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MidReal Story
Eternal Bonds
Anonymous
May 14
Scenario:Ethan:
Rare human (someone who can communicate with and distinguish supernatural creatures some love hiding in plain sight) turned into a vampire
Human name was Ethan Ashwood
Can see supernatural beings since childhood, but never spoke to one before.
Elanor gave him a charm to suppress his ability and protect him from the attention of supernatural creatures.
Was 13 when Granny Eleanor passed away after a long illness,18 when Dad Erik and mother Amara died, and at 22 his older sister Azalea died.
Azalea had two children before she died.
He met Keir, when he was 13, he was there every time to collect and guide the souls of ethan's family members
Keir is a Grim Reaper
Ethan is a Young adult who Have had lots of near death experiences throughout his life,eventually succumbing to and dying at age of 25 due to the "hunters" going after him and his family
After azalea’s death, ethan and Keir got close,he was the only other friend ethan had eventually Falling in love with each other
Create my version of this story
Keir
pale skin, skeletal features
Elanor
long and wavy, slim build, long black robe
Ethan Ashwood
slicked back, muscular, black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots
I was born with a gift.
A gift that made me different from others.
A gift that made me special.
A gift that made me alone.
I was born with the ability to see and communicate with supernatural beings.
Ghosts, spirits, demons, you name it, I could see them all.
I could see them when they were invisible to others, hear them when they were silent to others, and talk to them when they were unresponsive to others.
I could see the dead walking among the living, the spirits haunting the living, and the demons possessing the living.
I could see them all since I was a child.
And I hated it.
I hated being able to see what others couldn’t see, hear what others couldn’t hear, and talk to what others couldn’t talk to.
It was a curse more than a gift to me.
The full moon shone brightly in the sky, casting its silvery light across the land below.
It was a night that should have been celebrated for the blessings it promised.
At least that was what my parents and the elders told me.
But that night was not a night of celebration for me or my family.
And it would be the first of many such nights.
I was born on a full moon, the first and only son of my parents.
As a noble family in the Kingdom of Aluria, the birth of a son was a momentous occasion, especially one born under a full moon.
It was said that those born under a full moon were blessed with great power and wisdom, and that they would grow up to become great leaders who would bring prosperity to their people.
We followed the traditions of our ancestors, and so my birth was celebrated with a grand feast and a big party that lasted long into the night.
After all, not every day did a child of the Ashwood family come into the world.
But that night, I wasn’t the only child born to my parents.
I was born with a twin brother, but he wasn’t as fortunate as I was.
He came into this world as frail as a twig, and he didn’t even have the strength to cry.
My mother tried her best to save him, but in the end, it was all in vain.
He died only hours after he was born, leaving my mother devastated and my father tormented by guilt for not being able to save his son.
I never knew his name or what he looked like, but I knew that his death had cast a long shadow over our family.
And it marked the first of many tragedies that would befall us over the years.
The death of my twin brother was only the beginning of our sorrow.
A few years later, my maternal grandfather died in an accident, and then my paternal grandmother passed away from an illness.
My father died in battle when I was eight years old, while my mother died at childbirth when I was ten years old.
I wanted to believe that they were in a better place now, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were taken away from me too soon.
It was only after I grew up that I realized that I was never truly alone.
Even when I was a child, I was always curious about everything around me and eager to explore the world beyond our castle walls.
But as I grew older, I became more aware of the beings around me that no one else could see.
They were drawn to me like moths to a flame, seeking my attention, help and companionship when they couldn’t find it from anyone else.
These beings included ghosts who had unfinished business in this world and spirits who didn’t want to leave this world yet, as well as demons who enjoyed tormenting mortals for fun.
Despite their different origins and intentions, they all had one thing in common: they wanted someone to talk to them, someone to listen to their stories, someone to understand their pain and suffering—even if that someone was nothing more than a lonely child who was different from everyone else in this world.
They talked to me when no one else would listen to them.
They told me their stories when no one else would understand them.
Sometimes they would gather around me just to look at me or try to touch me with their cold fingers.
At first I was terrified by their presence and tried to avoid them whenever I could.
I would run away from them whenever I saw them and cover my ears whenever I heard them calling my name.
