I lived in a lighthouse that overlooked a treacherous shore and served as a window for peering far into the dark oblivion of the endless ocean . . . but not now.
At night, I would sit on the railing that surrounded the glass room where the light was held and just stare out into the midnight’s obscurity. The sky seemed thick and rich as velvet that was frosted with the radiant stars that winked at me as if they knew the secrets of the universe. With every pass of the beaming light, my shadow expanded over the dark water that crashed against the jagged reefs which encircled our cliff, spewing forth a salty spray that stuck to my face, clinging as dew drops to my eye lashes and hair.  Such nights held the promise of my grandfather joining me on the ‘balcony’ as he called it, and telling me stories of ships that never returned home, ships that existed as ghosts that haunted the misty passage ways of the sea.  
I would listen to his stories keenly; my eyes were intense violet flames as my imagination soared through the skies of his. Yet, his deep voice rumbled of past, yet not deceased horrors that held me back from flying high past the clouds.  And then, once his tale was told, he’d lay a calloused yet gentle hand upon my raven black hair and smile down at me with his pale blue eyes twinkling . . .
“Aidan, my fiery amethyst,” he’d murmur. It was then, after hearing the tenderness in his baritone voice, a feeling of pure tranquility replaced my secret dread of the malevolent sea . . .  but that was a long time ago.

Or, so it seems.

It all ended late one night . . . the sky was deprived of the moon, yet the stars gleamed teasingly against the black void of space. Incoherent with drowsiness, I watched the beam of our lighthouse cut through the darkness as a beacon of hope to all the ships out at sea.
I can still smell the bread and apple pies my grandmother was baking, and how their scent made my stomach rumble in anticipation for the next day . . . but then, the blackness came, a blackness so suffocating that the terrorized scream escaping from my dry throat came out as a pathetic whimper. I was frozen in my bed, waiting for my grandmother to come in and assure me that everything was going to be alright . . . but she never did.  My eyes remained clamped shut to prevent the inky blackness from creeping into my mind, but I couldn’t prevent the deafening silence from ringing inside my consciousness.
For what seemed like an eternity I waited for the dawn to chase away all the blackness, and once light had settled across the land I gathered all the courage I possessed. Quaking with fear, I got up out of my bed and opened the door leading out into the hall. It was all so deathly still and silent as my bare feet padded across the oak floor uncertainly.
The whole house was devastated; everything lay splintered . . . shattered . . . broken . . . scattered across the floor. My grandparents, my friends, all the villagers were gone; everything lay broken and abandoned, like our poor lighthouse.
They were all gone, like my parents before me, taken to a place of which no one dares to speak of, a place so horrible that just the mention of its sacred name will make even the most formidable man cower in fear. It’s a land of ice, ruled by creatures of unsurpassed supremacy. They’re said that they’re flawless in appearance, soft milk white skin with luminescent hair and sapphire blue eyes, but only the unlucky ones have seen them in person.  
My grandfather always told me that looks were deceiving, and that it was only what was on the inside that is truly, purely beautiful. I know now what they truly are . . . they’re monsters… hideous, heartless, sinister monsters capable of great mystical powers…powers that have remained unrivaled by any other living creature for untold centuries. They do not deserve the beautiful name that was given to them . . . ‘the frost seraphs.’
As I look around my broken home, I feel my soul being consumed by one of the most dangerous emotions one can feel and possess . . . hate. I hate them for taking all that was dear to me, and I hate them from depriving me of the warmness that once was in my life. I hate them for leaving me alone on an island that no one will dare set their foot upon its soil, for it reeks of their touch, a touch that will forever scar this landscape.
I pick up a torn photograph of me and my grandparents. As I caress its scarred surface I just know that they are not dead . . . they can’t be.  My eyes burst into crimson flames as I clench the photograph in my hand; making a promise that won’t be broken . . . I will revenge them.
My appearance is extremely unique compared to the sandy haired, blue eyed people that are the majority in the lands surrounding me. My grandparents always said I was special, their ‘little fiery amethyst’, for my raven black hair, purple eyes, and pale complexion always did set me apart from everyone else.
“You came to us from the sea on a boat of gilded mahogany and silver sails. Ivory figures of fantasy danced across its bow, telling the story of your mother’s people.” My grandfather would tell me. And with that fond twinkle in his eyes he would say “I was captain of a beautiful ship that carried the most precious cargo in the universe.”
Why didn’t they take me? Was it my appearance? My unknown heritage?
Whatever the reason, I’ll find out . . .I will free all who lay suffering, trapped in their icy realm . . . I will bring about the end of their tyrannical rule . . . I will not fail.