A reflection on my life, for interested parties.

The parchment papers are tainted yellow from age, dark brown fingerprints are dragged across the corner of each piece, emitting the faintest metallic smell. Three starting lines are crossed or scribbled out. The writing is in a thick black liquid, not possible to verify if it is ink or something else. Nonetheless, each curve, each joining of the words are placed with careful penmanship. 

When I was younger, my parents told me that putting faith in anyone was the largest mistake you could ever make. They then gave me a practical example of this when they abandoned me in the local orphanage, and fled to a hot country in the south - wailing that to them, I was a curse, and in their stead debt collectors scurried behind.

I suppose I should be angry or vengeful - but I was eleven, and it has been many years since then. In hindsight, their advice is almost humorous in it’s accuracy.

Apologies, dear reader, in my lack of proper nutrients, I forgot to introduce myself. I don’t know why I should bother, these will likely be destroyed, or lost, but if anyone should recover these - my legacy could be many things, but rude will not be amongst my traits.

My name is Manon. I had a last name once, but that is irrelevant. After a time, various titles have been attached to my name - you may know some - but for this occasion, Manon is the only name you need to know me by. 

Now, introductions have been done - I shall tell you my story. I must preface that I will have to cut a lot out - I have a limited amount of papers you see - and so I will only tell you what is most important. 

As I mentioned, I was left to an orphanage in a now destroyed town at the age of eleven. It was a former stately home, perched at the peak of a hillside that overlooked the entire valley. I remember the exact moment I first laid my eyes on the orphanage’s brick walls - steel bars caged the windows, the children I would soon meet cocking their heads on the other side of the glass to see me. I had stood there, feet firmly planted in the dirt just before the steps to the main entrance. The door was made of thick oak, and painted pure white with green swirls embellishing it’s frame. The wind itself seemed to grow tired of my hesitance, as it aggressively pushed my body into motion.

Honestly, I can't remember much after stepping through those doors. I greeted the girls whom I shared my new room with - lovely girls, although not terribly outstanding. I then met the terrifying force that was the matron - a spindly, shrivelled woman with a face permanently scrunched up, as if someone had pinched her lips and twisted with all their might. Before I knew it I was dressed in a second hand nightgown and lying in my new bed, drifting to sleep.

I learnt quickly that the easiest way to stay out of the matron's wrath was by being a help to her. So I did just that. I tended to the gardens, tutored the younger girls, took care of the infants, brewed the salves, potions and poultices to heal those who were poorly - I had even, one day, managed to stitch repairs into almost every orphan's favourite garment. 

It was on one of these occasions, about a year into my stay, when I received my gift. 

Pink and orange hues were climbing up from the horizon, embracing the sun as it gradually turned in for the day. One of the younger girls had not returned for the evening headcount, and the matron tasked me with collecting her. The little girl's name was Wendy, and she was quite prone to wandering off on her own, so a search party was not deemed necessary. Granted, she had not been seen for a few hours, but that wasn't unusual either. We believed that she had simply wandered deeper into the surrounding woods. Thus, away I trekked. 

After calling her name and walking for about thirty minutes, I started to get worried. Just as I was contemplating going back to the orphanage to get a search party out, a shrill scream erupted from a location to my left, followed by cries for help. Deciding there wasn't enough time to go get help, I sprinted towards the source, branches whipping and nipping my face and arms as I practically flew through the trees and deeper into the forest. 

I halted when I came to the clearing, where Wendy - unsurprisingly - had found herself in quite a predicament. The poor girl was curled into a ball, weeping at the base of a tree, as a bear lumbered towards her. Bears did prowl that forest, but only the deeper parts - generally they stayed away from the places frequented by humans and kept to themselves. Wendy, in her usual fashion, must have gotten lost and come off the track. 

I don't know why, maybe it was instinct, but like the rumours and tales go - I did jump in front of her that day. Once again, the ground itself seemed to latch onto my feet, but nonetheless I spread my scrawny arms and tried to make myself seem like a threat. The bear, obviously not intimidated, swiped at me - it's claw tearing through the flesh of the left side of my face and some of my chest. 

