My name is Ari, and I’m fairly normal. I like to read, write and carve things out of wood and bone. I have black hair and pale skin. 

I’m also almost six hundred years old.

Another rather… unusual trait of mine is that I’m covered from head to toe in twining silver loops and flourishes that I have to glamour with magic every morning before I see anyone. Yep, that’s right, folks. With magic. Actual magic.

On reflection, I’m about as far from normal as someone can get.

Around here, though, it can be dangerous to be different. People will judge you - for being dark-skinned, attracted to the same gender, less able. For seeing the world differently. Unfortunately for my neighbours, I tick three out of four of these boxes. 

I can’t believe that although I’ve travelled all over the world, I still chose to live here; maybe I’m mad, or maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I just had some core instinct when I arrived that something good was waiting for me here.  

So here I am. Living in the winding lanes and sprawling fields of Kent, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the something to happen. It’s not a bad life: I have a job at the manor of the ninth earl, Anthony Grey, and it pays fairly well. I have a nice little cottage in the grounds, where I can see friends (infrequently), eat, sleep and read. 

To this day, I still don’t understand what drove me to Kent, but I know that whenever the good thing happens, I’ll be ready.