Stellan Herascarter

Your name is Stellan Herascarter. Your favorite color is purple. You are 17 years old. Your pastimes include stargazing, reading, singing, and going to the creek near your house.

You live on the outer edge of a forest town with your mother, father, and older sister. You are often uneasy around them for reasons that you wish you could remember. As a result, you prefer to stay outdoors. In the nighttime, you like to wander outside and sing to the moon. Quietly, of course, but there’s something about the ritual that puts you at ease. Besides, since you’ve started doing it, you’ve had better luck.

People you know would describe you as quiet. Although you’re friendly, you’re somewhat withdrawn. This partially due to the distance from your house to town, and partially just the kind of person you are. It would be difficult for you to hurt someone, let alone kill them. You’re not very confrontational, period. Someone kicked you once and you apologized to them. You do your best to follow the rules and be kind, even to the point of hurting yourself, but you have a breaking point.

You are almost to your breaking point.

Most of the time, you find yourself alone. This wasn’t always the case; you used to know a kid named Emmett from the center of town. He came over often. To “get away from things”, he'd always say. You didn't ask what the things were, and he never told you. He never asked why you were usually crying, and you never told him. You’d run around in the woods together, playing make-believe and building forts out of sticks and leaves. It was a good dynamic until something happened. You're not sure what, and you don't think you'll ever be, but he changed. He was angrier, colder, crueler, and it all culminated in a massive fight. He called you a crybaby and you called him a jerk, and that was that. It’s been six years. You miss him badly.

Sometimes, you still see him in the woods. Usually riding bikes or walking with his friends. You two will make brief eye contact, then return to your respective activities. He’ll lead them away, and you’ll go in the opposite direction down the creek. A wavering sort of peace treaty. When he’s alone, the eye contact is longer, more intense, and says something neither of you fully understand.

On rare spring nights when the moon is full and the sky is totally clear, you swear you see a ghost. Long, curly hair, a heavy sweater, and a single yellow flower for a right eye. Whenever you see them, you feel… at peace. You can’t quite explain it, but they make you want to reach out to them. But before you can even take a step, they’re gone, and you’re left staring at nothing.

No matter what happens there, the forest is your home. The night is your guardian. You stay.