Surprisingly, I didn't collapse - in fact I felt no weaker than I did when I arrived at the scene. Blood dripped from my new wounds, drenching my clothes and tainting the grass below - the metallic smell was oddly exhilarating. Both the bear and Wendy were perplexed, and there was a period of no movement at all. I dared to look at Wendy, and she gasped at my appearance. I brushed it off assuming it was my wounds. I turned back to the bear. 

I remember so clearly. It's eyes were a pool of brown, and it's thick fur gleamed with a healthy sheen. We all stood completely still, until the bear eventually lost interest and moved away. Seizing the moment, I scooped Wendy into my arms, surprised for a moment at how light she now was, and hastily made my way back to the orphanage. 

If you think that sounds unrealistic, trust me when I tell you that I had thought the same. The air was thick with the scent of my blood, and my fresh wounds glimmered in the sunlight. That should be, at the very least, enticing to any carnivore. And how was I even standing, let alone able to sprint?

When we finally arrived back at the orphanage, and I saw the matron and other staff members gathered at the back door, my legs finally buckled and Wendy tumbled out of my arms. I believe I had then passed out - the last thing I saw was the Matron rushing over to us whilst the other staff members stood in shock. 

You can imagine what happened afterwards. As the stories go, I healed in record time - only faint scars remaining where the bear had struck me. I was taken to a special type of physician to examine my peculiar case, and then I found out the details of my gift. If you’re reading this, you must already have a vague idea. I’ll spare the details - I’m sure there are some medical documents and textbooks detailing how monstrous my true nature is. 

News did spread of me saving Wendy, and before I knew it - more people were coming to the orphanage to see me; to ask for my help. I travelled across the country to help various people with their problems; I saved a family from wolves, conjured potions to heal the sick who could not afford a doctor, even took care of a minor dragon infestation in a mine. People started to hail me as some sort of reborn saint, even though I denied it. They believed I was there to offer them salvation - I suppose that was an easy way to comprehend what I was then. Honestly, I was glad to feel needed. 

However, all those rumours and claims eventually fell on the ears of some high officials - who did not care much for the heresy. When I was seventeen, they visited the orphanage. At the time I was already packing as this was to be my final night there before I left to move elsewhere with my life. It wasn’t unusual to receive home visits from needy parties, so when the matron instructed me to consult the visitors, I left my room to do so. And then I saw their uniforms. 

They were not just officials, they were religious knights. At the time, they also worked in the service of the King. Tall, slim men in long black robes with clean shaves and identical jawlines, each sat stiffly in the seats of the parlour. No armour, so I was a little more at ease.

I greeted them. One smiled and spoke for the group. They offered riches beyond my comprehension if I could provide aid in the country’s war against another Kingdom - Elyva. I told them I wasn’t sure. They said they would offer me security. At the time, I was experiencing some violent confrontation from some outliers, who called me a witch, but it wasn’t enough to hurt me. That, and I was not trained to fight with any weapons. They told me I would be instructed to fight by the best they could find, and pitched the life of someone who was employed by the King to help the citizens. They drenched their proposition in glory and fame, and I was not that humble. Eventually, I said yes - and as they say the rest is history. 

I won’t spend time on the battles I fought, or even why the war was going on - I’m not even sure myself. All you need to know, and probably already know, is that I became known as a capable fighter and leader from the experience. Despite how hard I fought, however, our enemies pressed on. That was until the fateful day they invaded the capital city. 

It came as a complete surprise to everyone - no scout or soldier had managed to detect the Elyvans. They were efficient, but I was able to fight my way through with the aid of companions I had met years prior - Terrence Green and Laurie Grey. I instructed my soldiers to aid the civilians escaping, but when I hears Elyvans were gathering hostages in the palace, I knew that was where I had to go.

Although this was a much smaller force than their main armies, the Elyvans were traditionally strong fighters, and I must stress this was no easy feat. When we finally reached the palace hall where the royal family and nobles were being held, the leader of the enemy forces stood proudly over them. I challenged him to a one on one battle, which - as you may know - an Elyvan is forbidden by honour to deny. 

