From the eyes of a child
If I close my eyes and think realy hard, I can remember tiny bits of my childhood. I remember endless days of sunshine and hours of running threw the forest. Beating drums and huge bomfires. I remember the dances my peopel held, the powows. I remember my mother, her thick golden braid, swaying as she danced with my father. She was white, he full ojibwa and cree. The tribe ad excepted her as one of there own. Tanyarit they called her, or simply Tanya. She was always beutiful to me. Skin dark as the native woman around her, blue eyes always spakling. She was full figured, not as small as she used to be, but she ran with the best of them. If not for her golden hair, and blue eyes, the other pale visitors would have thought her native.I have the figure and features of my mother, but the dark color of my father.I am Craothyo,littel Craya, the pale ones call me Christina. They give me a white name...they want to erase my native history. But heritage is thicker than beliefs.
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now
As a child I was innocent, not ready for the real world. To me nothing existed outside the village. When our village was attaked by the Spanish and Pale ones, my child hood fantisyland was imediently destroyed. I still smell the smoke of the fires, hear the screams of the children and woman.I remember hearing the frantic cry of my mother " RUN!Run CHRISTINA!". I did. I ran only to be caught by a Spanard. He draged me back to his camp, made me a slave, and took me away from my homeland. I traveled far accross the blue water, to his land, Spain. Then at the age of 12, he took me, to trade, to a country called England. There I was sold to a white nobel, her name was Lady Lilly Stevens. She was known by another name to...a secret one, an ancient one...The Black Witch.
Where has my heart gone
An uneven trade for the real world
I never did see much of Lady Stevens, and when I did it was always at night. She wore a long black cloak all of the time, covoring all of her face and body. The only way I could guess her name was by her voice, yet even then it was hard. Her voice reminded me of dead leaves, blowing across deserted lands. Sometimes like falling rain, and others like horrid thunder during a storm. When she sang...well you began to pray, after a while, she wouldnt sing. It wasnt that she couldnt, its just that, her voice..well its hard to explain. Like it offered hope, love, joy with one hand, and with the other it killed, destroyed. It made you relive your greatest nightmares, your fears. I still here it at times..always will it haunt me.
I want to go back to
Believing in everything and knowing nothing at all
I remeber the night I was called into her study. I didnt suspect anything, by now it was normal. Ither she wanted compant or needed somthing done. I remember walking into the dark room, looking around, trying to see into the darkness, then feeling a presence behind me. Turning I screamed as a frezzing hand covored my mouth and nose. I struggel, trying to breath. A gagging stench of rot filled my nose. I couldnt breath. Distantly I heard my mistressed voice.
"Struggel not, littel one. Soon you will be thanking me." I felt something prick my wrist, next to the magor vain. Flashing cold filled my i knew was darkness. Later when I awoke, I found out what she had done. I was a Newfoundling.
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
I was her student and prisoner for 50 years. During all that time, I aged not, felt not. It seemed I was a shell, a empty, living shell. Evryhting I was and had became was agianst all sanity. Deamons could not be yyour freind, ghosts could not talk to you, you couldnt go into the worlds of authors and make the charactores live. I could. I became lost in the worls my mistress, hell take her, had forced me into. I was a monster. A creature of the living dead. I paniced slightly when I relised I might end up decaying like my mistress, becoming a walking corpse, but then that only happened to the witches who angered the gods. IN my 25 year of immortality I met with the councul of immortals, named The Sisteres of the Wicca. There I became freinds with a witch called Carmen, also her sister Jessica and Alexzandria. They helped me on the rough road of Wicca Sisterhood.
Somehow it seems colder now
It was not untill my 122 year, did I finaly revenge my curse. I killed my mistress. I found out, yes an immortal cannot die or be killed, unless they are killed by there succesor. So I fought her, and easily one. She was rotting and had become careless with her magic. The task was simpel. After the deed was done I left for Paris, The City of Lights. There I studied under a famouse dancer, became her understudy. Manynights I returned to my littel flat, and wept bitter, burning tears. I danced untill my feet could support me not. I practily lived in the opera house, it was my sanctuary. When I danced for a audiance, I danced with my heart, my soul..like I still had one. Arching into a perfect Pas de Chavel, I let my tears of fire rain down my face. The white angel gown floats around my twisting body. The light gleams on the ringlets of my blue black hair... like a halo. How wrong for the monster I realy am.
