On a warm summer dawn, away in a distant land whose name has been forgotten to the unending march of time, a mother, surrounded by her family, gives birth to a daughter. That daughter would be regarded as a plague to that family for she would not inherit the family's wealth when the father would pass. Such then was she given no name, only referred to in indirect mannerisms and phrases to indicate that they were talking about her. Though, in her early years, she would give herself a name. Mītut Qātē. A collection of sounds more than a word with meaning she took pride in this name that she had given herself. So much so that she felt as if that name was uniquely hers, her own name and title of being. Mītut Qātē. She truly felt that this name was the one thing that belonged to her in this world for she had been born into a poor farming family of impoverished squalor. The village she resided in was amongst the most destitute and poor, even compared to villages hit with drought and disease they were still more preferable to live in than where she was born. Her family struggled as their children starved and died, yet the unwanted plague continues to live, and healthily at that. They suspected that she was stealing food from their stores and crops and locked her in a barrel for 3 days in hopes of not only teaching her a lesson but to also secretly hope that she would die hungry and thirsty in that barrel. Yet on the third day they still heard her screams coming from it and opened it to let her out; angered to see that she was still in good health in contrast to their wretchedness. She was barely 5 years old.

  When she learned to eventually walk and talk she was forced to work the family farm from the first rays of light in the morning to the last shreds of it at night; sometimes forcing her to work the fields even in the dark. Even when she complained about how tired she was day after day her family beat her until she stopped speaking all together. One day her father figured that she was complaining too much during her toiling and put his hands around her throat, to shut the unwanted plague up, and squeezed to ensure she would not forget this lesson. Mītut Qātē's throat was injured to an extreme point where parts of her throat had been damaged to a degree which made speaking a painful task to do casually, only reserved for when her family called her to do a task they did not feel like doing themselves. Her family resented her but came to depend on her as she was one of the few children they had that was able to work the farm. Most of the other children they had were either too sick, dying, or dead to even leave the wretched mud house that her family had to their name along with their farm. She never complained, as she feared the further repercussions which would come if she spoke up against them; for she knew what would happen if she did. Her hands and feet bleed under the strain of continuous toil, each wheat stalk felt as if it were a rose; elegant and beautiful as it always had been to gaze at but being careless with its handling it made sure it would prick you against its numerous thorns. Skin scared and bleached in the days of working in the sun, she was a sorry sight of flesh and hair. Even working in the fields bore no lesser amounts of troubles. Wolves, boars, and many more animals which prey on the boons of farmers, all of these she had to fend off with nothing more than the sickle she used to collect the wheat. Often she was successful at warding them off, on occasions sometimes injuring or killing the beast to the reluctant celebration of her family; she had just brought them food to stave off another day's worth of hungered troubles. Though a good number of times these beasts would attack her, scratching her skin, tearing her clothes, and butchering the little bits of flesh they were able to get their mouths one; one attack leaving her with a noticeable chuck of her shoulder ripped out. Despite all the pain and agony which she suffered she always did her job well, the one thing that her family seemed to commend her about; the one bit of value she was worth to them for being the plague.

  On the rare occasions that she wasn't toiling on the farm she would wander to the village square and try to play with the other children in whatever games they were playing; however, before she even knew it, she bore a reputation amongst the children as the village demon. Despite all the mass hunger and poverty she still had a lure of health to her; one which many children despised as their brothers and sisters were dying to their poor health and hunger on a regular basis. They gave her many names that alluded to her almost super-natural resilience to hunger and disease, comparing her to a fly; a carrier of disease that does not suffer at the hands of what they carry onto others. She was seen in the same manner to that, and oftentimes this led to physical harm being done upon her by the older children, beating her, stealing the few things she had, tearing apart her already tattered clothes, forcibly parading her in the village square like some sort of spectacle; with most of the adults being no better in the treatment of her. Throwing rocks, sharpened bones, and even hardened dung beetle droppings at her, striking her violently enough that blood often came out of the many wounds and scars which had only healed a day ago. She would return home on these incursions from the village battered and bloodied; her family disregarding it, seeing it as an appropriate treatment for the "plague child." For years she would be cast aside not only as a black sheep by her family but also by her own peers. Though not all children would treat her like that, and it would be one of these children that would come to befriend the "plague child" and show her a light of compassion.

