant out loudly, the candles going out one by one in succession around us as though a puff is wafted in succession, followed by the fire. A second of darkness before all explode back to light with a combustive boom that creates tiny sparkles around the room. Like pouring lighter fuel onto a tiny ember of a flame and igniting a volcano eruption of light.Cornel jumps to his feet in alarm, crying out in anguished pain like a dying animal, his body stiffening and twisting as he fights the internal agony. He grasps his heart with both hands, clutching at his chest as though to claw out what it is I am causing, before falling to the ground in a heap. Slumping down in a heavy unceremonious clatter into a deadweight of non-motion. I watch, undeterred and unaffected as he lays groaning and writhing, just as Cora returns, cradling the vial and bloodied dagger against her bosom, eyes wide as though she’s still reeling from what I made her do.She gasps at the s