There was a reason why Skeal was inclined towards the Vampires. It wasn't fascination, nor was it obsession. To her, It felt like a purpose her foxtail called to, something that fit a mould she couldn't ever mend and the curiousity drove her passion to heal them, even more and more.
A fallen piece of a story untold, a blank page she couldn't write on, no matter how many times she tried, it fell beneath her codes and turned it into a blank page again. Most things unfolded in the fabrics of its nature was like finding the right direction in a maze, it always came with obstacles; like confusion, delusions, conspiracies and complexities.
Such heaviness inside a world of its own, to her, was bound by repetitive reconsideration, from repetivite mistakes. Matters that she would have never understood, or guilds she would have never known, existed.
This heaviness of theirs was praised and honored by all, but their world always had a shattering end, they destroy everything among themselves and she; always left alone inside the maze they built for her, their sympathies wore out like a superficial scar, an unconsciously design, now conscious, and in time, a siphoning they can use as batter to bring destruction back into their realities once again. Everyone of them knew the truth, but like the inevitable narcissism that makes them, they always knew only their own side of it. Not hers.
Her foxtail was a tale nobody in this world understood. Maybe there was a reason why she got pointed out and picked on by the vampires and then left behind for never being like them; or maybe she was a conduit for them, so they could hit the start button again, an important source of life and nature.
Sometimes she thought maybe it wasn't 'behind' but the forefront of a purpose that nature kept leaving behind as a sign.
A victim of the Vampires ever since the first Age of the seasons, she finally saw no life of hers among them. This frame was tilted. No matter how much she tried, there was another script fabricated and quilled on her very own book; someone else enacted the exact opposite of how she was meant to write it, and there was nothing that could've been done because this path was from nature's law of time and place.
A way of the art of life saying that even nature couldn't classify it as anything wrong.
A being of foxtail divinity born from the mysticism of a hidden history, just as the hidden forms of her abilities.
Whenever the world of vampires and humans meet its end. Time freezes and she gets caught in between the constructs of the maze; a maze of life, where she last stopped and then repeats, again and again. Hoping that when they start again, there will be a change in the designs that the human races follow, this time.
In the passage of time, the Vampires she knew, to her, were slowly deteriorating beings that begin to conduct acts of ruthlessness from pathogenic infestation.
The mind takes over the body and has no control over the consequences of the barbaric content their actions drag into humanity and it's consciousness.
Until this time, when the final time of the shattering destruction on the plane where humanity and vampires met, came again, the face of chaos appeared to her in a dream with a warning.
And during the encumbrance in the maze of life and a frozen world left behind, she found a harbouring magic tree in the midst of this labyrinth and through it, she discovered a place with people just like her called, Healor.
There she learnt that the foxtail was never just only about the fox animal but about carrying the stories of many different beings, in the spiritual crux of her many different tails.
She learnt that, she was already a cultivated spirit, much older than the modern vampires themselves.
She decided to leave the plane of the humans and vampires.
Slowly, in time they began to lose the meaning of life. Their purposes together, were always the same; construed of ego and power that resulted in repetitive selfishness.
To her, all their goals were a future without a plan. To march towards the collapse of a corpse- like, dead society - one that mistake bitterness, apathy and contempt for spiritual awakening. Everything else that is different from them is dismissed with artificial reference.
And at the ends where both these lines are crossed. These two types of poisons converged, like disease that spread in quiet darkness, thickening into the inevitability of the collapse.
One day, she decided to go into the harbouring tree from where she once found Healor.
And in the labyrinth, high above the tree, she came upon a passage into an empty but a beautiful and green sanctuary; green and quiet and surrounded by the most intricate designs of a fading wilderness. The ground was made of thick roots, the vines and trees climbed through into the cracks of the cave like walls, as though the forest had grown itself into a stone. There she built a secret foundation called The Convergence Sanctuary, where they stored, taught and shared the knowledge of such harbouring paradox. Where the last breath of one world became the first breath of another.