  When Mītut Qātē would be about 10 she was on a usual day of laborious toil in the fields for meager yields when a girl, alike to her in age, would approach her as she worked. Thinking it was another bully to pick on and throw rocks at her she raised up her sickle and threatened the girl to leave or else she would be cut up by her. Instead of fleeing, this girl simply asked if she was hurting from the many wounds across her body, which she nodded in response to. She lowered her sickle and allowed the girl to come up to her, still maintaining guard, suspecting the worse to come from her. The girl reached out and raised Mītut Qātē's right arm, one whose wounds and scabs almost make up the entirety of her skin. The girl put her arm on a patch of scars and, just like magic, the wounds began to heal. First closing up, then fading into dark spots of residue where they once were, and eventually fully healed healthy skin. Mītut Qātē was amazed at this miracle performed by this girl, and soon she healed all the damage on her right hand; what was once a tablet for inscribing text has become an empty sheet of paper, beautiful and undamaged. The girl told Mītut Qātē her name, which was Adelfi, and said that she had learned how to heal people's wounds from her family but was told not to tell anyone that she could as people would think she was weird and not want to play with her. Mītut Qātē promised not to tell anyone about her secret, since she treated her with kindness instead of hate; a far cry from how the other children would have treated her.

  Adelfi and Mītut Qātē would continue to talk after this, a small piece of comfort from a typically laborious task she was forced to do day after day, and even though she rarely spoke she cherished every moment she shared with Adelfi. When it rained they were both soaked in the endless pouring of water. When it was scorching hot in a sun bathed day they both endured the beating sun together. Though they often chased her away from the farm, Mītut Qātē's family was often delighted to no longer hear complaints coming from her, thinking that Adelfi was only there to distract the unwanted plague from spreading to them again. On the rare occasions where she didn't have to work the fields instead of trying to go to the village center and be picked on by the other children, she and Adelfi often adventures together into the woods that were on the outskirts of the village farms. Journeying and discovering idyllic creeks and rivers, patches of beautiful flowers growing in plentitude. In those woods they both found beauty and a place in times of troubles; and even if she rarely spoke about it Adelfi often comforted and talked through her tedious troubles and healed her many wounds incurred by toil-filled work on the farm. On many occasions they would venture out from the first rays of light in the morning to the last droplets of it at night; with their favorite moments being of quiet tranquility of nature, with the remembrance of such events being a few flowers they picked out of the ground.

  On one such occasion of these adventures deep into the forests of the lands, they would have an encounter with a man whom many thought was just a legend; a man isolated in the woods who ate nothing but birds and rats. Having deviated away from the usual path that they took they ventured into where this man was supposedly residing; an abandoned mine which used to produce great quantities of iron but now has long since borne barren fruit. Despite the many obstacles that they had to deal with through the wayward path they managed to reach the fabled residence of this strange man; the remains of an ancient mineshaft. Wandering into the defunct mine the two found all sorts of treasures and old objects and tools from when the mine was in operation. Having ventured further down into the mine they find the man. Horridly deformed and looking akin to monsters of antiquity, ones which Hercules would strike down. Despite his horrid state and the terror the two were struck upon laying their eyes on the man he offered the two a meal of boiled doves. Although reluctant to feast at first the two found the strange man to be of good company, enthralling the two in his mystical tales and stories of him, as a younger man, fighting great beasts on the vast seas. Despite not knowing his name, with it being lost over the years, he has called himself "Tragoedia" these days, a name which was a nickname he gained over the many years of his life. Having spent good time with Tragoedia the two promised to return the next time they were able to. Months would pass and they would forget about him but one day they decided to pay him a visit. Journeying to the mines past the wayward and treacherous road they found the mine to be buried underneath rubble and stones. Clearing away the blockage the two found the remains of poor Tragoedia, desperate scratch marks at the rocks which blocked the mine entrance, and by looking at the state of his body it seemed that he died months ago, likely soon after the two meet the mine collapsed and block the entrance; they both wept his death. Despite not having the strong beliefs of their village they honor and buried Tragoedia in a grave next to the mines. A small act of respect for a friend they only once met. Upon returning home Mītut Qātē continued to weep into the night; her family, not caring on why she wept, beat her that night for causing too much noise and not allowing the rest of them to sleep.

