Since that day, I have never stayed long in one place.

I helped people, when I could.

Most denounced me as a witch.

Witch was apt, I supposed, I had made a deal with the Other, had I not?

Some time ago, my sister had been ill. She would have died if nature had been allowed to run its course. In this time, I prayed again and again, but received no answer. In desperation, I reached to the Other, and it answered.

Who would have refused it's offer? To sacrifice your innocence for your sister's life?

At the Other's bidding, I took the life Sir Edward, a good man, an old man, who had fought in the wars many years ago, but I believed I sent him to heaven, and I gave him a painless death. All the same he did not deserve to die.

In exchange the Other gave me power. I returned to my sister and healed her, but soon thereafter, as some friends of Sir Edward learned of what I had done and branded me a witch, and though my own friends defended me, I fled. I can only pray my sister did not believe the truth of her healing.

A knight found me lying in a ditch, hiding. Guessing who I was, and who I had killed, he questioned me, and bound me. But my fortune was such that I spoke to him, and he was amenable to my charms, and he unbound me so that I may defile myself by him, and as he undid his armour, I stabbed him with the same blade I used on Sir Edward, and watched him die.

In a month, I had hidden myself again in the next town. I made a small living, pretending to be a widow of a knight, and sold the armor of the one who caught me for extra coin.

But fortune and I were at odds, and my neighbour, who intended to visit his cousin, passed through the town, and recognising me, stopped to talk. Quickly, he uncovered the lie, for he knew I was no widow, and from there, everything fell into place. He excused himself, but I prevented his leaving and begged him, to forgive me, to spare me. To him I was truthful, and never again. In the end he said he would speak of it to no one, but the Other urged me not to trust him, and as he left I struck him down and hid him in the forest.

I took none of his things, for my heart was heavy.

Some time later, a little boy, no more than eight, was injured right in front of me. An axel of a cart had shot through his abdomen, and I rushed to him and without thinking, healed him with my talent.

By the end of the day there were whispers of witchcraft, and again I fled.

So it was at every town that I stopped. My lies became more complex. I sold my virtue, I killed and stole. But I felt for those who hurt, and I healed them, and told myself I was in the right, and that my evil actions were simply because society gave me no choice.

And yet each action haunted me. I felt less and less of a person each time.

I returned to my hometown, concealed, and went to my sister's home.

It was her husband who answered, a good man, and he recognised me, and was sorrowful. He said my sister died soon after I left, in great pain. Her own body had begun to fight with itself, and in the end failed her. By the end of three days, her hair had fallen out, turned white, and she had gained wrinkles.

I was horrified, and rushed to the next town.

The child, too, was dead. The wound had closed, but the flesh there had been different, and it formed bruises on his skin. He had grown ill, and shortly thereafter, the wound had opened again and died.

Everywhere I visited, who I had been when I was there was spoken of in hushed tones. Anyone I had healed, be it from deadly injury or from the smallest cut, had died soon thereafter.

"You filled them with the lives you had taken." The Other said, "the lives of two people in one body, would fight each other until the body wasted away."

I fled, as I always did, I ran and ran.

And every last face haunted me.