He was a burly man twice my size in both dimensions, and deftly swung a war hammer as if it was a machete. I held my ground, used everything I had been taught, and took advantage of his weaknesses. If I kept myself moving quicker than him, I figured I should be able to land enough strikes with my blade so that he would have to keel over eventually. Thankfully, their traditional fighting garbs left a lot of skin exposed.

Using my gift, I managed to stay one step ahead of him most of the time. Sometimes I did make the mistake of underestimating his speed, and I found myself batted across the hall by his war hammer, definitely crushing a few bones. But the scent of blood in the air once again made something in me snap. My mind had focused on one thing - making his body go cold. Not even his weapon nearly crushing my stomach could stop me. 

Eventually, he buckled, and I took the opportunity to slash at his neck. 

His head fell to the floor, desperate green eyes rolling back into his skull. I picked it up by it’s thick blonde ponytail and held it above my head, his blood dripping onto my face. It was finished.

Of course, smaller battles around the country had to be tied up - but they eventually were won as well and the Elyvans admitted their defeat. 

I had healed completely in about a week from that battle, and soon the King was asking to send me out on missions of his own, and to become his adviser. I turned that down, but he still kept me close to him for advice regardless. I was rewarded with a banquet for my efforts, but nothing more. After all, I am not of noble birth, and no matter how many times I helped his majesty - I was still an orphan with strange abilities. 

For a long while I had existed too comfortably, trusting the integrity of those around me. Soon the glory of my victories wore off, and the rumours of me being a witch started to spread throughout the country like they had before - but this time, fuelled with fear of my unusual win against the Elyvan leader and my closeness to the king. Strange stories of turning the royal family against religion, and sacrificing innocents so that I could stay strong started to sprout across the kingdom.

Once, when I was strolling around the palace, I had heard those same officials that had visited me years prior at the orphanage, conspiring to get rid of me, whispering that I was untrustworthy because of my background and abilities. I couldn’t tell the royal family, as I had no physical proof of these claims. But, I’ll admit, I had spent no time making connections in the courts aside from the military leaders. Majority of the courtesans were suspicious of me as my simple presence was a threat to their connections to the King, and so they generally wished to be rid of me. 

I implore you, dear reader, what do you do in a situation like that? I suppose I could have run away, but rumours are like a disease, and soon newspapers around the country had my alleged crimes splashed across their front pages. I was still saving people from near death, as was still expected of me even then, but that no longer mattered. I had put faith in surroundings I was not well versed in, and as my parents had told me - that was my fatal error.

In the space of a year, I had become the most feared individual in the entire land. No one but the monarchy would associate with me, which attracted negative attention to them - and many of the public, and some nobles, wanted rid of them as well.

Several lines are blocked out with black liquid.

On a blistering summer day, the King and his son were found ripped to shreds in their beds. Instantly, the blame fell on me - but I must assert this, I did not kill his majesty or the prince. I have a clear alibi! I wasn’t in the capital! I was visiting one of my few remaining friends on the outskirts of the county! But that did not matter to anyone, it was simply enough for it to look like I would do it. 

Upon my arrival back into the city, an ocean of burning torchlights awaited me, chanting and sneering like hyenas sizing up their prey. I tried to take an alternate route, but I could not outrun hundreds of people. Before I knew it, I was snatched up, bound, and dragged to the gallows. The public was so distrusting of me, I was not even granted a fair trial. When they threw me in the cell I now write in, those same officials were waiting for me. They simply said that I should savour the next week, and then they left, leaving me here to occupy myself. Thankfully, some guards took pity on me and gave me the parchment to write this document. 

Reader, although I cannot control your decisions - I hope you choose to get my story out. I know I have skipped a lot - and if I could, I would go into greater detail. I’m sure the History books have spared no expense to try and either erase me or make me out to be some sort of demon born of another realm. I am not. I am a woman, with extra abilities, who used them to please others but was naïve to believe that was enough to earn security. The truth of the matter is, people love those who will help them - but as soon as you get comfortable and relish in your success, those same parties that raised you up, will tear you down just as quickly. 

And now, once again, I am that scared, abandoned girl in front of the orphanage. What is different now is that I have known the taste of adoration and gorged on it’s fruits - needless to say, in my final hours, I am bemused.

The final sentence is squeezed onto the final parchment paper, barely legible.