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Sirona's overall frame is scrawny, but her arms and legs have recently started to become more athletic. She is slightly shorter than average height, and her skin tone and complexion are pale since she hasn't been outside for many years.

Sirona's hair is made out of white feathers that grow back from above her forehead and reach slightly below her shoulders, and her eyes have a golden yellow colour.

Height 165 cm Weight 50kg

At the age of 9, she was headhunted to come to study medicine and healing magic under the watchful guidance for confessor Ilgron.

She spent 14 years under his care being mentally abused and manipulated to achieve a rank withing The Order of Occult Secrets. When learning what The Confessor was all about Sirona regained some of her mental independence and withstood any further attempts to bring her into the cult.

She was rescued by Irdien Talvaeth and Jak o' the Wisp together with Labrat, a Dragon spawn that was created two years prior.

Love interest Adrian Maulitz

 

Ertherin and the cult

As always there was a knock as if her permission to enter would matter in the slightest. To be honest it was more a taunt than considerate. At least it got her a few seconds to arrange herself in a manner that would not immediately cry out escapology. Sirona Boyd could feel that her efforts were starting to give results. Without any real access to weights she had to be content with just using her own body as weight, but with increased repetitions and decreased resting times she had greatly improved the times she could perform the same exercises before failure.

“Yes,” she said, holding “Spell in the Air”; one of her few books that wasn't meant to teach her anything. She had read it a fair amount of times. It’s main character, a girl named Celeste, was trying to keep up with her schoolwork while adjusting to her newly discovered responsibilities as Queen of the Fairies. It contained its fair amount of sword fights and romance, but even though she’d loved this book as a nice get away at times the irony wasn't lost on her that Summer hardly went anywhere. The door opened to reveal Mikhail, one of the human guards that usually worked the upper floors of the mansions, as far as she knew.

“Godday Sirona, The master requires you down stairs. Please follow me.”

“Why, what does he want?” Sirona asked disapprovingly and put the book down on the table.

“You know what he wants,” Mikhail replied, waiting patiently in the doorway.

“It’s… It’s not L again is it? Sirona said getting to her feet. Last time she had been called down to the dungeon Conrad had severely beaten the dragon humanoid for not responding quickly enough to his string of orders.

“The Master is waiting,” Mikhail repeated, still not entering the room. Sirona sighed and let him escort her down the stairs.

Entering the part of the basement containing amongst others Labrat’s holding cell they did not turn down that corridor. Instead she was led straight into the chamber where Confessor Ilgron got most of his Confessions done. There was a groan of pain coming from further inside. The smell of blood made her mouth go dry and she stopped. She wanted to glare at Ilgron with loathing and defiance but the sight of him in this horrid room and context made her just stare at the ground by his feet. It was still an angry gaze, only losing some of its vigor by her having to concentrate to not start crying.

“Ah, welcome,” Confessor Ilgron said in an almost expressionless voice. “I am pleased to see that you had the time to step by.” He gestured a pale hand towards the wooden bench behind him. “Our guest seems to be ready for a round two.” He reached out his other arm towards her as if scooping her shoulders up from the back, although he was standing too far away to actually touch her Sirona still felt her legs move forward almost on their own. Just as she expected Ilgron placed a hand on her far off shoulder, pushing her up with his arm towards the prisoner. “Allow me to introduce our medical advisor, Sirona. She will have you feeling better in no time. Then perhaps you will be more… cooperative?”

Sirona had never seen a Drow before. The young man's skin was dark grey, almost black and his hair white as snow, except for the parts that had been stained by blood and dirt. He had a gaping wound into his abdomen and Sirona had the sinking feeling that something had been removed from within. The dark elves' eyes were open but he seemed in too much pain to focus them and more than once they appeared on the verge to roll back into unconsciousness. Her hands were shaking as she reached out to place them over the gaping wound. She saw no anesthetics nearby. Clenching her teeth together she closed her eyes, releasing a single tear that she'd been fighting to hold back. It fell down her cheek, dripping off her chin. She ignored it for the time being as she reached within for the blessing of Morena. Warm light burst from her fingers and quickly spread over to the large wound, liking it like transferring flames. It created almost a weave of glowing strands leaving fresh new skin tissue behind over the hole. As she finished she quickly wiped the tear from her face. The young man's eyes came back into focus and as they suddenly seemed to see her for the first time there was a quick struggle against the restraints holding him down.

“What did you do?” He asked with fear and anger in his voice as he looked down at his bare midriff. “What have you done to me?”

“I believe your work here is done,” Ilgron said, almost causing her to jump.

“You’re a monster. Let me go. You have no idea the people I know. They will come for me and destroy you all.” The man spat, the gob not hitting any of them, but he got his point across.

“Oh, but do tell me about these friends of yours,” Ilgron said casually holding a red hot iron rod. The man quieted down but kept staring dagger at him. Sirona envied the hatred he could convey at The Confessor.

“There was nothing but dead spiders in your whoring father's seed,” the dark elf snarled, fighting against the binds once more. “Spoon eared, pink skins!”

“Such foul mouth in the presence of a lady,” Ilgron said, pressing the hot metal down on the prisoner's flesh. The smell and scream almost made Sirona vomit. Smoke started closing up their immediate surroundings, but Ilgron didn't remove the tool until the drow stopped screaming. “My apologies,” he said and turned away to dispose of the rod. Sirona stared at the drow. He was unconscious, luckily. She held out her hand over the burn at his side, but just as the faintest light started to show Ilgron spoke again. “No, I don't think so. He needs some time to think over his... choices. Leave him like that. I will continue to question him in the morning.” Sirona remained immobile for a moment but did not summon any healing to her hand. Instead her eyes feel on the fastening restricting the man's right wrist.

“Yes,“ she quietly said, retracting her hand at the same time as she cautiously and slowly picked up one of the gruesome looking cut and carving tools from the table next to her. She glanced over at Ilgron but The Confessor seemed for the time being distracted by his own work. She didn't have the time to cut through the bindings but at least she managed to quickly make a tear in the leather. If the drow woke up during the night perhaps this would be enough for him to pull loose. She wasn't sure how he’d get past the guards should he succeed, but she couldn't just leave him here doing nothing. Putting back the blade she turned towards Ilgron who just then looked up from his book.