  Another one of these visits to the woods, however, was akin to the many journeys they had done in the past, to a pond they often rested and talked around. Having settled on a piece of fallen wood they relaxed and began to aimlessly talk and admire the beauty of the world; a beauty so seldom savored by her. On these occasions however a wolf, which had terrorized the village for years, pounced on the two. Unlike the attacks done by previous wolves and animals that Mītut Qātē fended off or at least tried to before, this was done in total surprise. The wolf had pounced first on Mītut Qātē, aggressively trying to get at her throat but had fallen short and instead had entrenched its teeth into her back; painfully sinking into her flesh as its fangs tore through it with ease. She fell over as she tried to even comprehend the situation, with Adelfi backing away in shock. This wolf had pulled away, taking a good part of Mītut Qātē's back with it. Still in pain she struggled to get on her feet as the wolf lunged at her again, this time being warded off by her as she swung at the beast as it tried again. Before the wolf had the chance to try its luck again it was thrown off its feet a good distance away; engulfed in an inferno of hotly burning flame. Mītut Qātē turned to Adelfi who looked shocked at what had just occurred; but in a way that felt more like she was afraid of herself rather than of the wolf. Returning home in silence they both bid each other well wishes; her family disregarding the wound, chalking it up to the mere clumsiness and stupidity of the plague for getting herself hurt.

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  They would continue interacting with each other long after these two accidents had occurred, venturing into the ardent forests and discovering more mannerisms of flowers and plants; some of which they are convinced no one has ever discovered before. Mītut Qātē had long collected these beautiful flowers in large bundles but often had to discard them by the side of the path since the first time she tried to take them home her mother took it away seeing it as irresponsible for her to do so; before seeing her flowers tightly adorned in her mother’s hair just moments later with her family complimenting her for finding such beautiful flowers and how long she must have had to forage for them. This adventure, however, Adelfi insisted on carrying the flowers Mītut Qātē picked along the way, carefully holding them throughout the journey. By the time they arrived at a creek they often frequented by to stop and rest, Mītut Qātē was exhausted after the long walk through the idyllic forests and napped alongside the trunk of a tree; Adelfi assuring her, with a smidge of laughter, that she would watch over her whilst she slept. When she awoke Adelfi greeted her with a gesture of kindness which she will forever remember and cherish. Before her Adelfi held a wreath composed of all the flowers she had carried and some more freshly picked from the nearby area. The wreath was a beautiful myriad of colors, from vibrant yellows, to deep blues, to the cutting greens of the stalks, steams, and leaves.

  "Wow!" Mītut Qātē perked up coarsely, her voice suffocating her throat "You made this whilst I was asleep?"

  "Yes!" Adelfi responded in kind to Mītut Qātē "It took some time to do it, but it turned out so pretty!"

  "Indeed it did!" Mītut Qātē gasped out in breathe before choking on her own words

  "Hey!" Adelfi cried out "Are you okay?"

