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So I'm looking for some feedback on something. It's just backround stuff, a narration written from my main character's viewpoint as she talks randomly about her life and some of the stuff she's been through. And as I tell everyone, don't be afraid to be honest.


Though I gained some of the benefits of being a demon familiar, I could still get drunk. Medication, meant for human beings, still affected me. Touga and Mark believed that while I had some of the benefits of being a demon, like hardiness and fast healing, my metabolism was unaffected for some reason. I found that out myself, though, as I spent roughly two years getting drunk every night. That was before Touga found me. A couple years later when my grandmother died was my second suicide attempt. She had been my last link to this mortal realm, one I no longer belonged to, and that hurt more than anything else when she died. I slit my wrists with my athame, figuring a blessed dagger would damage my flesh better than normal steel. I woke up three days later, completely unaware of what had happened afterwards, to an angry Touga. It seemed I was more demon than human now. You could bless a bullet, but it was iffy sometimes as to whether it would work or not, and you had to do it to each individual round. However, a knife or sword or something similar only had to be blessed once and was guaranteed to wound demonic flesh, at least in most instances. It made our job a lot easier.

Slowly the depression over what had happened faded, though I still felt the outsider. Strangely, Touga understood. I will never forget what he has done for me. Nothing erased the knowledge I was an outsider now, though. It stuck to me like spider silk tendrils and refused to go away. Everywhere I went I saw what I used to be, what I used to have. It was soul shattering. However, it made me stronger. Something about what had happened so many years ago messed with some of my internal coping mechanisms, as I felt myself become harder in some ways, more resilient. The constant flow of death and blood my life had become did not bother me. I only thought about it on occasion, and when I did it was merely a passing thought. That is what my life has become, however. A constant sea of death and carnage. Looking at mutilated corpses, hunting down and killing things from a dimension called hell, my life was my work, and my trade was in death. I offered no comfort to the bereaved other than the cold comfort of vengeance, the knowledge that what killed their loved one wouldn't kill again. It bothered me that I was not fazed by all the death and carnage my life involved. I used to dream that I was not mortal, ignore the knowledge that one day I would be shuffled off this mortal coil, but now...the fear of death has become alien to me. I do not know if I can die, not anymore. If I can somehow damage myself beyond my body's ability to repair what has been done. I know I would have survived my suicide attempt even without Touga and Mark, because She whispered to me and told me it was not my time. The Angel of Death, the Reaper, the one who ushers us past the gate when it is our time, held me in Her arms and turned me away the night I tried to kill myself. It was not my first brush of divinity, but it was the most painful.

When I was training in the Order of Saints, I chose the realm of death. Or rather, that realm was chosen for me. Everything fell away from me as my teacher guided us through a meditation exercise to find out what path we should take and She appeared. The Angel of Death, The Reaper, the one who ushers us past the gate when it is our time, and named me Her daughter, the one to carry out Her will. The Goddess of Death laid Her claim upon me, and whispered Her words into my mortal ear. I awoke three days later in the hospital. I had been clinically dead for a few minutes. After that the other students wanted nothing to do with me. The children who tread in Death's domain are ill treated at best, considered to be a plague to mankind. Death's domain stayed a feared thing, and as Death's child I too was shunned by those who were supposed to care and understand. The isolation hurt more deeply than anything I had known up until then. I was branded as Different, Strange, Other, simply because Death had laid Her claim upon my mortal shell. We are all children of Death in the end, but few of us are chosen to be Her instruments. Those that Death has chosen walk a different path; I chose the extreme by becoming a hunter to chase down that which hunts us humans. I became further exiled, if at all possible, because battle priestesses, as I had become, are considered an abomination. They cannot deny the path, as Death will choose as She wishes, and to be honest a disciple of Death is best suited to that particular trade. Most who are Children of Death are lucky enough to not know it. Most go through their lives not knowing that divinity has touched them in such intimate ways. What was done was done, however, and could not be undone. So I chose my path. Once I graduated they exiled me, offering no aid, no solace, nowhere to turn as they did to others. I was not welcome inside their temples as I was little better than a blasphemer in their eyes now. That hurt, having the people who claimed to love everyone turn their collective backs on me. they couldn't afford the press I would bring, they said. An image they worked so hard to attain would be shattered by one like me, they said. It didn't stop us though, as few and far between as us battle priests and priestesses were. Those of us who do follow this particular past, however, are close. We are the only ones who know the other's pain intimately, and we are the ones who truly understand when the rest of the world doesn't. A part of me died the day I found out I was different from them, too. Not even they could understand after that. It was another nail in the coffin that sealed my fate. There was no turning back. I would see this through to the bitter end.

Just what you think; my strong points, my weak points, anything that jumps out at you, or should and doesn't.

Thanks. Yeah, I don't think I've even spell checked this piece as it was written in wordpad and not microsoft word (I am so spoiled now that I have a spell checker, lol). I just wrote it and sat on it for a while before going back to it. This piece is just basically a musing from the main characters point of view, so like a diary entry. I wrote it as an exercise to see if her character could hold up on paper, and to develop her voice and make it unique.