She was an introvert, not an antisocial; many people tended to mix those two terms up. She could function perfectly well in a group, and she enjoyed the company of the few friends she had; they were the extroverts, people who shone brightly in the company of others.

Cathy, on the other hand, shone the brightest whenever she was alone in her room, relaxing in the peace and quiet... That was the great thing about living in the suburbs; it was much quieter than it was in the city. In those instances, it was almost as if the world was still, and she was the only person left on Earth. In those instances, she would sit on her bed, elbows propped up on the window ledge, supporting her head as she looked out at the star-filled night sky, wondering how small and insignificant she was.

In those instances, the shadows in her room always seemed to move and shift closer to her... Closer but never touching.

Maybe the fact that they could touch her at any given time was what frightened her the most. The fact that they could take her - small, insignificant her - away into the night, never to be seen again... Except maybe on a carton of milk, with the word "MISSING" above her photo in bold.

That was why she joined the hunters, not that she knew what exactly she had signed up for when they told her that it was a lifelong commitment; she would do anything to be able to hold her own ground against the shifting shadows, she thought... Too bad they never told her just how tough the initiation was going to be; she did things she never knew she was even capable of. Did things she wasn't proud of. Did things she still had nightmares of. Did things in order to survive.

Did things out of sheer desperation.

The people who eventually managed to distract her from the ugly truth of what she had done in order to get her hunter's coat and scarf became the reason she woke up every morning. They laughed together, cried together, grieved together; because they were there, she wasn't afraid of hardship. They made every scar, every tear worth it. However, good things don't usually last, and they too, eventually left her - bloodied, screaming, crying. There was even one who couldn't take the stress anymore, and hung herself using the same scarf that was part of their uniform. Part of their pride.

Almost everyone she personally knew in life had a grave in the graveyard on the island. She tried to make it a point to visit those graves once every month, determined not to let them be forgotten as long as she was there. Most of those graves, however, were empty... Just like hers would be, if anyone who survived could even remember that she existed.

She opened her eyes with a gasp, the sudden breath of air rushing into her lungs caused her chest to feel like it was on fire. Now that she was hurting, her body broken and bruised, waiting for death to claim her took an eternity; then again, it was a miracle that she wasn't already dead from all the abuse her body had taken in the last few years of her life as a hunter.

Then again, perhaps this was Death's way of toying with her; let her watch her friends and comrades die, and put her through both physical and mental pain without letting her go until she was truly and completely broken...

They say that right before death, your whole life would pass before your eyes. The only thing that she saw was the photo she had taken with her friends when they were still all trainees - in a way, the saying was accurate since they were her life. Maybe she really died a long time ago. Maybe that's why she didn't feel scared or sad at all.

When Cathy finally breathed her last, her dark brown eyes were wide open, staring up at the night sky the way she did when she was younger... Too bad that the night sky in New York didn't have any stars, for the lights from the buildings and streetlamps were too bright, too blinding for any stars to be visible.