  Mītut Qātē nodded whilst softly messaging her throat; a gesture Adelfi smiled in response to. She then placed the flower wreath on top of Mītut Qātē’s head, the wreath just being slightly bigger titled to one side before resting in place; what was once a sorry sight of flesh and hair has now sprouted forth beautiful flowers and fauna. To Adelfi, Mītut Qātē appeared like a goddess of the earth; scarred and broken by the works of man in his attempt to strangle the world of its resources and riches but standing still ever so elegantly in the face of man’s attempts, keeping her natural beauty. To Mītut Qātē, Adelfi had given her another thing in her life that truly belonged to her very own existence; a simple wreath of flowers. As the sun began to wane and give way for the moon, the two began their long journey home. Mītut Qātē was unsure of what to do with the wreath for she feared of it being destroyed when she went home, Adelfi suggested that she should keep it somewhere secret and safe so her parents could find it. Alongside the path the two found a bush where the wreath could be hidden and carefully hid it there. At the point of the path where the two had to go their separate ways back home Adelfi noticed the sombre look Mītut Qātē always had when they were at this point of the path, calling out to her she got her attention.

  “I’ll see you again soon!” Adelfi said in her usual enthusiastic and joy-filled tone

  Mītut Qātē, still recovering from her strained throat, looked back at Adelfi as she was about to part and, on a rare occasion, smiled. “You too!” she blurts out, using up the remaining strength her voice could allow for the next few weeks. Waving goodbye on yet another journey with her closets and only friend she keeps her smile for several moments after saying that, before drooping down into a partly sadden frown; knowing of what would await her home. Alas this would be the last happy memory she would remember of Adelfi.

  On that very night, after being berated for not coming back home sooner and just when she was about to drift off into the weary death of sleep, a great mass of voices that, starting off as merely but a whisper in her ears, erupts into a sea of anger, rage, frustration, condescension, retribution, all forms of the worst emotions the mind could conjure. Awaking and scrambling to get outside she purposely avoided making too much noise, as to not awaken her parents and punish her for not being in bed. Carefully opening the door before shambling away from the house, she followed the short path towards where the vast noise of people had gone; towards the village center. Arriving on the outskirts she could clearly hear what the large mass of people were saying, in different tones and volumes, “Witch!” “Hand the Witch!” “Kill the witch!” and many more comments of the same nature. Only hearing of Witches from the tales told by the adults to the children around her, that of evil people who lured and ate children, deceived the faithful, and worshipped the devil, she seemed almost ambivalent to whole scene of it, rationalizing “Well if the witch is a bad person, they deserve to be punished” and began to turn back home, to hopefully be back in bed before anyone noticed. However two words spoken in quick succession would shatter that notion instantly.

  “Help! Please!”

  Turning to see where those familiar sounding words came from, she saw before her and the crowd a grand platform, above it was connected a great beam where tied to were 3 nooses. 4 figures stood on the platform, 1 of which was a prominent soldier of the village whose duty was to protect it from raids and attacks, 2 others wore similar yet ragged clothes to each other and had the noose around their necks, the last figure, whose noose was beginning to be put around their neck by the soldier, was Adelfi, visibly beaten with the clothes Mītut Qātē saw her wear just earlier now torn and barely covering up her body. Knowing what was about to happen to her one and only friend, seeing it be done many times in the past to petty thieves and criminals, she rushed past the crowd to reach her friend. Step after step she was a bit closer to reaching her, to saving her. In her mind, whilst the people cried out “Witch!”, she was far from it. She did not lure children and eat them, she didn’t worship the devil, she was a kind person who likes to see the world in its beauty. She was a good person, a really talented person who cares. She-

