I used to have a home. Before the ashes, it was a beautiful place. Full of lushes trees and fruitful land which we lived off of. We respected our home and it shielded us from the darkness of the world. Before the tears, there was laughter that filled the village with joy. Our homes were so colorful. Exotic green grass, with golden flowers and red plump fruits. But now it just dull and black.
I used to have parents. I had a Father who was a saint to his comrades and a demon to his enemies, but that was before life left his eyes. I had a mother, she was a shield that would protect me no matter what beast she had to face, but that was before a blade pierced her heart.
We were not known to most of the world, so our sorrow was easily forgotten. Why did we have to be erased from history? Why can they go back to their homes but I can't? Why can they be covered by the warmth of their loved ones, but I am so cold.
But I was wrong, they're not forgotten. I still remember the laughter turning into screams. I still smell the smoke from the flames that burned our homes. I still feel the pain in my feet from running through the forest. I refuse for us to be forgotten, YOU WILL REMEMBER US.