101 The Twilight Children

I remember the day I was born. Even now, two-thousand eight-hundred and twenty-six years later, I have not forgotten. My memories are clear as day.

He was the original. The only survivor of his generation, the First. He would become the template of comparison for all subsequent generations hence. All who followed after were, in fact, created from his own image to a certain extent.

The First influenced the creation of the Second.

The Second influenced the creation of the Third.

The Third influenced the creation of the Fourth.

And so forth…

Although the First had the greatest potential of them all, being the purest of all generations, he was still an imperfect product. Still, he was the closest thing they had created to the original sample.

A mother without neither face nor name. Born out of purpose, not love.