But as time went by, I got used to having them around me all the time.
I saw them every day and everywhere I went—when I was eating at the dining table, when I was reading in the library, or even when I was playing in the garden outside—so much so that I stopped being afraid of them eventually.
Sometimes they would sit by my bedside and watch over me while I slept; sometimes they would play with me when I was alone in my room; sometimes they would talk to me when I was lost in my own thoughts.
They were always there with me, keeping me company during those quiet moments of my childhood when even my parents thought that I was sleeping soundly in bed.
But I wasn’t always sleeping.
Sometimes I was awake, watching the moonlight dancing on the wall beside my bed, while listening to the whispers of the spirits around me telling me their stories of life and death, love and loss.
These beings were part of my life, as natural to me as breathing.
And I never questioned their existence, not once.
There were some days when the beings around me seemed to be more numerous or restless than usual, like the day after we came back from a funeral.
As I lay in my crib, I could hear the sounds of footsteps walking back and forth outside my room, the murmur of voices talking in hushed tones, the creaking of doors opening and closing in the distance.
I knew that the beings around me were not at peace, but I didn’t know why.
They never told me what was wrong, no matter how much I asked them.
Sometimes I could hear them crying or wailing in the dark, but their voices were always too soft for me to hear them clearly.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.
The room was too hot, the blanket was too heavy, the mattress was too hard, but no matter how much I tried to make myself comfortable, I couldn’t fall asleep.
I was feeling restless for some reason, as if something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.
I wanted to get out of bed, but my parents had told me that I wasn’t allowed to leave my room until they said it was okay.
So I stayed where I was, hoping that sleep would come to me soon.
When sleep finally came to me, it wasn’t the peaceful slumber that I had hoped for.
I dreamt that I was walking in a forest at night, with no one around me except the moon above me.
The forest was dark, the wind was cold, the ground was wet, the trees were bare, but I wasn’t afraid at all.
But when I woke up the next morning, I knew why I had been feeling so restless the night before.
I was born on a night when the moon was full, which should have been a cause for celebration in our small village under different circumstances.
But when my twin brother died shortly after birth, my parents and grandparents went from being happy to being sad in an instant.
My mother cried for days on end, mourning the loss of her beloved son.
My father blamed himself for not being able to save his brother.
My grandparents tried to comfort them, but there was nothing they could do or say to take away their pain.
As a baby, I sought comfort in my parents’ arms, but I found little solace there even then.
For even as they held me close and whispered sweet words into my ear, my eyes could see the ghosts of our family members watching us from behind their backs.
They wore their best clothes and their saddest expressions, their hands folded across their chests as they observed us with longing in their eyes, with sorrow etched onto their faces.
They weren’t supposed to be here, among the living, but they couldn’t seem to leave either.
My great-grandparents, grandparents, and uncles had all died before I was born, but they never really left us either.
I could see them everywhere, in the house, in the yard, in the fields, at the market, at the temple, their spectral forms blending seamlessly with my earliest memories.
The villagers couldn’t see or hear them, but I could.
And it wasn’t just them.
I could see all sorts of spirits and ghosts around me, following me wherever I went.
But as a child, I didn’t know any better, so I often tried to draw my parents’ attention to them, by pointing at them and calling out their names.
But no matter how hard I tried or how many times I did it, they could never see what I saw.
And when my father asked me who or what I was looking at, I could never come up with an answer that satisfied him.
“You have an overactive imagination,” he would say to me with a chuckle, ruffling my hair with his hand.
Overactive imagination or not, the ghosts of our family members would smile at these moments, their expressions filled with love and pride as they watched us.
Sometimes they would even try to catch my parents’ attention themselves, by making noises or knocking things over or moving things around randomly, but it was all in vain.
No matter how much noise they made or how many things they broke, my parents could never see or hear them either.
So they eventually gave up and turned back to me instead.
And when they did, their eyes would be filled with so much love that it broke my heart to look at them.
I wanted nothing more than to be able to show these beings to my parents and grandparents, so they would know that our family members were still around and that we weren’t alone after all.
But as time went on and these moments became increasingly rare, it soon became clear to me that this was something that only I could see and feel.
That these beings were mine and mine alone to deal with.