“Didn't I tell you the creatures I bring down here aren't innocent. Those underscums and dirty ash faced, spider kissers are a threat to all civilized existence. If his kind invaded and took you down below with them you would think that the tools you see here were children's toys.” He walked around the table and lay a heavy hand on her shoulder. “But don't worry. I will always be here to protect you.”

Lessons learned

- Life is precious because it is so fragile. It can be easily taken away and needs someone to protect it. If given a chance, life can lead to friendship, love, and much more. Suffering is temporary, but that is easily forgotten when it looks the darkest. We must never forget this, for in the eyes of an outsider it might seem strange. They don't have the same respect for life as we do and never will. The world can be cruel, but we are not. If we see life in danger; balancing on the edge of a knife's blade. We will reach out and pull it back from death's cold claws. Isn't that right Sirona Boyd?

- Yes, the girl replied and smiled up at him. Confessor Ilgron's tall, looming presence stopped briefly and placed a hand on his young pupil's shoulder before resuming his gentle pacing around the room.

- Of course, these dark times that fools simple minds into believing that their life should end prematurely are our worst enemy. We must look past any current state of well-being and get them back to a state where they can carry on by themselves and reach their full potential. Confessor Ilgron stopped again, this time to look out the sealed shut window overlooking the garden. It had a beautiful view from the second floor. Sirona knew it well but had very seldom been out there, though. It took great effort to keep it pretty and nurtured, and she knew that she would have to prove that she wasn't going to mess around or pick the flowers before she could be trusted out there alone. There was a deep sigh from the towering man before she spoke again, still not pulling his gaze from the window.

- I believe that will be all for today. He turned towards her but with his attention already at the door leading out. I want you to keep studying that chapter on bone fractures. If you do well, I might have a surprise for you tomorrow.

- Confessor, Sirona began just as he reached to door. He stopped and looked back at her.

- Yes? - Has there come any letters for me? He titled his head and gave her an understanding, sympathetic look.

- No, child. Still no letters. Don't worry. I will let you know as soon as they arrive. You don't have to ask me. He turned back and opened the door. Just as he was about to exit, he looked back at her one last time. You are an extraordinary girl Sirona. If your parents couldn't see that it's their loss.

Pearly whites

Sirona Boyd put down the quil looking at the paper before her. It wasn't as pretty as her teacher's handwriting, but she was still feeling proud. This was some of her first ever written sentences that she hadn't just copied down as instructed. This was made up of her own mind. Just a few lines perhaps, but now she could start telling her mom and dad how her studies were going. She looked up expectantly from her desk at the sound of the door opening. She knew it was time for her lesson to start but she really wanted to show her progress. Sirona rose from the chair holding up the paper.

"Good morning, Confessor Ilgron," she greeted, like always, with a curtsy.

"Good morning Sirona," he answered, barely taking note of her. "Today we will continue with the read-through of medicine through the ages. Please pick up your book." Sirona looked from her letter to the book on the desk. "What's the hold up?" Ilgron asked in a dreary voice. Sirona sat down. She had to behave. She was wasting his time.

"I… I just wanted to know if you would mail this for me." She reached out the letter towards him. Ilgron rolled his eyes slightly and retrieved the note. He looked it over, still not paying much attention to her.

"Sloppy form, grammatical errors… No, I think not. If I would let you send this, your parents would think that I have taught you nothing." He crumbled the note with his hands and put the remaining ball in his pocket. "Now, pick up the book and find where we last stopped." Sirona felt the shame of failure as she complied, but the words in the book seemed even harder to read than usual. Her eyes were tearing up. She quickly wiped her face with her sleeve. "Crying?" Confessor Ilgron announced, and shook his head. "No, my sweet girl that simply won't do. Show me them pearly whites. Humour an old man."

Revelations

Her eyes were closed, and the muscles in her face tense. She could feel the sweat on her brow but resisted the urge of wiping it away since she needed both her hands pressed firmly down on the wound. Close to ten years, she had studied and practiced the art of medicine, and she hadn't failed a patient yet. The unconscious man had lost a lot of blood. His clothes were practically drenched in it. Sirona Boyd had never before had to try and heal someone from such an excessive injury, but she felt confident if a little drained. Ilgron hadn't told her what this poor fellow had encountered. Usually, he could brief her before a patient was brought in, but this time around time had been of utmost importance. Because of that, she hadn't known beforehand where to apply her gift for maximum results. She had chosen to focus on the head wound and the massive gash in his chest, hoping that it would be enough. As the warm light faded from her hands, she opened her eyes. To her great surprise, the man's eyes fluttered open, piercing her with a panicked and cornered stare. Sirona held her breath. What a special treat. She had never before been around when a patient regained consciousness. Usually, they were already in so much paint that Ilgron had them sedated for their own good before being brought in and then taken back out directly after she was done.

"It's alright," she began, but her words were immediately interrupted by a scream of anguish. Sirona could feel her heart grow cold. What had she missed? She tried reaching for his shoulder, but the man was thrashing about with his arms. At some point, he managed to push her forcefully enough for her to fall to the floor. Instantly two of the house guards, Mikhail and Garon, grabbed him. To her surprise, they didn't press him back down on the stretcher but started to pull him off, and towards the door.

"Wait," Sirona said as she scrambled to her feet. "Be careful! He needs..."

"That's alright, Sirona," Ilgron said in a cold voice. "You've done well. We will take it from here." She stared at him, perplexed by his different tone and demeanor.

"Confessor, he needs…"

"I said that you're done," he barked. Sirona kept staring at him in disbelief. Why was he acting so different? The injured man kept fighting Mikhail and Garon grip on him as if his life depended on it.

"What's going on?" She demanded.

"You can do what you want with me. But I will never tell you. No matter how many times that bitch heals me," the man screamed before the door closed behind him and the guards. Sirona remained silent and still. She barely registered that Ilgron was left in her room with her. Her head was throbbing with thought. Memories of patients with mysterious wounds rushed through her mind like a horror tale.

