These lines on my face, this stark streak of gray in my hair; when did these arrive? I’m still a young adult, aren’t I? At least, until I look in the mirror. Then reality shrugs and settles on me like a cloak. But, at least I can still keep reality away when it counts. Like that day of the battle, when adrenaline told reality to beat feet back home. When I did something remarkably brave, or stupid, likely both.

I know that staying in this land, helping these people who I barely know, cannot be allowed for much longer. My own people will worry about my continued absence, and my hosts’ people will eventually demand that I either leave or swear allegiance to their king. For now, though, while I still come to grips with my husband’s death, I cannot bear to be around my own people; too many reminders of what I lost.

So I gaze into the mirror by my bed, and I hope that what my hosts see is more savior than demon, more alike to them than different. I can still see the demon, but at least I can now work with it.