  Before the thought could finish two clear cracks broke the noise of anger and hate which she was surrounded by. Looking up she saw the two other people with their heads slumped forward, lifelessly suspended over the ground by a few feet, and to the left of them, she saw Adelfi squirming around in the air; the platform dropped but didn’t immediately break her neck. She wanted to continue, to cut down the rope and save her one friend Adelfi. Looking at her, Adelfi saw Mītut Qātē before smiling, no longer panicked or crying despite being a few moments away from death. Seeing her smile Mītut Qātē she was calmed a little bit as she made her way to her. However a random adult in the crowd blocked Mītut Qātē’s path and began to question why she was up at this time. Ignoring him she tried to go around the hulking man but to no avail as she was grabbed by the arm by him. Still trying to get to Adelfi she struggled with the man, who in turn punched and kicked her away. Regaining her balance she looked up to see Adelfi looking at her, seeing that she was trying to say something. Looking at her mouth she was able to understand what she was trying to say to her.

  “I have a final surprise I want you to see. Run far away from here I’ll show you. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

  Inside of her mind waged a war between continuing to go towards Adelfi or following her request. She knew that her friend was going to die if she didn’t act, but she knew that Adelfi was capable of amazing things, her mind wanted to truly believe that she was able to escape from this helpless situation. She wanted her friend to live no matter what. She would no longer have anyone in this world who would care for her in the same way she did. She didn’t want to lose that person. She wants to enjoy many more adventures and moments with her, to explore another grove, to collect more funny rocks and beautiful flowers. She remembers all the times she showed that tendered kindness which no one else gave to her. She remembered the first time she showed it to her. That peculiar feeling of closeness and comfort which radiated off of her. She didn’t want to lose that, it would be better to die than to lose that. Before her thoughts could continue to bounce around and fight with each other, she was snapped out of it by Adelfi, desperately screaming at her through a course like tone.

  “Please! Go now!”

  Three words. Three trips of the tongue down the staircase of hopelessness and dread. Yet it would be by the hope injected into these words that ushered Mītut Qātē to take one last look at her friend before turning around and running as fast as she can away from the village. Avoiding the hulking figures of the adults and the disgusted stares of the children, she ran until she fell over. But even so she continued to run until she was out of breath. Seeing the few torches which illuminated the village some distance away, she fell to the ground to catch her breath. Not until she heard a loud bang from the village. Turning around she sees before her a giant pillar of infernal flame, rising far into the air, it engulfed the entire village in its ravenous hunger, eating buildings and people. Fearing something must have happened to Adelfi, Mītut Qātē picked up the last bits of her strength to get up and walk as fast as she could to the burning village.

  It took long but she arrived at the remains of the village; nothing more but smoldering embers of wood and melted mud and clay. Where the gallows and the crowd where there was nothing left of ash. She desperately called out her name, howling like a wolf into the night for a response which would never come. Falling down onto her knees she began to cry, but not for long. She heard a group of voices emerge from the dark asking “who’s there?” and “what happened here?” and picked herself up and ran out of the village. Desperately trying to get away from these unknown individuals she dove into a nearby bush by the side of the path. Staying still and trying not to make a sound in order to not get caught, she bottles her tears and grief. When it seemed like she had lost them she composed and breathed a great sigh of relief. Just as she was about to get up from the bush she felt a familiar texture; the smooth petals of a lily. She looked at where she had put her hand and she saw what she was touching; the flower wreath Adelfi made for her.

  Looking at it with shock, she begins to sniffle in her nose a little. She grabbed it and placed it on her head. In her mind she recalls with exact perfect detail the last words she spoke to her directly. “I’ll see you again soon!” in that same joyous tone which she said every time they parted ways after going on an adventure together. “I’ll see you again soon!” played in the same voice which belonged to Adelfi. She laid on her side and began to weep, then cried, before breaking down completely. The one friend who treated her with kindness whilst others showed her contempt and disgust at her very existence. Her first true friend; now gone as the ashes of what once was her being and her life, one filled with such happiness and adventure, were carried away by the wind into the ever-distant and unreachable aether just as many before her. Mītut Qātē would lose the one pillar in her life that made it bearable to endure onto the next day; one of her true reasons to toil and carry on through the laborious day. All before she was even 12 years of age.