"Sirona." Confessor Ilgron's voice was back to its normal soft and charming tone, but she didn't look at him. Her eyes were stuck, staring at the blood on the stretcher.

"You... hurt him," she finally said in a voice full of despair and confusion. She finally managed to lift her gaze. She had expected a comment on how foolish she was. Of course, she was wrong. She must have it wrong. Confessor Ilgron, however, said nothing. He just walked forward. The cold grip around her heart was spreading throughout her chest. "Why?"

"The fact that you have to ask me proves that you have yet a lot to learn," he said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly like he had done so many times before during her years in his house. She instinctively raised her arm to intercept and pushed his arm away. She meant to follow up with a glare, but his hard eyes made her scared, and she turned away. He gave her a hug that she didn't want, but somehow she felt too detached from herself to protest. "You've done well Sirona. I am very proud of how serious you have been in your studies, but you are not yet done. Tomorrow we will make a few changes to your schedule, but don't worry. That man will live because of you."

Search for occult secrets

The sound of footsteps and the lock turning in her door made Sirona Boyd abruptly pause her series of push-ups and quickly get to her feet. Ever since she had learned what was truly going on in this house, she had actively started thinking about her escape. As of now, she had no real plan of execution other than building up her strength for when an opportunity would present itself. She knew they had noticed her attitude towards them change over the last couple of weeks, but she didn't want them to also learn about her new daily workout routine.
As the door swung open, she straightened and tried to look innocent, although her face was still red and a little sweaty.
Ilgron entered looking her over with an expression that was hard to read. His behavior towards her had also changed since that encounter with the conscious patient, not even a month back.
"Come," he said in a summoning tone.
"Where?" she asked, not moving.
"The chamber," he replied. "Your gifts are required." He moved as if ready to turn a leave.
"No," Sirona said, closing her hands into fists at her side. "I won't." He looked at her. She hadn't been asked to heal anyone since the incident. This was her first real act of defiance, and she had to fight hard to resist the urge to shallow as her mouth seemed to run out of saliva. Ilgron took a couple of quick steps towards her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm up.
"No?" he echoed. "Since when did little Sirona become the ruling mistress over life and death? Since when did she get to decide over who lives and who dies, huh?" His eyes seemed to drill into hers as his voice hissed like a serpent through his teeth. "Such blasphemy. Such disrespect for life. You think I am cruel for hurting someone, then what does that make you, the angel of death? Are you refusing an innocent stranger the gift of life simply to teach me a lesson? That is truly cold-blooded and heinous. Is that the woman you are now?" Sirona could feel burning tears on her cheek. The grip around her wrist hurt but his words seemed to hit even harder.
"But why must you hurt them?" She managed to whimper. "Please Confessor, I don't understand."
"I know that you don't," he replied. There was a sudden shift in his strict demeanor. He released his clutching grip and instead produced a handkerchief for Sirona to take. She did, shamefully wiping her tears. Ilgron turned away from her. "It's not that I want to hurt them Sirona, but the world is full of dangers that you don't even know. I have kept you safe here; protected you as best as I could. These men aren't innocent. I don't snatch them out of their bed at night for my amusement. There is a purpose for everything, but your mind isn't ready yet to comprehend the magnitude of what is at stake here." He turned back to her and placed his hands gently on her upper arms as he leaned in close. "I am trying to make the world a better place, and that has its ugly sides." Sirona stared into his eyes, speechless. Ilgron straightened back to his full length and placed a hand on her back, nudging her towards the open door. Sirona took a step before catching herself and coming to a halt. She looked at the corridor outside; her mind was suddenly imagining all forms of horror lurking just around the corner, away from the safety of her room. This time Ilgron lifted her hand and placed it to grip around his inner elbow as he started leading her forward. "You know, my dear," he said as they began walking. "The order has been working tirelessly to gather research about the secret to the essence of life itself. Wouldn't you like to know what it means to have a soul? How it enters your body? Imagine the possibility of creating artificial life. It could be the last piece of the puzzle that we're extracting at this very moment. Once this unpleasantness is over, we will usher into a new era, and I hope that you will be as captivated by this discovery as I am. After all, we will most certainly not be able to succeed without you."

The successful experiment

“Snips and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails,” Hamlin mumbled a barely audible tune as he methodically and thoroughly prepared his surgery equipment. Sirona Boyd didn't know much about him except from what she had seen during their brief interactions over the last couple of months working in the underground laboratory. She wasn't welcome for long visits, thankfully. Usually Ilgron would fetch her from her holding area upstairs and she’d come down and be asked to use her blessings on strange ingredients or potions before being escorted back. Nothing had been explained to her. Nothing major had been shown, but at least this new project about creating an artificial essence had severely lowered the number of tortured prisoners. At least the ones that Sirona had encountered. “Sugar and spices and everything nice.” The darkly dressed scientist turned back at the table where the empty form of a body had been placed. It wasn't the body of a human, but it held the same basic frame with two arms and legs. They had dressed it in a simple tunic and trousers but she could still make out the huge claws on its hands and bare feet. The skin was made up of green and red scales and underneath from behind its back she caught a glimpse of something resembling wings making her think of dragons, but there was no such thing as a humanoid dragon. The dragons were huge and ancient. Sirona wondered if Ilgron and Hamlin somehow had infused a servant of The Diabolist to create the base of this form but she couldn't tell. Glancing off to the side she watched Ilgron patiently waiting in the shadows. Normally they didn't have to wait this long for her to be utilized. She would have expected the Confessor to order Hamlin to hurry up but he said nothing. There was an air of anticipation to the room. Even two guards, Conrad and Gotfrid, were there, which was irregular. It made her feel nervous. “There, all ready.” Hamlin suddenly said and waved Sirona forward. “My dear, please stand over here.” He motioned to the head side of the body.

“Let me remind you, Hamlin,” Ilgron said. “That if any harm comes to her you will live to regret it over and over.” The scientist looked up and nodded at him.

