The Creators: Book One by

Had she been alive, her hair would be golden-blonde, her complexion would be subtly pale, and her figure would be slender, but well-rounded where it counted. Instead, her ethereal form was a light-blue hue, her hair was starkly white, and her form was a fleeting wisp, that barely held together in the wind. It must be hell for her, I thought, to see what she could have become, knowing the world would have been her oyster in life.

“Are you still going to Tera’s house tomorrow?” Angela asked me, her voice soft and fearful.

“What other choice do we have?” I replied, putting my arm around her, even though I couldn’t tell where my touch connected with her outline.

“Go to Drastin,” Angela said, “seek the guidance of a wizard.”

“We’re fifty miles from Drastin,” I said, “and we don’t have the coin for a wizard.”

“And you think Tera can help?” Angela whispered.

“They say she’s ancient,” I replied, “older than Towerhead itself, and she’s cheap.”

“She’s a succubus, Brandon,” Angela said in a hushed voice, “she’s where the old and dying go to spend their last days; if you’re that desperate to get laid, we can just spend the money on a whore.”

“She’ll take my coin as payment,” I said firmly, “she’d be run out of her den if she took unwilling men.”

“You’re ‘Crazy Brandon,’” Angela said softly, “no one would second guess her if she said you came to die with her. A young man like you might be too tempting a prize.”

“We’ll just have to take the risk,” I said, “we can’t keep living like this.”

“‘Living.’” Angela scoffed.

“You know what I mean,” I said, “we need help, or at least, we need answers. Tera can probably give us the latter; what’s happening to us can’t be unique.”

TERA

I smelled the young man before I saw him. I could smell his vigor, his strength and his youth. He smelled delicious, but I stayed my desires. I had created a delicate symbiosis with the townsfolk of Towerhead; they sent me their old and dying to feed upon, and I provided them with healing, and medicine.