Part I Extraordinary Me
I am Tamara in this era of my existence. Over the past thousand years, I’ve used hundreds of names since I awoke, during the splendor of Byzantium, the Viking raids, and the rise of the Song dynasty in China. Despite all this time, the mystery of my existence remains unsolved.
I don’t know what I am. Am I a devil from hell? An alien from another world? A fallen angel? A goddess? The result of a human experiment? A powerful sorceress? I truly don’t know. But one thing is certain—I am not human.
Even to myself, my existence is a mystery. I have witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the birth of countless species, and the evolution of human thought. My immortality has granted me endless opportunities to explore the world and its secrets, yet I still feel an insatiable curiosity about my own nature.
Over the centuries, I have adopted countless identities, each one a carefully constructed facade to blend into the world. My powers are vast, allowing me to traverse space, read minds, and even alter my appearance for up to fifty years. But despite these abilities, I remain an enigma to myself.
A human’s lifespan is a mere 75 years. I am 1,113 years old. Over a millennium, I discovered my powers, noticing how different I am from humans. I don’t need food to survive, though eating brings me pleasure. The same goes for sex—I survived 200 years without it, yet it can be fun.
I can make myself invisible. Most importantly, I can’t die.
My body instinctively protects itself. In the 13th century, I became notorious as a witch. They tried to burn me at the stake, but I survived and escaped, changing my face to avoid further suspicion.
I’ve tried dying in countless medieval wars, but it only made my comrades wary. I traveled the world, enjoying the discoveries of science and innovation.
I even tested my limits by flying into the exosphere, where humans cannot breathe the helium and hydrogen gases. But I felt nothing—no cold, no heat.
The only thing I cannot change is my gender. No matter how many times I alter my appearance, I always remain a woman.
I’m also drawn to male humans. Over my existence, I’ve married half a dozen times. Unlike humans, who can mate whenever they wish, I need to feel a particular attraction first, as though my body requires a spark. I’ve married men who elicited a sexual response in me. It seems my body has standards.
I’ve studied these men, trying to understand why I’m drawn to them, but I’ve found no answer. I’ve often heard humans call it love. I call it a need.
I also discovered that my attraction has an expiration date. My body stops responding to the chosen man after fifty years—just like my face. So, I disposed of them humanely, making it appear as though they perished in accidents.
Another discovery: I cannot reproduce. I’m unsure whether this is a weakness or a strength, but I’ve made peace with it.
Today, I made another discovery: I have emotions. Right now, I’m angry. My husband of two years wants a divorce. I’m used to discarding men, not the other way around. I made every effort to be the “perfect wife” to appease their egos. So what went wrong?
I study the man before me. The sex was incredible. I can cook. I was submissive. I kept a low profile, working as a kindergarten teacher. I even crafted this particular face to suit his tastes and prepared everything before my previous face expired.
I don’t care for billionaire playboys, but after 200 years without sex, my body reacted to him. Our first nights together were wild. So why this? I had planned to maximize his term.
He’s tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome—every woman’s fantasy. He’s amazing in bed too. I was enjoying him, so what’s on his mind?
“Why?” I ask, ignoring the divorce papers. I can’t read the minds of men I’ve been intimate with, something I never considered a weakness—until now.
“I’m bored,” he says simply.
What? I’ve lived over a thousand years, through endless iterations of human civilization, and this one man is tired of me? It feels like an insult to my extraordinary self. Without him, though, life will be even more boring.
“I thought we were good,” I murmur, suppressing the unfamiliar rage building within me. I could smash his head against the table or throw him from his 45th-floor penthouse where we’re casually discussing this like a business transaction.
“You’re gorgeous, but there are plenty of beautiful women out there. Your IQ is average, and I can find someone with better brains. I’ll miss your cooking, though.”
My IQ is average? I’m fluent in Tamil, Hebrew, Greek, Sanskrit, Basque, Arabic, and a hundred other languages. I’ve been a warrior, scientist, engineer, physicist, monk, nun, astronomer, even royalty.
For two years, I’ve helped him achieve his goals. Money means everything to humans, so I used my own resources to help him outsmart his rivals—without him knowing, of course.
He’s my seventh husband, and the most calculating. He hides his emotions well, except in bed.
“I’ll give you a lifetime allowance of 250 grand, let you keep all the jewelry I’ve given you, this mansion, and a building in New York,” he says.
I’m used to being underestimated, and I usually find it amusing. I enjoy playing along with humans’ poor judgment.
But right now, I want him to see me for who I truly am. I want to grab him and fly him into space. Or take him to the deepest ocean and leave him there. Or erase his memories and make him a fool.
But I can’t. I can’t erase his memories because I can’t read his mind. I was drawn to him because he was an oddity, even for a human. Now, though, I’m just disappointed. Utterly.
“Keep your offer. I’m not interested.”
“You don’t have family. This is my best and final offer,” he adds, frowning.
Ignoring him, I call someone. “Pick me up. I’m coming home.”
I take the divorce papers from the table and sign them. I remove his credit cards from my wallet, along with all the jewelry he bought me, and place them on the table. I even take off my shoes.
“I don’t need a penny from you. I can manage on my own. I thought you were different, but today I realize you’re just like all the rest—common. And common is boring.”
As I walk out, I feel something strange inside. Hollowness. Pain. Am I actually attached to this human? This divorce is necessary. But for the first time in my life, I feel vulnerable. And I hate it.