“Do not worry, I have Conrad and Gotfrid here ready to take action if the beast becomes violent.” He turned back towards Sirona. “Please,sweetheart, at the head if you wouldn't mind. Put your hands at its side.”

“I don't understand,” Sirona started but stopped as Hamlins patience ran out and he more or less pulled her into position, arranging her hands to cup around the temples of the head. This close she could see a fair amount of sharp teeth protruding from the relaxed mouth. Hamlin let go and started preparing something off to the side. The scales were cold to the touch. There were no signs of life. “I can't revive the dead,” Sirona pointed out but didn't move away. Hamlin looked up at her with a grin.

“You ain't. She has never been alive. This is no resurrection. Now be quiet. I will begin the ritual. You just stand ready and don't let the soul escape.” Hamlin started chanting in an ominous voice and a creeping cold sensation started spreading throughout the room. A couple of candles snuffed out, landing the interior in even more darkness than before. Suddenly black strands of smoke were floating in the chamber right above the table. Sirona only noticed them in the dim surroundings because they appeared to be moving faintly and growing into longer filaments. There was a rumbling sound like thunder, but closer, like it was coming from inside the mansion instead of up in the far away sky. Small spheroids of electricity started to accumulate from the inky rift, making the feathers on Sirona’s head ruffle slightly right before tiny bolts shot out in small-scale explosions towards the still figure. One of them hit Sirona's shoulder making her gasp at the pain, but to her surprise the sensation didn't last long enough for her to even pull back. Instead she watched as her arms sparkled in what looked like an intertwisted net of lightning that was now engulfing the entire table. She looked up locking eyes with Ilgron. The mentor that betrayed her trust a long time ago looked angry, but not with her.

There was a faint sound coming from somewhere close by and she looked down. The face was twitching faintly between her hands, the scale was still cold but a warmth was definitely spreading.

“It is working!” Hamlin cried out as the jolts of energy faded away. Sirona agreed with him but the fragile life before her looked like it was only an inch away from leaving. She let her hands lit up, spreading a warm glow that chased away some of the immediate shadows in the room. The energies surged into the shape making the pulsation of warm blood grow steady and strong. “It’s alive!” Hamlin screamed with excitement again, grabbing the scaly arm closest to him with one hand and reached for a knife with a small, sharp blade. He pressed it down into the flesh hard enough for blood to occur.

“Stop,” Sirona snapped simultaneously as the reptilian eyes snapped open. The arm was yanked out of Hamlin grip and a guttural growling sound of pain caused her voice to go quiet in amazement. She looked down, but barely managed to gain eye contact before Goftrid pulled her out of the way as Conrad stepped up striking his fist down at the defenseless creature. It made another sound of anguish. “Stop it,” Sirona repeated and tried pulling free, but Gotfrid's grip was tight. She forced herself to stop struggling. She wasn't ready to escape yet and if they discovered that she had gotten stronger they might increase security.

“I’m only teaching it who’s boss,” Conrad promised, landing another blow.

“You might kill her,” Sirona sputtered. “Then your accomplishments will mean nothing.”

“Our accomplishment,” Hamlin corrected her. “But yes, I believe that’s enough. I don't think she is any danger to us right now. Take her to a holding cell. I believe I was promised a fine drink.” He looked at Ilgron who gave him a blank stare followed by a subtle nod.

“Alright,” Conrad said, slapping on a set of manacles on the newly awakened being. “Up you go, you Labrat. We have training to do”.

Nightmare of capture

The stone corridor appeared endless and dim lit. It was like walking through a foggy mist, smelling of mold and sulfur. A scent that made her mouth run dry and her blood freeze. A tall figure was looming in the shadows ahead making her stop dead in her tracks. She turned around ready to run the other way but the corridor behind her looked exactly the same. Only now in this direction the figure was closer. Sirona Boyd took a step back feeling a hand suddenly placed on her shoulder. She yelled out and spun back trying to get Ilgron of her. He looked down on her disapprovingly, towering over her like a giant. The corridor around them shifted.

The fog disappeared and instead of the slimy, cold walls there were rooms behind metal bars, and they all held captives. Labrat was in her usual cell again. She was lying on the floor tied up and Conrad was with her. He was holding the bat he usually kept close, ready to strike down at her. For now, at least, he wasn't moving. He was just glaring at Sirona expectantly. In another she could see Adrian Maulitz chained on one side of a small cell. In the same room, opposite him, was a Zombie fighting to break free from its own restraints to rip the monster hunter into pieces. The next held Jak o' the Wisp. The bard was lying on the floor, eyes open, starring at her, but not seeing her. His silver dagger was in the hands of Garon who seemed eager to test its sharpness on its previous owner. Lastly she found Irdien Talvaeth. The drow was strapped down on the same operation table as her brother had been before. Tools were laid out next to her, but not yet in use. No, please. Sirona turned back to Ilgron, grabbing a handful of the blood-red, fabric of his cultist robe.

"Please, don't hurt them. I'll do whatever you ask. I promise."
Ilgron's eyes glowed red as he looked at her. His hand reached out towards her cheek as if to wipe away her tears, but then instead it diverted, softly grasping around her throat. His face leaned in close enough to almost have their noses touch.

"Oh, Sirona you silly little girl. You will do as I say regardless."

Something grabbed her from behind, claws made out of shadows pulling her down into darkness. She screamed into an empty void and abruptly woke up. Again she had to fight against her sleeping paralysis to regain consciousness. Sitting up, heart pounding she made sure that she was indeed still in the guild house, surrounded by the others, then she started to silently weep.

