She ran. She ran as far as her bare feet could carry her. And still, it was not far away enough to escape the pain that raged inside her.

What had she done? What had she done?

She paused to catch her breath as she leant on the corner of the rock face, not knowing what was around the corner. Not caring.

She had escaped to the canyon, where the giant orange rocks reached for the blue skies above, as she followed the river below that snaked through the rock faces.

She had been running for 2 days now. Running away from them. Running away from the raw memories of what had happened.

But while shock may have been her saviour at first, helping her to gather her wits and flee, it had soon started to fade. Instead, the screaming horror of grief had begun to take its place.

A tear ran down her dirty face as she wiped her nose.

‘No point, really,’ she thought. Her arm was filthy, as was the rest of her.

“Beware the Fire-Child!” the villagers would whisper when her back was turned. She hated it. She hated being the subject of their gossip. Of the frightened glances. Of people scurrying away at the mere sight of her.

‘But they were right, weren’t they? They were right.’

She had thought she could keep it in check - keep herself from igniting anything within 60 paces of her. But there was no rhyme or reason. It happened at random. Just a feeling of intense anger, a few milliseconds before the flames roared out of her towards its prey.

She had changed from that unremarkable village girl to a monster. A monster who lived alone, in the tiny, once abandoned stone hut on the outskirts. Even her parents chose to shun her.

“You of no daughter of ours!” they said, as they pushed her out into the biting cold. Their voices echoed in her head even now. That day, she lost her home, her family, and her heart.

And yet, she couldn’t blame them. Look at what she had become. She was a monster.

And somewhere deep inside, she knew this day would come. A time when her curse wouldn’t ignite a random tree, or an unsuspecting fox’s tail. A time when, instead, she would ignite the village hall and everyone inside it. The fire injured ten of the villagers inside, and kill three. All because she couldn’t control these powers she had been cursed with.

So she ran.

She ran and didn’t wonder where she was going.

She ran without wondering what she’d do.

She just put one foot in front of the other, knowing there would never be enough distance she could put between herself and the terrible thing she had done.

And yet, somewhere many miles away, a white witch sensed the child’s presence - her grief, her chaos. A white witch who set off on her travels, companions in tow to find this child, wild in her ways of the flame. A white witch that would come to save her soul and show her the love and acceptance she had craved for all these years.

The witch of the Crimson Realm.