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BryceHunter aka Bryce Kingsley Hunter (He/Him) is a 30 year old (DOB: July 15, 1993) pure-blood wizard. He wields a 13¼" Mahogany, Demiguise Hair wand, and a member of the unsorted masses of Hogwarts students just off the train eagerly crowding around the Sorting Hat.
About Me
Hi, my name's Bryce, but everyone calls me by my surname: Hunter. Granddad used to joke about it, and how it should be changed to Hunted. Dad and I would laugh, but then granddad died, and dad stopped laughing. Then dad died, and I stopped too.
I want to tell you a story.
Granddad used to tell me stories back when he was alive. Story actually. Just one. I'd lie in bed and listen to a tale about a family with magic powers - with the surname Hunter, same as ours -, and how centuries ago they made a bad choice; a deal with the dark side. From that second on, the Hunters were cursed; they became the Hunted. Every Hunter son until the end of time. Hunted - haunted - by a thing with no name. Not real nor imaginary; not human nor animal. To survive was a task on its own, fear known to claim the victim before the thing itself did. Bit gruesome for a kid, but I loved it.
I'd laugh at it, and tell dad after how lucky we were that it was just a story. Dad'd laugh and look away. "Yeah. A story..." he'd murmur as he turned out the lights and closed the door. "Go to sleep, Bryce."
It was two years ago that granddad died. After that, I'd ask dad to tell me the story but he said I was too old for stories. I should learn to see the truth instead. I didn't understand but one day he said I would.
Dad died last year. Heart failure. Doc said he'd been weak since granddad died. A nervous wreck; scared of his own shadow. Finally I understand what dad meant by 'learn to see the truth' instead. Now I understand it wasn't his own shadow he was scared of. That story I used to love? That was no story.
My name's Bryce Hunter and I just turned eleven. There's something you should know about me. I am Hunted. Sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. But it's always there. Always watching. Always waiting for the opportune moment to claim my life like it did my forefathers.
But I won't let it. I'll endure. I know it.
I want to tell you a story.
Granddad used to tell me stories back when he was alive. Story actually. Just one. I'd lie in bed and listen to a tale about a family with magic powers - with the surname Hunter, same as ours -, and how centuries ago they made a bad choice; a deal with the dark side. From that second on, the Hunters were cursed; they became the Hunted. Every Hunter son until the end of time. Hunted - haunted - by a thing with no name. Not real nor imaginary; not human nor animal. To survive was a task on its own, fear known to claim the victim before the thing itself did. Bit gruesome for a kid, but I loved it.
I'd laugh at it, and tell dad after how lucky we were that it was just a story. Dad'd laugh and look away. "Yeah. A story..." he'd murmur as he turned out the lights and closed the door. "Go to sleep, Bryce."
It was two years ago that granddad died. After that, I'd ask dad to tell me the story but he said I was too old for stories. I should learn to see the truth instead. I didn't understand but one day he said I would.
Dad died last year. Heart failure. Doc said he'd been weak since granddad died. A nervous wreck; scared of his own shadow. Finally I understand what dad meant by 'learn to see the truth' instead. Now I understand it wasn't his own shadow he was scared of. That story I used to love? That was no story.
My name's Bryce Hunter and I just turned eleven. There's something you should know about me. I am Hunted. Sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. But it's always there. Always watching. Always waiting for the opportune moment to claim my life like it did my forefathers.
But I won't let it. I'll endure. I know it.
