I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t sitting and waiting to hear the sounds of running feet up the walkway or the screams and whistles of men coming to drag me out the door. Ten times a day I take a look up to the mountains and think what a wonderful life it might be to live under the open sky, looking up at the clouds as they pass me by as the breeze passes through the trees causing them to sway. There I’ll be able to hear the creaking of branches brush against each. Their leaves bright with the color of emerald green. 

The last time I left the city of Larion, was a desperate time. I can always remember the fear of being chased so vividly in dreams that I wake up in sweat, press my back against the wall and listen for the sound of pursuit that will never come. The rhythmic clacking of wheels of horse drawn carts in the cobblestone streets eventually putting me back to sleep. 

My days always begin the same. They begin in a small bedroom on the second floor of an in called “The Witch’s Backdoor”. It’s an inn on the outskirts of Larion, in one of the desolate suburbs of the poor district of the city. A lot of men and women down on their luck end up here due to various reasons but their faces always look the same. A worn and torn look of despair only matched by the make of their clothes hanging from their bony frames.

Subtly I always exit from the backdoor of the inn to not draw much attention because I had found myself employment further into the city, about an hours walk away but worth every penny. It paid for my room, and a small bowl of soup every night. For someone who was born like me that was a high life of riches beyond our wildest dreams and I found myself lucky. 

My father was a man of few words but he knew how to protect, if nothing else. For we were of the race known as doppelgänger in the common speech of this city. We have the ability to transform into anyone we choose regardless of race. We were once a very proud species, and were prized as our role for being the royal body guards. We were, what my father used to call, the true guard of the royal capital. Our race were assassins on behalf of the king, sent out to the four corners of the realm to eliminate the conspiring thieves of our kind and other races hoping for power and treasure. We’d some times be sent out to the ends of the nine realms to get rid of political opponents and end wars. There was always pride in my father’s stories. 

40 years ago before I was born came the dark night. It was the night my grandparents woke up to find a sword to their throats or their homes on fire with no way to escape. My father was a boy at the time and was barely able to escape. He ran out the back door and found a crowd of onlookers. Without being seen he transformed into one of the children in the crowd and stood there and watched as his home was burned down. He watched as the escaping members of our race were shot by arrows or thrown into carts and dragged away to never be seen again. 

He eventually came to escape into an outlying village where he created a life for himself away from the fear of being taken but he could always remember the death of the rest of our family, our culture, our life. That was where he met my mother, Ria. He described her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, as she danced among the flowers and leaves. He said her voice used to make the birds sing and always smiled remembering her sun kissed hair and her eyes the depths of blue water. 

Their courtship lasted a year and he was able to marry her that spring. It was the happiest day of his life. The stories he told me of the simple life that they had together always made my eyes water. Nine months after they were married she started showing signs of being pregnant. He would hold her by the fire and sing songs to her belly. They were waiting for me to be born and he would say, “every day was a dream.” 

The day of my birth changed everything for him. As I was not born a human child like he had hoped but as a doppelgänger child and our bodies are not the same. That was the day my mother, Ria, found out my father’s true heritage. She threw me to the side and through excruciating pain got out of bed and went looking for a warden to come and get us. Regardless of my father’s pleas she walked out the door. He grabbed what clothes he had on, wrapped me in his shirt and ran from their home, never to see it again. 

That was the day the began our pursuit. Every day, my father would carry me from town to town begging for money or stealing what he could to keep us fed. After the age of three, I was finally able to transform myself and life became a little easier then. That was when I truly learned my name, Mara. 

We continued to travel from town to town, year after year. Things were difficult but we had each other. On my 18th birthday, three years ago, we walked into town and by chance we ran into a man that my father chose to take the appearance of the year before. There was no escaping the aftermath. I barely got away from the town but my father was dragged off, fighting and clawing, into the black cart. A dark black box with no holes, no sounds, and no one escapes. The last thing I saw was the fear in his eyes as his fingers were pulled free from the frame and he was never seen again. 

He used to tell me stories about what they would do to our kind. If we were female, we were usually taken to the highest bidder or to the wealthiest red light district whore house for those looking for exotic tastes. If we were male, we would be taken to the work camps where eventually the sun and rain and weather would lead us to a slow and painful death.

In my eyes, living was better than dying and defiantly I remained as I was. He was always proud of my spirit. I still remember those eyes as he disappeared. I walked through the wilds of the woods for days. Aimlessly, forgotten, and afraid. 

A man and his wife came across me, passed out and malnourished by the side of the road. They didn’t have much but they took pity on me and offered me work. They couldn’t give me anything. They couldn’t feed me but they could offer me a job that would pay a few Pennie’s here and there.

Eventually, I built up my savings and found an inn. With a roof over my head and food in my stomach every night I had finally started living the life my father always wanted for me. But that didn’t make the dreams of his fear go away.

This last night was no different. That fear of being taken away to parts unknown and made to do who knows what, remained on my mind every day. It had been eight years since the last time we’d come across another like me and my father. I always fantasized that I might be the last one. And that’s why I held onto these memories of mine, as a warning that they’re always looking.

With one foot in front of the other, I began my walk to work for the third year and couldn’t think of a better life than this.