I was here, but perhaps I shouldn't have been... Indeed, one look into my eyes and the truth would have gotten me killed.

It was understood that human towns were more trouble than they were worth these days. But the bustling chatter of the townsfolk was like a tether around my ankles, dragging me deeper into the heart of the markets; silvery moonlight nothing more than a glancing caress against my skin as I floated through the shadows, invisible to the very people who persecuted me.

I had better sense than this and I should have stayed away, but something about this place had pulled me in every time I convinced myself otherwise – and so against my better judgement, I found myself pacing down jovial streets, an air of serendipity painting the frosty night.

It all began three weeks ago. I'd heard a rumour while trawling for information on current human affairs and their boring, primitive gamble that they liked to call 'politics'. And while attempting a very blasé impression of a commoner, curled up in the corners of my booth, slamming back cup after ceramic cup of dirty ale as the fetid air of the tavern drifted into my lungs, I'd heard the low-muttered words from a stumbling patron in passing: Magic and the dirty practitioners who flaunted it were soon going to be illegal in most towns.

I should have been worried but instead, I had cracked a smile and ordered another pint of swirling, questionable, watered-down sludge that could have been anything other than ale, muttering prayers under my breath. That was nearly a month ago and somehow, I'd lived through the head-splitting hang-over, deeming this news a solid "gem" amongst the rubble I'd fought to dig through.

It was no doubt ridiculous hearsay, but I suppose this was my crooked vice. I was chronically prone to lapping up idle gossip, always keeping my ear to the ground like a hunched over crone in near-death condition. Sometimes the risk far outweighed the reward, I'd found.

Humans, and their terrible penchant for tongue-wagging in the middle of crowded places, all teeming with mildly groomed men often made for a dreadfully risky pastime because I was a Dryad, a non-human species that walked among them.

To my credit, I could survive for hours in the dank underbelly of humanity, gleaning listless habits and peculiarities, their susceptibility to questioning after a dozen drinks making it a far easier task. Putting myself in what others considered unnecessary danger was the only way in which I could ascertain the humans' feelings about us Magic Bloods.

That was our official name to the humans, although some people had been resorting to more slanderous editions. Though we had no need for such things, our collective title had been decided by none other than the audacious humans themselves for all the different types of creatures that fell under the parasol of magic.

They'd needed to differentiate us, to epically call us out and exacerbate our differences, as if our pointed ears or glimmering eyes weren't enough of an indication of who we were. But there were Magic Bloods out in the world who existed amicably among humans, with razor sharp teeth, claws or scales that covered their entire body. They were the ones who couldn’t hide in plain sight.

I not-so-humbly fell into the other category of Magic Bloods who boasted minor imperfections in their eyes. I hadn't quite worked a way out, not that my treacherous ‘affliction’, as it was commonly called by humans, was one that I despised.

I didn’t have the exterior makings of a Magic Blood who aroused blood-curdling screams as many of my kind would, but my face still had the sharp, uncanny look of a creature that wasn’t to be trifled with. Sure, I wasn’t conventionally scary-looking, and I didn’t have rigid scales, overhanging teeth or wings like some of my fellow Magic Bloods, but what I lacked in my physical features, I more than made up for with my magic.

Besides, regardless of how we presented to the fickle humans, the outcome was still the same to all Magic Bloods whenever we travelled through forbidding territory and unmarked roads, which had become our only options left. We were all treated in the same disturbing manner. If we surrendered, we were slaughtered, and if we were accompanied by humans, we were all made to watch them get killed and then robbed as well.

Worst of all, because of any allegiances made, we were then the target of hatred, fear and sorrow everywhere we went. It made it increasingly difficult for us to travel in-between towns without the dangers of humankind ambushing Magic Bloods on the road.

I suppose that was why I kept sneaking into human settlements under the cloak of night, my fascination for the pitiable, lesser beings feeding my assumption that they deserved more mercy than any of us.

Sure, every once in a blue moon, this wilful optimism presented itself like a diamond formed in a volcano under tenuous circumstances, but it was better than allowing turgid resentment to grow unchecked in my heart.

