I was born into this, something I never wanted. And all of my life, I've been running, hunted. We're being tracked down and slaughtered, chased, by people with fire as their ally, their weapons made of silver or simply wooden stakes. You've run us into a corner and murdered all of my kind out of fear, not a shred of their existence left behind, proclaiming it was for everyone's sake. I am the sole survivor, the last of my race. I have vowed not to fall victim to the same fate.
You've claimed me to be a monster, but what does that mean? The only monster I see is you. Murdering and spreading rumors of my kind, you don't understand what I've been through. Saying I've slain many, but you've killed more than a few. Stop speaking of such things; it's hurting me. Stop lying to yourself. Why can't you see? Are you ignoring it purposely? Look at me, into my soul, and realize the devastation caused by your pursuit. Why can't you understand? Monsters have feelings too.
Though, it is too late to go back to peace. The people can only see something unreal, a fake part of me. And now, I will never be free. I'm forever running from your conceit. I have done nothing to bring you to this. I've cut off my horns, my fangs, and my claws to try and be a part of your bliss. I burnt my fur and scorched my skin, but all I've done has been dismissed. I have to hide in caverns deep. In the cold and damp, I sleep, afraid to be found in my cavern keep.
I could never fight you, that would only make things worse than before. My skin is covered in my crimson blood and I'm in pain from the scars. In anguish, I roar. My gargantuan, curled ebony horns lay broken and cast aside; my thick, midnight blue fur reduced to patches and strewn across my stone lair; my calloused pads raw from running; my weary eyes tortured and worn. I've given up on living any longer. It's better to die and to be conquered than to be caged and grow weak from hunger; so I step out of the cave, crawling out on all four; and I lie down, exhausted, on the forest floor.
