I had never meant to hurt anyone. I had just been helping a city dying from the Black plague. Little did I know I was spreading the disease faster than wildfire. instead of saving people, I was killing them.

I long line arrived my hut in the forest every morning, all of them waiting to be healed. I had found out days ago from another of my kind. I had tried to ignore the shouting and the rapping on my door. The line became so long that it stretched out of the forest and into town.

I finally gave up and healed the couple thousand and another many more on the way. the days stretched on until one day, the wailing of the pained people became unbearable. The people that screamed of romours of a witch, a good witch, and where to find her overflowed my senses. I couldn’t spend my days healing people while they slowly died a painful death.

Puting on the darkest cloak I could find, and shoting the windows and ransacking the home, I left in a hurry, and called to Poe, who flew from the sky and landed on my shoulder.

I escaped into the night ithout looking back. People would knock in the morning until they couldn’t be patient and they would barge in. They would find a witch who was only trying to help as a witch who hurt the community as she fled.

But I didn’t mind. I kept running, with the moon as my guide and Poe as my brother, I ran, into the night. Who knows, maybe one day I would be back. When I came back, I was hanged. After everything I had done. My death was slow, just like the people with the Black Death many years ago, it was slow enough to pray to god for a faster way.