Blackrose_Belle

Chantara is a Moonlighter, now the sixth of her kinds, chosen by the Orb. Though her hatred and dislike for mankind will disrupt her true purpose. Would she be like the rest, gone forever? Or would she heed to her call and save both the High Realm and the race of humanity?

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Hundred years ago, a world of all kinds of malicious atrocities was born out of the greediness of mankind. The hearth of the gods mysteriously vanished from the  temple of the High Realm, with a single soul unable to comprehend the possibility of the mystifying misfortune. Never in history had it been heard that a mortal could visit the High Realm and make it out alive, much less succeeding after an outrageous crime as such.

The Hearth was a concealed weapon, constructed and hidden by the gods to protect the people of the High Realm, as well as all mortals. With that much power stolen, havoc was wrecked upon the universe. The power of the gods slowly began to fade away, and mankind suffered all nefarious miseries. 

As an attempt to restoring balance, the Supreme of the High Realm sent members from the Councils of the Elders to earth, with a mission of recruiting five hero to restore the stolen hearth every new moonlight. Sadly, the councils lost five of it's members after each moonlight. 

With Chantara being the sixth Moonlighter, doom was highly expected by her kinds. But with the destiny of the universe, solely depending on her, Chantara is determined to succeed.

Chantara

<p>I grab my softest sweater, my favourite, and ball it up. I bend down, arranging my face into something I hope is friendly, then wrap his arms around it. He holds it while I walk away to the vault. I have the pills to arrange and store. On my return he is in the exact same spot, his arms still hugging a sweater that lies cold on his feet. I'm such a shit. He's in total shock and I'm arranging my wares. This is why he needs a mom, not some hopeless teen. I go back to him and pick him up just like I did in the old train. At first he is stiff but then he melts into my body, his arms limp, dangling like a doll. Without being aware of it my left hand rises to stroke his back. Then he begins to cry softly, wetting my shirt. I thought kids were supposed to cry loudly, not this guy apparently, he cries like an old man beaten down with sorrow.</p>

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