The Boyds

There seemed to be absolutely no end to the Dogwood Berries this year. The many wicker baskets almost overflowed the entire table. Kara and Sirona Boyd, the two oldest daughters, had been out picking all morning while their mother, Iseabal, was preparing the kitchen. They were going to make jam like they did every fall. Now the girls were sorting through the berries, getting rid of leaves, twigs and less pretty once.
“Remember, don't let Bacon have any,” Iseabal said as she noticed the dog sneaking around the girl's chairs with a hopeful wag off his tail.
“Of course not mother,” said Kara.
“Why can't Bacon have some?” Little Lucy asked from the kitchen sofa, that was more or less repurposed as a bed for when she needs to rest her aching back.
“Because he will eat too many an get an upset stomach,” Their mother explained.
Sirona tried to look extra innocent as she retraced her now empty hand from underneath the table. Kara patted her on the head and made a gesture of locking her mouth with an imaginary key.
“Not if I get one first,” Came the happy cries of Alistar peeking in through the open window. “Aren't you ladies done yet? Man, women sure do talk and talk instead of work, don't they?” He winked at his mother who jokingly waved a big wooden spoon in his direction.
“Now, don't make me come out there and teach you a lesson Alistar. Go, help your father as you're supposed to instead of whatever you're trying to do this time.”
“Alright, Alright, just at least hand me a berry, come one, Sirona, help your big brother out.” The girls laughed and Sirona handed over a berry through the window. Alistar put it in his mouth and bit down making a face of overplayed disgust. “Oh, that's terrible. You'll need a lot of honey this year, mum.”
“You say that every year,” Sirona pointed out. “Maybe stop eating them before they are jam?”
“Never, what if I miss out on something good!” He winks again and starts heading off towards the barn.
“Oh, that's right, Alistar!” Iseabal joined Sirona at the window, calling after him, but the older boy, carefree whistling in the distance, seemed not to react. “Sirona could you run over to the barn and tell your father that we will need the extra glass jars?”
“Okay, come on Bacon!” Sirona and the dog ran out the door heading in the same direction as Alistar. She stopped when a small pebble was thrown towards her and looked to the side. Zander, her barely one year younger brother, was already throwing a second one.
“Ouch, could you stop it? I'm telling mum.”
“I didn't even hit you, tattler,” Zander says defensively. “Besides, aren't you supposed to be able to heal?” He spread his fingers and gestured wildly before finding a third rock. Sirona dodged the throw.
“Stop it, Zander I mean it.”
“You know you're not more special than me. I'm also related to Morena. I just don't have any stupid feathers to show for it. You look like a dirty pigeon. No man will ever marry you.”
“No woman will ever marry you either, because you're mean.”
“At least I look like a person, goose butt.” He shoved her hard enough for Sirona to take a few steps back.
“It's not my fault.” Sirona called back, while Bacon barked confused around them. The siblings were now pulling and pushing each other.
“What's going on here, Zander! Sirona! Break it up this instance! “ The voice of Diarmad was coming from the barn. Sirona let go of her brother's wrists trying to get away at her father's call. There was a quick, sharp moment of pain as Zander grabbed one of her feathers and yanked it free. It was followed by a gush of blood. Sirona screamed and placed a hand on her head, feeling the throbbing subside as her fingers got bloody.
“Zander!” Diarmad grabbed his son's upper arm. “What are you doing pulling your sister's hair? You know you are not supposed to do that. I don't care what started this. Apologize now.”
“What's the big deal, she can heal.”
“Zander!”
“Fine, I'm sorry. Can I go now?” Diarmad looked at the boy sternly but nodded and released him. Then he turned to inspect his daughter. Sirona, still pressing a hand towards the wound on her head, had bloodstains on several of the unscathed feathers. There was a pale, faint shimmer as a barely visible divine light gently caressed the wound. The bleeding stopped but the stains would remain for months before it would be washed out properly.
“Although I wish it were you that would have to go away,” Zander hissed at her in passing. “And that you didn't come back.” Then he stormed off.

The goodbye

Bacon's excited barks echoed over the field as he chased after the stick that Zander had been throwing him for what seemed like hours. The boy, with his chin long, wild, blond hair was holding back a snivel, determined to not turn back to the house until nightfall.
His sister had been calling for him from the house, but he was stubbornly ignoring her. Sirona turned back from looking over the vast field and picked up the little bag next to her containing mostly clothes, but also a lovely holy symbol or Morena that her father had carved out of wood for her as a birthday present last year. She held the strap tight as she turned to walk back through the house to the front. Her mother interfered by hugging her. Lucy and Kara were crying, but their mother was putting on a brave expression to comfort her daughter.
"Don't worry about it. You know how he is," Iseabal said. "He doesn't want anyone seeing him cry." Sirona nodded quietly, although she and Zandar had always had a bit of a chaotic relationship. She couldn't deny that she would miss him.
"Mum, how long will I be away?" She asked. Iseabal smiled at her and ran her fingers through her daughter's feathers. She places her hand on Sirona's chest.
"You will never be away from me. I'll carry you with me right here." She pointed at her own chest. Sirona sucked in her lips in an attempt not to cry.
"Will I be back in time for the winter feast?" She tried again. Iseabal tilted her head.
"My brave, big girl. This education will open so many doors for you. It will take some time but if you listen and behave you will be done in no time." Sirona nodded.
"Okay;" She gave her mother another hug. Iseabal hugged her back tight fighting hard to resist the urge never to let her child go.
"Iseabal!" Her husband called from the front door. "He needs to get going soon if they are to get anywhere before nightfall."
"Oh, by Morena's light she will stop the sun to watch over this beautiful girl of mine, no let me say goodbye in peace," Iseabal said back, but not in a voice that would carry far. Eventually, she let go and stood back up, taking Sirona by the hand to lead her outside. Kara and Lucy followed her in tow.
Outside the front of the house was Diarmad and Alistar waiting together with a man in his early thirties, or late twenties. He was wearing fancy clothes and had arrived in a beautiful, closed, four-wheeled horse-drawn clarence. Sirona looked up at him. He looked really important and a little impatient. She walked towards him a few steps before Alistar intercepted with a hug that lifted her feet from the ground.
"My little sister is going to be the best physician in the world," he said and swung her around one full lap before putting her down again. She smiled at him.
"I'll do my best."
"You'll do great," he told her. "And when you come back, you won't forget about your poor old brother. You should let me live in your fancy medical institution! I can… ehum… I'll sing for the patients while they wait to see you."
"Why would you want them to feel worse?" Sirona asked and shared a short laugh with her brother. He gave her another hug and backed away. Diarmad, still standing right next to the stranger that was coming to take her away, went down on his knees and reached out his arms for her. Sirona embraced him, almost hitting him in the back with her bag in the process.
"Now, Sirona. This man here has connections with Morena's temple back in Santa Cora. He is a learned and well-respected man. You will listen and learn from him and be on your best behavior."
"Yes papa," Sirona said, not letting go. Diarmad went quiet for a moment, lost for words as he held his daughter for the last time in a very long while.
"You be good now, my angel…" He wanted to say more, but his throat closed up, making him stop to collect himself. He let her go and rose, pretending to need to cough to mask his real feelings before turning back to the stranger. "We're very grateful to you, Mr Alderman. My wife and I have managed to scrape together a small sum that we hope will help to keep her clothes and feed for a little while. We don't have much, but it's the least we can do." Diarmad handed over a small pouch of coins that the other man accepted.
"I am well aware of how you all must be feeling, but I can assure you that your daughter is in good hands. Now…." The man turned his attention away from Diarmad and looked straight at Sirona. He held out a hand for her to take. "Sirona Boyd, it is a pleasure to have you come stay with me. Please allow me to help you up." He turned to open the door to the clarence just as the wild barks of Bacon hinted at the dog's imminent appearance. The red and white coat of fur rounded the house in a blur, getting up on his hind legs, almost knocking Sirona over in his excitement. Sirona tried hugging the dog, but Bacon kept barking and growled almost aggressively at the wagon.
"Bacon, behave," Sirona whispered, trying to pet him. The dog ducked and starting to circle her legs as if trying to urge her away from the cart. "Bacon, stop it."
"Bacon, heel!" Diarmad said in a stern voice. Bacon stopped and looked at him with big sad eyes before shuffling over to his master. He gave one last bark before sitting down, watching Sirona as the man helped her to get into the wagon.
"Tell Zander Goodbye from me," Sirona said through the window reaching out her hand to her family to wave goodbye. Iseabal walked up and grabbed it, giving it a soft kiss.
"We love you so much, my darling, stay safe now. Morena will protect you."
"I love you too, mama."
"I hate to break this up, but unfortunately we really must be going," Mr Alderman said shaking hands with Diarmad as a way to say goodbye before turning and climbed inside himself.
"Of course," her father said, trying to keep it together. Bacon barked again, followed by sad whimpering.

