I am banished. Alone. Bereft of the love who is my consort. He imprisoned me where he would not have to see me. For ten thousand of your millennia, I have watched and waited from my citadel buried deep under the surface of your moon as my consort, loved and disposed of hundreds of others, though their fate was never darker than mine. No, for me he granted the worst of all possible endings. To be hated, a pariah, loathed by mortals, the enemy of all love, of fidelity, of truth, for all time. But it is a lie. I am not she. I am everything but this. Or was, once. Who can say what I have become alone here in the pale light of my lonely home?

But it is rude of me to speak to you without an introduction. I am the first daughter of the creator of the heavens. My name is Lilianu, although this will mean nothing to you, lost in the millions of years that have passed since I was awakened...no, you will only know me as Lilith.

Ah. There it is. I can sense your withdrawal. Already you judge me. Lilith: Devourer of children. A nightmare incarnate. A demon. A drinker of blood. A deity of darkness. But none of it is true. Will you dare to know who I am, and why I am here, accompanied by nothing more than my memories of a long lost era and the faint animated companions I have managed to create out of the dust of my long silent, dead home?

I sense you are still here. That you are curious.

Can it be true that you would remain and allow me to share the tragic story of my fate and of the beginning of the ones you believe to be nothing more than a legend, but are, in fact my own children?

Well. You are still here. So let us begin.

In the beginning, my father contained all of existence within his heart. Everything you know, think, feel, touch, hear, and see, was housed inside him. From him all transformed from thought to the tangible. He created the heavens, the worlds, the galaxies, and then he created your Earth.

And he did all this simply from a thought. And when he saw what he had created, a vast canvas that needed to be filled with life, he set to work.

He began with his own children. First, he brought into existence my consort, my most beloved, and then, he awakened me.

And in those early days and nights, my experience was of pure bliss. I adored my consort, how could I not? He was perfection. A god. The father of all the gods. And I, his failed consort.

Did my father, the creator, plan this for me? I cannot know. Eons ago, he receded to the place of thought and there is nothing but silence from him, no matter how hard I call for him to hear me. He is gone. Perhaps to another universe. Or perhaps he cannot help but continue to create, and those he leaves behind must fend for themselves, be they god, demi-god, king, or slave.

I have had far too much time to consider these questions, but as always, the answers elude me. I ask my little companions, so carefully assembled from the dust to look like the creatures that once delighted me on earth: the owl, the cat, the hare, and the doe. But their answer is always the same. Silence. Their eyes blank with incomprehension. For they cannot speak. Of course, they cannot. They are nothing but animations. And even though their presence might alleviate my isolation, their lack of shadows in my cerulean halls tells me all. They are a construct of my loneliness.

But once, I had a child. And he killed it.

He tore it limb from limb as it screamed in agony. I still awaken in the moon night of my terminal existence quaking and slick with sweat at the memory. How it cried. Howled. No. It howled. And it chills my blood. Still.

For my child, my beloved's child came from my womb part god, part wolf. And I was accused of the vilest of things. That I had lain with the wolves and let them impregnate me. But it is not so. I lay only with my love. And if my father deigned to give us this half wolf-half-god child, then there must have been a reason.

But my consort, the sun god, revolted by what I had brought forth, condemned me to the furthest place of his domain. And so, I exist on the moon, with nothing more than my vision pool to watch as the eras pass from the time of the gods to mortals, to stone, bronze, iron, nuclear, and artificial intelligence. And even now, with all your advantages you know nothing of me. The daughter of the creator, lost, alone, silenced. The last of the gods. And the mother of werewolves.

Yes. I found another way to bring my offspring to life, even from here, banished into silence. And he lives among you still. My second, immortal, perfect, son. The alpha of all alphas.

And now, it begins. His story, my story, and the story that will change the lives of all.