I am a myth

I am a myth.

A whisper.
A shadow.
A fairytale.

They don't believe in immortals anymore.

We've become a whisper, a voice calling in the wind. Except when you turn your head and no one's there.

We've become a shadow. Once bright and magnificent, we now lurk in the darkness searching for any sign of life.

We've become fairytales. Nothing more than words on a page.

We've become monsters.

They spin stories, depicting us as the villain in every scenario. They look at us in awe but also in hate and fear. They warn children of us telling them to eat their vegetables or they'll be as bad as "The Ancient".

Yet despite all this they don't believe we exist.

I'm not sure when or how they stopped believing. All I know and remember is our power slowly being stripped from us. It fading and leaving into oblivion. It wasn't painful, in fact quite the opposite. I remember feeling peaceful. Accepting my fate that at long last we were leaving this world and entering a blissful sleep.

Perhaps if that's all that happened I wouldn't have minded being forgotten.

But you know what hurts? Being remembered wrong.

A cold, sharp tug pulled me back into the world. Except instead of warmth, I felt emptiness. I was still alive but detached. What was once love surrounding me was now hate. Everything I had ever been, gone.

The world doesn't believe we exist yet they still remember us.

We are destined to live a life full of coldness and hate

or ...

we could take back our power and create the world they said we once lived in.

We were never monsters.

But perhaps we should be.