Portrait of a God I.

He isn't real. He could never be. He's out of this world, a creature of vivid fantasy, no more than a simple thought born on a day long ago... With his black skin, snow-white hair, bloodred eyes, deep voice and nicely built muscles he could never be human. Or loved. He has no flesh, no feet to walk this mudball called 'Earth', no eyes to catch the looks people would give him if he could step outside his bony cage. That cage is my head. My simple, human skull, home of my brain, my best friend, who helped me build up a world better than reality. In this world, many creatures lived, many creatures were born through the years. Elves and darkelves, halflings, humans and sometimes even dwarves. Young and old fellows, evil and pure, they came from every race, every kind, every colour that's possible. Yet no one was as extraordinary, as this guy... They came and they passed... I loved them. Maybe they loved me, who knows? Some of them became more than mere fantasies... Some of them became friends. Some of them I put aside because of those bonds that got stronger and stronger. His brother was one of them... I had to forget him. He was too strong... Too much alive. Too real, sometimes... When it becomes hard to tell, where's the point where you end and your fantasies start, you have to stop. You have to kill them, bury them deep and forget them as soon as possible. That's what I did on that day... And so the brother was born.