From the recesses of my mind, from the abyss of my subconscious, shadows merge into one singular entity. She came to me a few months ago. She revealed herself to me in a story I was working on. I paid her no mind at the time and this angered her. She wants attention. She craves the spotlight and yet shrinks from the very idea of revealing her true form to me.
Who is she, you ask. I cannot say because I do not know. She wears a cloak and hides her face. Her body is scarred from her travels through time and space. Blood lines her pale skin. Her breath comes out in heavy pulses, her lungs weary from her journey. She has no control over her travels and her health decreases with every jump she makes. She has seen her savior on the cross, the brutality of Hitler, the Great War. She has seen many things, heard many sounds and felt the very fabric of time tear to pieces around her.
Her mind is unstable, moreso than anyone else I have ever met or created. And yet, she has the tightest grasp on what kind of danger her world is in. She knows what must be done and yet she has no control over where she goes or what she herself does. She is an enigma. She is a fleeting speck on the scope of our world, of our past. She has crossed the lines between Expired Reality and Black Earth and longs to live a life in the present instead of in the past or the future. Our past. Her future.
Her name is Vector. That is all I know. That is all she is willing to tell.