"Goodbye Bacon, I'll miss you too," Sirona said as the wagon started driving. Bacon's ears twitched and he started running after the wagon, ignoring Diarmad's yell for him to come back. Bacon ran, managing to keep up with the pace of the horses until they where over the first incline. There he stopped and looked back at the farm. He sat down watching the wagon drive further away, and barked a couple of times before letting out a sorrowful howl. Sirona waved at him, looking back out of the window until he and the farm disappeared behind the trees, hoping that it wouldn't take that long until she would see them all again.

That's for sure a Drow

As the door finally opened Iseabal got to her feet.

"Alistar! Where have you been? It's already dark outside!"

"Your mother has been very worried," Diarmad added standing at his wife's side although Sirona Boyd, who had been home with them both all evening knew that both her parents had been equally anxious. Alistair looked around at them trying to charm his way with a boyish grin.

"Oh, what's the big deal. I'm home aren't I? Me and the others where just down by the creek and lost track of time."

"You know the rules," Diarmad maintained. "You are to be home before sundown. Alistair, you are only ten. Curfew applies to you as well as Kara, and she isn't complaining."

"That's because Kara doesn't know what fun is."

"That's enough from you young man," Diarmad barked. "Tomorrow you're helping me out in the field."

"Big deal…"

"No, no, I mean actually helping me. Not just tagging along and then sleeping all day under a tree. When Kara takes over the farm one day she will need your help." Alistair rolled his eyes and spread his arms.

"I don't plan on being a simple farmer like you when I grow up. I'm going to be a traveling gleeman!"
"That's enough of that! I never should have brought you along to the market." Iseabal put a hand on her husband's arm to silent him before turning back to her oldest son.

"Alistair, when we tell you to be home before sundown it's not to be unfair to you. It's because we love you and it's dangerous out in the dark."

"I'm not afraid! I can defeat every monster that dare to cross my path."

"So first a gleeman and now a monster hunter?" Diarmad asked, arms crossed over his chest.

"Both!"

"Now, you listen to me. There will be no more late evenings out with your friends. You are to come with me to the fields tomorrow and every other day until I say otherwise."

"Fine." Alistair angrily accepted his parents sentence and wandered over to the beds where his younger siblings where all awake and watching. The boy gave them a wink. "But when the monsters come here, don't expect me to save you."

"Don't worry, we don't." Diarmad called back after him.

"What monsters?" Asked Sirona. Alistair looked at her with a wide grin.
"Only the most rare and sinister sort to ever walk the surface! The Drow!"

"Drow?"

"Alistair, wash up and go to bed. Do not scare your sisters." Iseabal told him.

"Yes, mother." He said in an obedient tone that Sirona knew meant that he would not. Instead Alistair inched himself closer to Lucy and Sirona. The girls tried to stifle their giggle to not draw their parents attention. "The Drows are monsters that live underneath the ground. Their skin is like charcoal and their eyes glow red so that they can see in pitch darkness. They look like elves, but when they get close enough you can see that they in fact have several eyes and hidden extra legs. They will throw their nests over you and carry you down into the hole they came from, to give your flesh to their spider queen." Two very high pitched screams sounded through the house.

"By Morena's mercy Alistair! What did your mother just say!"

