Years

Only Eleven when she first was left on her own, staring down a beast with palms full of red and tears stained pink as she faced death.

Eleven, when swords flashed in front of her eyes and downy feathers fluttered around her, a skilled guardian coming to her aid.

Eleven, when emerald eyes glittered with confidence as the guardian spoke, crouching in front of her and laying blood stained swords in the snow, reaching out with ever so calm words and the promise of soft, silky down, and feathers to keep her warm, a new home, her new home.

She was only Twelve when she learned of powers.

Twelve when her guardian, a harpy, taught her swordplay.

Twelve when he brought her to a safe haven, mere months after nursing her back to health and teaching.

Twelve when she stood before a lord, a noble, who solemnly refused to let the harpy boy bring her in, until a deal was struck, and her donation to the haven was her sweat and blood, in exchange for nearly anything she wanted.

Thirteen when the haven was discovered by outsiders, who threatened, but could no breach the walls she had helped to raise.

Thirteen, when only a year of swordsmanship and sparring with others brought her far, and her natural inclination for it growing, especially as threats from the outside grew.

Only Fourteen, when she faced an angry mob from up on the top of the wall, her stare empty, cold, as she lifted a hand, and destroyed those who cursed the lord of the haven, cursed his name, cursed his being, and cursed his very means of existence, tethered to the blood of others.

Fourteen, when siblings arrived one morning, her guardian bringing in twins, young twins whom he had found in such a similar situation as hers.

Fourteen, when she relearned compassion for humankind, and could no longer stand on the wall.

She was Fifteen when she became a master of the blade, her power manifest fully and completely, even when her physique could not match the agility required.

Fifteen, when she and her 'siblings' were kept behind her guardian's back as the walls came crashing down, humankind coming with such a terrifying bloodlust.

Fifteen, when, with only a sword, a map, and a sack of food, she and her siblings were pushed into a escape passageway, and sealed out from the sanctuary as the siege carried on, never to see her beloved guardian again.

Fifteen, when escaping the mountain, she accidentally came across the camp of the humans.

Fifteen, when rough hands grabbed her arms and pulled on her hair as she was brought to what she believed was a commander among them.

Fifteen, when 'rescued' from a 'terrible prison'.

Simply Fifteen, when she begged for her siblings to be taken someplace safe, America, Canada, anywhere.

Sixteen when they finally listened, and her siblings were gone.

Sixteen when she was allowed to be a member of their force, and officially recognized as kin.

Sixteen, when passed from 'ally' to 'ally', tolerating it only for the safety of her siblings, treated as a toy.

She was Seventeen when drunken lips uttered words she had never known she had been waiting for.

Seventeen when she learned.

Seventeen when the drawling slur branded itself into her memory: "I'm so glad we disposed of those useless children she brought with her."

Seventeen when all she knew was rage, rage and a vow to herself, to her siblings.

Seventeen when she began her plot to end the one who had started this all- the commander who made her into a plaything for his people.

She was Eighteen when her blade first tasted the blood of her forgotten enemies, rather than those she was meant to hunt.

Eighteen, when she learned her own desire for blood was just as strong as the humans who had attacked her home.

Eighteen, when she drove a butcher's knife home, deep into the chest of the commander, whose fingers and desires had finally been ended, all with the final kiss of death.

Eighteen, when fire consumed all, and she turned her gaze to the southern horizon, far from the frozen wasteland she'd been forever trapped in.

Becoming Nineteen when she first crossed the border into the desert lands, her journey far from over.

Nineteen when water ran scarce and her blood ran hot, suddenly a target for all these mysterious hunters.

Nineteen, when she was finally outdone, captured, and brought to a cage. A cage, only a cage, in a busy, overcrowded Bazaar, an auction house, they called it, and she was suddenly a lesser being than any who set foot inside the canvas walls.

Nineteen when her injuries from such harsh treatment kept her from supporting her own weight, when her own defiance brought her misery.

Nineteen when her spirit broke, but her courage remained.

Nineteen when she locked eyes with familiar, emerald gems, and her key to freedom bought, her bail paid, her return given, to soft, downy fur and feathers.

She was Nineteen when she met him once more, at last.

Simply Nineteen, when home was found in soft, gentle embraces and warm winds, feathers and fur.