I grew ever closer to my destination, my footsteps a soft slap on stone. Nobody once turned my way out of fear or suspicion and the effervescent glow of the streetlights added a soft, calm aura to the bodies jostling around me, their mindless droning tolerable for once.

A few curious people even smiled at me in passing. If they only knew what I really was, what I could do to them with so little thought and effort... the humans gliding about with their glib, hollow intentions would retreat so fast from me, and they'd cut out my heart instead.

It was the way of the world. Cruel. Jagged and sharp, edged with fleeting and conditional sympathy for anyone unwilling to carve out their own fate; many would find to their horror that this unfortunate ‘stipulation’ was given to humans in an abridged capacity as well. This life wasn't necessarily a cup of poison, but to drink from it would be especially harmful to the Magic Bloods who couldn't fight their way out of the warzones that had become human perception.

In the past, my endeavours to fish for tedious scraps of information had all led to an obnoxious witch-hunt spearheaded by fearmongering and warpath-driven fools trying to kill me, but what else was new these days? They were the less evolved species in the equation, so I'd brushed it off like lint from my clothes every single time, my bloodied injuries regenerating like muscle memory through each new trauma. It only served to make me stronger, I told myself.

Some towns got on well enough with us irreverent beings of magical origin, sharing crops, housing and livestock, whereas other regions had recently become fortresses of prejudice, guarding against integration and progress in their communities.

Fear had sown the seeds of chaos throughout the world, and I'd found that there was no cure for these pillars of ignorance either. It didn't matter that for years Magic Bloods had been witnessed in action, rescuing endangered humans from steep, weathered cliffs, wildling wolves or bandits… or even offering to give starving humans the last of their bread and meat. In return? They'd received nothing but violence, anger and a volley of iron-tipped arrows.

The bane of all Magic Bloods, the only thing we truly feared - iron - was partly why Magic Bloods lived so covertly and in separate "encampments" around the human ones. We'd dominated most of the mines because of how fast they’d started to forge iron weapons and that which could subjugate us, render us incapacitated, shackle the strongest of us, not to mention take the last of our immortal breath away, just wasn't something we could compromise on.

We wanted to live with them as neighbours, but not be butchered in the name of hatred.

Maybe I shouldn't have skipped my last meal, I thought, as an inconvenient pang of hunger softened my mission-hardened pose against the wall of the chapel. I'd finally arrived at where I wanted to be, smearing myself into the darkness with quick-paced efficiency, all traces of my body hidden from sight.

I wiped my forehead to clear it of sweat-slickened strands of hair, the tangled length of it stuffed into a black cap. I'd needed to shove the messy weight away, hide it for concealment in case my nature was somehow exposed. I also had to admit that this disguise wasn't just for my identity as a Dryad; I'd picked visually plain attire to make me seem as unapproachable as possible, less womanly out of habit. I'd savoured the rush of satisfaction as I'd waltzed through the gates of Duranta, with my head down and my shabby clothes on display, purely because nobody had bothered to stop me or corner me against a wall, unlike the other times I'd shown a hint of femininity in my appearance.

I peered around the corner of the building, remembering everything that had happened over the winter to make me so bony in comparison to yesteryear. The lack of game in the Wilds, mainly, and frequent iron arrows in my back had made it nearly impossible to hunt freely in the meadows around my cottage.

It was a shame. I sorely needed the weight and muscle to take down prey... well, prey and combative Magic Bloods who didn’t yet know their place.

Sparrow eggs were tiny anyhow. I'd left them on a plate, scrambled with a pinch of salt, no generous sides and no meat to give the eggs a secondary flavour. We had nothing of the sort. But Anixae was smaller than me and doubtless would be hungrier, that's why I'd saved it for her, and Galadryn still hadn't returned home from her three-week hunt. Leaving in haste while Anixae had slept in order to forage, or loot for more food just seemed like the grandest idea at the time. But Galadryn may very well have gotten killed by a Faerie-bear or had her throat torn out by some wildling wolf.

The threat of humans? No, that idea was laughable, dismissed in a heartbeat. My oldest sister was too cunning, a flawless mixture of calculating character and brutal charisma with considerable intelligence amongst even Magic Bloods, which was how I knew the odds of her death lay only in the hands of outstanding magic or ferocious beasts.