Training

She already knew what he was about to do even before he sat down on the chair opposite her small desk, and it made her nervous.
“Again?” She asked. The discomfort was plain to hear in her voice.
“Yes, until you succeed. You got to practice,” The confessor said in a dismissive tone while wiping his hand off with a cloth that had been dampened with a disinfectant numbing ointment.
“I know.” She watched silently as he lifted the sharp scalpel of the tray and made an incision over the palm of his hand. Without flinching he placed his hand down on the table letting the blood slowly trickle out to fill his cupped hand, as if it were a bowl. Sirona’s breathing grew heavy.
“You know what to do,” he said in his guiding, instructional voice. Sirona bit her lips and swallowed before lifting her hand. Calling the energies wasn't hard. She had no problem with making her fingers glow. If she was allowed to touch him she could close the wound up in seconds, but she wasn't for this exercise.
When she first had come to his mansion for education she had only been able to cast the healing spell once a day and even if she’d grown stronger since then she still needed to be in physical contact with the wound. The last couple of weeks Confessor Ilgron's focus had shifted from making her power quicker to recover to instead wanting to make it extend beyond the established limits of contact. So far they had not experienced the desired result and she hated letting him down. He had so much faith in her and with every failure she felt that she was not worthy of it.
Sirona was shaking as her eyes and hand started gleaming. Her fingers felt warm, and the more she fought to maintain the spell the warmer they got. It grew to the point where she felt like she was slowly bringing her blood to a boil. Her blood vessels seemed to throb and pulsate and she couldn't help but squint her eyes as she tried ignoring the uncomfortable sting. Whenever she tried hoovering her hand above a wound she always felt like there was this magnetic pull in her glow that wanted to force her to clasp down over it, and the effort to refuse made her break into a sweat.
Sirona gritted her teeth. Still with her left eye partly closed she focused on the blood. It had formed a stream that was gently dropping down on the desk. There was a sudden feeling of something snapping inside her head, making the whole room go quiet except for this single, tiny persistent tone still ringing in her ear. She watched as strands, like loose threads moving through water, started dancing, jumping, between her fingers. Without noticing she stopped breathing, staring at what was happening before her. Like and unraveling weave the heat within her hand and lower arm diminished the longer the light had to stretch out towards the open wound. They attach themselves Ilgron’s bleeding hand like static electricity and with a forceful jolt sent pins and needles all the way up to her shoulder as the energy released from her. Sirona pulled back hugging her hand with the other. The tone that's been constantly tolling faded out as sound slowly came back. Ilgron picked up the piece of fabric from before and wiped off the blood. The wound had closed.
“I... I did it. I closed the wound without touching. Did you see?!” She looked up at him, her eyes big and full of marvel.
“I did. Good work. I’m proud of you, my dear...” His encouraging smile faded as his eyes traveled from hers over to something right next to her. He reached out and grabbed her chin, turning her head to the side for an inspection, then he wiped something from her ear with the cloth. “This will not do, however. How do you feel?” Sirona reached up to her ear and touched it gently, looking at her fingers spotting faint traces of blood.
“I… “
“Stand up,” he instructed. Sirona complied, instantly feeling dizzy as she rose. He caught her before she could even begin falling.
“I say we quit for today. You need to rest.” He didn't wait for her to respond, just simply lifted her up from the floor and placed her down by her bed, which was located only a few meters away. Sirona sat down on the mattress, touching her ear again but it appeared to have only been a momentary gash that had already mended. Maybe she had healed it herself.
“I did it,” she repeated, starving for that favorable smile that had been robbed from her by her ear starting to bleed. To her delight it returned on his lips.
“Yes, my dear. We will make sure to celebrate, but not now. We can't afford to overdo it. You’re too precious for that. Now, rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nightmare of brainwash/ deer heart

There was sunlight shining in through the glass. She could see the garden blooming outside. It looked beautiful. Sirona turned away from the window looking at her teacher.

"Can we sit outside today?" She asked. He gave her a glare.

"No, the outside is evidently too distracting for you." He moved over to her and closed the curtain, plunging the room into a sudden darkness. "You will stay in here, like a good girl, alright?"

"Okay," she said in a disappointed voice and sat down to force her attention to the upcoming lecture.

"Ah, it's a bit dim in here, don't you think? Why don't you do something about that while I get a candle ready." Sirona Boyd lifted her hands and summoned a soft golden glow. She could feel it pulsating, wanting to spring forth and heal, but there wasn't anything to help. Internally, her body twisted uncomfortably at the unfulfilling stunt. She didn't like the feeling of holding it back. It felt wrong. Like she was forcing her powers to perform for amusement rather than something important. Also it was exhausting. She waited patiently. Once she had to remind herself to breath as she strained to keep the soft glow in her hands lit. Sweat had broken free on her forehead when Ilgron finally lit the candle. She relaxed and let the glow fade out, leaving her feeling empty. The candle did little to compensate for the missing daylight. If anything the flickering flame made the room feel even more like a void.

She took a deep breath and refocused on the deep-red cloth placed over something at the table before her. As Ilgron removed the covering fabric it revealed a plate wetted by red glistening blood. At the center of it was a huge slab of something meaty. "Pick it up." Sirona looked at the organ with disgust. "It's just a heart, it won't hurt you. Now be a good girl and pick it up." Her hands moved slowly towards the silky looking viscera. First she just poked it with a finger. Feeling the soft texture as blood smeared her skin. Then she slowly picked it up in both hands, like it was a sandwich. The slimy consistency along with the mental comparison of food made her nauseated. "Let it rest on your palms." Sirona hadn't even wanted to poke at it, and now the whole thing was sullying blood all over her hands. "Feel its weight. That is the weight of a life." Sirona took another deep breath.

"May I put it down now please," she asked. Ilgron nodded. She placed the heart on the plate, her eyes completely transfixed on it.

"Touch your nose." Sirona looked up a bit confused. Had she gotten something on her face? She wiped her nose with her hand immediately feeling how she was getting blood on her. She froze, looking around for something to clean herself with and spotted the red cloth in Ilgrons hand. She reached out for it. There was a hard-to-read expression on his face but he did give her the rag. "You are scared of it. If you ever hope to become a good physician you can't be scared, and you can't hesitate. When you hesitate people die." He put down a book on the table and slid it over next to the plate. "I expect you to have read this by tomorrow. I will quiz you on the different types of hearts and how to identify them." Sirona looked at the book, judging by its size she estimated that it was around 200 pages. That would take all evening. She had hoped to work on her letter home, but now that would have to wait until tomorrow.

"Okay," she accepted her homework.