Where has my heart gone
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
I dont know who this person is. Shes heartless, a evil deamon. She kills without a thought, a dark warrior. She is not me, yet somehow she is. I stare into my miror, looking at the body I once called mine. Not my eyes, these are cold, like ice mirrors. Not my mouth, this one spits ever cruel words. Not my hands, these handel weapons meant only to destroy. Not my feet, these carry me to places were only eveil lurks. Not my tears, these burn. Only my voice and my mind are still mine. I can still think like Christina, still speak like her. Yet at times the monster within takes over, uses my voice for witchary, or to lure cursed victoms to there doom. I dont want it! This is not me. ONce I was innocent, once I was pure, with thoughts of laughter and glory in my mind. Now what am I? Im afraid, I cant even answer that.
I want to go back to
Believing in everything
In my years of experimenting with this acursed gift, I found a spell to carry me to another world. I went. It was a wonderful place, filled with forgotton creatures and magic. There were Elves...oh the Elves. Like fallen Angels, a gift from the gods. I lay unconcious for many days in there city, weak from my spell. When I rise to the surface, I hear soft voices, see strang shapes in the hazy darkness. There is one figure, a man, that stands over me, like hes protecting my. He holds my hand, sometimes singing in his blessed tounge. There languege is beutiful. It flows forth like a river, gental waters. When I awoke from that semmingly endless slumber, the first face I saw was that of a male. He looked younge, yet his blue/grey eyes told differant. Sillver blond hair hung loose around strong shoulders. His skin was a glowing white. An angel..or so I thought. I later learned that he was Haldir, march warden of Lothlorien, The Golden Woods. In the breife hours of talking to him, he said he loved me.. had seen me in a dream, somehow knew I was ment for him. Tears in my eyes I told him he would not want me, I was a witch, doomed to a cursed life. He did not care what i was, but the other elves did. Agianst there Ladys wishes they drove me out of Lorien, into the wild. I lived in solitude for years, learning the ways of this first earth. Middel Earth they called it. One night, I dreamed of the world I left behind. Strangly I missed it.
Where has my heart gone
An uneven trade for the real world
I traveled back to my world, and proceded on living out my unending life. I journeyed from town to town, country to country, continent to bloody continent, all in search of final freedom. In the year 1911, I went back to my country, land of the Ojibwa people.
Away
I want to go back to
Believing in everything
Once agian I was alone. My peopel cast me away, called me halfbreed, a lying witch. An elder dreamt that she saw my, black hair free, dresse in white buffolo, soaring on an eagel. I was a bad omen. Evil witches tame owls, use threre feathers. I left my tribe, knowing sadly, they were right. I was a witch. So I am named.I setteled in North Carolina. No reason, just that something called me here, something. I found Carmen, and Miriah. Angel came. We were together agian. They had found an incantateion, to were Immortals could live and die like humans..but we were reborn. Like a phonixe rising from ashes. I took the spell. So I have lived, grown, died. Now I live as a 13 yearold, under false parents. But I remember my mother, my father. I remembe
.
Away
Where has my heart gone
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
There wil always be a hole in my heart. It cant be filled. I want my life back, my mortality. I dont want this powere, dont want this bloody CURSE! I can scream and you wont hear, im to lost to be found...heard..felt. My tears burn, my heart dies. My wrist throbs with the many stings of healing and reopened wounds. I want to love agian, to have children ,to die. No one believes anymore, noone cares. Hold onto me while you can..soon there will be nothing there.
Away
I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I live, i die. This painfilled cycel of my cursed life will never end. I will never see heavan or hell. I am a monster, fallen angel. Once I was...now I am nothing. Dont try to help me, I dont need it. Dont try to hold me, im not here. Dont try to fix me, im not broken. Dont try to wipe away a not yet fallen tear.
I still remember..
I can see.. i can fell. Evrything is so cold...
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