And yet the frosty Wilds were a terrible thing, even for a 700 year old Dryad like Galadryn. It was a morbid idea to entertain, a Dryad dying, because we were notoriously hard to kill, being faster than most Magic Bloods, and while our physique wasn't entirely Faerie-like, technically, we were like the "kin" of said creatures, meaning our otherworldly looks afforded us a certain charm to mesmerize.

But one couldn't afford to daydream or sit around for food to come to her table. As the second eldest, I'd have to provide for Anixae, and I liked to think that I took that role semi-casually. Honestly, though, with how good of a hunter and provider Galadryn was, I just hoped she'd gotten back to Anixae, whose similar jade-coloured eyes would be searching the frosted windows of our cottage, looking for footprints in a raging snowstorm as she fretted in tedious spurts.

With a rumbling stomach and eyes peeled for danger, I slid my twin, bejewelled daggers smoothly out of my forearm bands, counting my steps towards the back door of the chapel. Just a few more to go and then I'd be inside this lousily guarded paradise!

It looked just like any of the other town buildings, humble and miniature but with a sanctimonious cross and irreverent sign nailed to the roof of the chapel. Brittle as it appeared to be, the stone walls had lasted through many weather ordeals and the dainty flowers thriving around its structure somehow never failed to bloom every spring.

No foul-tempered guards surrounded it – not today it seemed – but idle humans near and far paraded the street around the chapel in dregs, going back and forth as night courtesans tried to catch their eye, I noticed bleakly.

Tantalizing smells beckoned me closer as I moved quietly in blotchy shadows, keeping my body flat against the wall. I turned the door handle, tiptoeing through the entryway of the chapel with bated breath, my ears straining for the rushed footsteps heading away from me. It was soft but affirmative of two bodies blundering across the chapel, making me pause for a few heartbeats.

The building didn't seem to echo with anything suspicious as they'd immediately left in panic-stricken haste, nor did I smell anything other than mouth-watering food. Since nothing inhuman or otherwise in the area seemed to wreak havoc on my senses - I finally deemed the building safe, empty. My mind went straight to what I knew awaited me nearby... something so delicious that I had broken my usual protocol and snuck into this wretched town...

I turned the corner with soundless strides, heading towards the pews.

Nothing jumped out at me in consequence of my slow entry, and candles flickered around the hall, illuminating the small space, showing that in between the front row of pews, a spread of sliced meats, fruits and cheeses and breads had been generously laid out on a mat. A feast!

Judging by the jugs of wine and the fur rugs laid out in the shape of a bed, a couple had been intending to eat here and stay the night, but then they'd abandoned their meal in a hurry, as a side-effect of my intrusion perhaps? A positive turn-out, then.

I smoothly deduced that once they'd heard me, the pair had quickly snuck out through a side-entrance. The implication was so scandalous! They'd obviously done this routine before, the startled lovers trampling down the left side of the building, cursing out whoever now lingered in the chapel... I could still hear their bitterness all the way from where I stood.

But there was nothing to be done for it. I was like a bloodhound whenever food was around.

My heightened sense of smell had picked up on the scent of venison and something like... brie, when first idling on the outskirts of Duranta, the soaring, hilltop village known for its flowering shrubs. I'd followed my nose straight towards the chapel and savoured every whiff of this delectable feast like a mutt begging for scraps outside the butcher.

The sheer gluttony of humans, the idea of one couple being able to eat this much... A hundred Magic Bloods could survive off this!

My blood boiled while staring at such a lavish meal. The ripe fruits, the glistening meats, the bread that looked nowhere near stale. I hadn't seen such a thing in centuries. What a luxury it was to have food that didn't need thawing, or reviving through magic, or to have food that wasn't stolen, or gifted by a fellow Magic Blood who sympathised.

My hands trembled with the weight of the twin daggers. My people had been treated so badly and horrifically… and yet I also loved humans enough to try and give them the benefit of the doubt most of the time, which in my mind equated to 'pacifist ideals' where necessary and not attacking them pre-emptively... No, instead, I just robbed them blind and rifled through their belongings, thus making me no better than a scoundrel, I thought to myself.