Go ahead. Hear it from the monster himself. Just don't expect to sleep well after.
The world divides itself neatly—three types of people, three roles in the grand game.
Eighty-five percent are followers, drifting through life without question, content to be led.
Ten percent are leaders, setting the rules, guiding the blind.
And the remaining five percent?
They are the observers—the ones who watch, who listen, who understand far more than they should.
I have always been among them.
Observers notice everything. The nervous flicker of an eye. The hesitation in a breath. The way a smile can mean anything but joy.
People, I've found, are painfully predictable.
And so, the rules are simple: maneuver, or be maneuvered. There is no alternative.
Truth hides behind bodyguards of lies. Inconvenient. Ugly. Real. Messy.
Sommerville carries a sliver of magic in its air. A city draped in old-world charm, where supernatural beings walk unnoticed among humans.
Was this normal? No. How did it come to be? Maybe a curse.
Magic, like power or money, is best handled by the prepared. Most aren't. They crack under its weight. Call it a blessing if you like. I call it a liability—unless you're me. And I've mastered it all.
After all, no matter the city, no matter the players, the rules remain the same.
And this is my game.
No, I'm not a god. Not the mayor either. I'm your resident boogeyman.
Except I'm not, really. I'm something worse—and better.
I am the one your grandmother warned you about.
"Do not mess around with the Gancanagh," she'd say. "The man, the myth, the monster."
Ooh, so scary.
Yes, that Gancanagh.
The one who allegedly lures maidens into the forest with devilish good looks, consumes both mind and soul for dinner.
Callous. Messy. A bunch of misconstrued old wives' tales.
My name is not Gancanagh, though, like the old legends say.
That was a typo—an error passed down by careless scholars too lazy to check their facts.
I am Gacanagh — Gah-can-nuh, if you must know.
Half Love Fairy, half Dark Fairy. Fully misunderstood.
How did that happen, you ask? How did I come to be?
Ah, well. I didn't exactly decide to splash myself in darkness. Some decisions happen before you're born.
The first Love Fairy—born from magic itself—fell for a Dark Fairy. The rest, as they say, is history.
And so here I am, their legacy. The best and worst of them, stitched into one. A gift, a curse, a bloodline I will carry to the end of my days.
You might think this means my existence is a complicated one. But simplicity is an illusion for the uninformed.
If something seems simple, it's because you lack perspective—or you're too lazy to think in three dimensions.
I sipped my Darjeeling tea on a park bench, letting the crisp autumn air wrap around me.
The wind stirred fallen leaves, sending them skittering across the pavement in lazy spirals. The scent of damp earth and distant rain clung to the breeze.
Some see autumn as an ending—the dying leaves, the creeping chill, the world shedding its colors in surrender.
I see it as a beginning. Without decay, there is no renewal. The old must fall to make room for the new.
A parallel of what's to come.
I lifted the cup to my lips, letting the rich, floral warmth settle on my tongue.
Laughter interrupted my thoughts.
A group of teenage girls had stopped nearby, whispering behind their hands, sneaking glances my way.
One of them gasped. Another adjusted her hair with a nervous giggle.
"He's ridiculously good-looking," one of them whispered.
I smirked. Teenagers.
As they passed, I tucked a stray curl of black hair behind my ear. One of them fumbled with her water bottle, nearly dropping it.
Ah, to be so easily swayed by mere appearances. So delightfully fragile.
Looks—just one of many tools at my disposal. A carefully placed smile, a tilt of the head, and already, the world bends.
But they weren't my focus. I had far bigger things to concern myself with.
Something darker was brewing—something even I might not be able to charm away.
This city remembers. And so do I.
Some names still taste like ash on my tongue.