When I was nine years old, she stole my parents’ lives. I still remember my mother’s smooth skin as she took her last breath, when it turned like a leaf through the seasons. Her skin wrinkled and withered until only scraps remained. Her black hair dulled and then scattered, as if burned to ashes. It was as if she was never alive, just dead weight. Three years later and now I’m one of many orphans in my village. I’m planning my revenge, but it’s hard to kill an immortal.
It is not just people that Lady Sybylla steals from, she steals from everything alive and growing. Some days crops wilt, other days cattle fall over,youthful and plump to less than a carcass in an instant. Food is becoming more and more scarce. The grass beneath our feet is thinning and I fear it will soon be barren. The stories of our village centuries ago make me cry at the thought of what’s become of my home and my people. The time thief, Lady Sybylla, is destroying others to survive, without thinking about the consequences to my people. I don’t know if she understands the damage she is doing, or if she truly has an empty heart. What I do know is that our home was once a bustling city where travelers came to trade goods. Only a small amount of us remain, and less will live to have children.
Lady Sybylla has only grown stronger as we have become weaker. She stays young for centuries as our life expectancies dwindle. I would hear the exhausted screams of those who tried to escape while I was still learning to walk. Those walls that once kept us safe now seem to twist and extend endlessly. Some days I watch her, acting like she is above the sun. Her large palace taunts me as our hunger grows. We watch her as she sits on her throne covered in silk pillows, with her conjured brown bread, fire-roasted poultry and fresh fruit beside her. Her right hand always sits wrapped around her glowing hourglass, and her eyes follow me, as if to say that I am next. One day, I swear I’ll get the time back.