"Before we end for today I want you to do one more thing. With the help of chapter three. Tell me what animal the heart is from, and how fresh it is."

Sirona opened the book. The letters were delicate and as she had expected there were few illustrations. As she leafed through the assigned chapter she reluctantly turned the heart over for a more meticulous examination. She flinched as she accidentally got some blood on the page, but Ilgron said nothing about it as he sat observing her in silence. After a while she looked up at him.

"It's deer?" she asked.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"It's deer," she repeated, changing the tone of her voice. "It's very fresh. Probably just an hour or two since the hunter cut it out." Ilgron leaned forward over the table with a pleased expression.

"Very good." He picked up the heart in one hand and moved it to his face. Without hesitation he opened up his mouth and took a bite out of it. He then held it out for her to take. "Try it. It's quite nice." Sirona stared at him. "It's an old hunter tradition to eat the heart of the first dear you kill, and an excellent way not to waste food." He placed the heart in her hand. "Go on." Sirona looked down at the lump. Slowly she lifted it up towards her face. The smell of blood filled her nostrils and she did her best not to breathe in as she placed the heart between her teeth. "I'm waiting... and I'm still waiting."

Sirona opened her eyes. The bedroom of the hunters guildhall in Eldolan looked nothing like the one from the mansion. She took a couple of calming breaths looking around the moonlit room. The others were all asleep. Even though she knew there would be nothing there she reached up to touch her face. She was surprised to find tears on her checks. Drying them off she silently climbed out of her bed, heart pounding in her chest, and moved as quietly as she could over to Labrat bedside.

"....L…" she whispered. "Are you awake?" There was a soft mumbling suggesting that if she hadn't been before she was now.

"Sirona? What's wrong?"

"I… had a bad dream… Could I sleep here with you tonight?"

"Of course," Labrat scooched over slightly in the small bed creating a thin narrow stripe for Sirona to lay down on.

"Thank you," she whispered as she felt the warmth and protective comfort of her friends embrace.

Nightmare - Jak of the Wisp

Dombuton

Music? Sirona turned around in the darkness. Music didn't belong here. The cold stone walls of the dark corridor rippled, like illusions. Sirona reached out her hand and in the next instant the wall was gone, leaving a third dark corridor behind. She looked up and down the path that she was originally on. The new hallway didn't look much different… Sirona’s shoulders jerked as the music played again. It was definitely coming from the new passage.
Swallowing wearily she started to walk. The music was strangely calming and comforting and the further she went the less cold and damp she felt. In fact there was a light coming from up ahead. Quickening her steps as the darkness behind her grew with every inch gaind towards the light she was running by the time she reached the door frame. Panting slightly Sirona looked around. A warm fire burned in a fireplace somewhat obscured by a large armchair facing it. There was someone sitting there... playing. Sirona quickly glanced behind into the gaping darkness. Movement from shadows and red glowing eyes flared in and out of her visual. Sirona wished she could close a door, but the frame held none. Instead she moved away, backwards towards the comforting music and the warm fire. When she trusted her heart not to escape her chest she turned.
“My dear Sirona, your muscles look as tight as talons, and there is a vein pulsing in your temple! Where are those pearly whites?”
“Jak?” Sirona looked at the misplaced minstrel observing her back in a casual laid back manner, his lute still being played as if his fingers knew what to do without him. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man take a break in the guild house and warm his hands and feet?” He asked. Sirona looked around. The hallway behind her still bulged with the movement of malicious shadows, but the room was undeniably from the guild house in Eldolan. She tried not to look at the doorway. She had the distinct feeling that the fire was the only thing keeping the creatures at bay.
“No… I’m sorry I didn't mean…”
“Tsk, tsk” The bard interrupted. “Why don't you join me instead of apologising? Please, sit down?” There was no available chair by the fire. Sirona sat down on her knees, trying not to look over her shoulder.
“Can… can’t you see them?” She asked, trying to stay calm. Jak leaned over to take a look.
“You mean the three daughters of Nyxs?” Sirona looked up at him.
“What?”
“My Darling Nightingale, don't worry. They are not here for you.” Sirona shook her head, but Jak just leaned back in his chair and started playing the song about The Riven Fates. She lifted herself up on her knees and grabbed the neck of the lute, muffling the accords. Jak arched an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” she pulled her hand back, but Jak snatached it. The firmness of his grip surprised her.
“Sorry, for what?” His voice was cold. The fire started flickering as if a strong wind was trying to smother it. Sirona pulled free, her eyes unable to look away from him. The fire kept fighting, but the room was already growing darker. “I told you,” Jak started, his voice suddenly stern. “You are always forgiven, from now and until eternity.” Sirona finally managed to tear har gaze away and looked over towards the fire. It was almost dead.
“We have to go,” she said, getting back up on her feet, feeling the presence of the clawing hands draw closer.
“Go?” The bard echoed. “Go where?”
“Anywhere!” Jak rose too with a mischievous smile.
“Dear Sirona, relax. I told you they aren't after you.” He put down the lute and picked up a tankard of water.
“Jak no, please don’t…”
“I promise you, Sirona, You will be fine.” He reached inside the fireplace. Some of the flames hungrily grace his hand. She watched the exposed skin crack and peel away, revealing bone, then the fire went out, plunging the room into darkness. Sirona closed her eyes expecting claws to grasp and pull her to shreds, but to her surprise it was still and quiet.
She opened her eyes. There was a new light source coming from behind. She turned and found a window. She knew that window well. She had been staring at it for 14 years. Feeling panic once more gripping her heart she turned towards where the door should be. It was open, but blocked by Jak looking back at her, hood up and one skeletal hand on the doorknob. The darkness behind him swarming with shadows and grins with horrible teeth.
“Jak… wait!” The bard looked at her with indifference, as if he didn’t know her. Hands with claw-like fingers were grabbing onto his still unfaced persona. It was tugging at him to follow. Jak took a step back into the darkness, pulling the door shut with him. “Jak no!” Sirona bolted trying to catch the door before it closed. “Don't go with them! Don't leave me here!” Sirona banged her fist against the closed door and tried turning the handle. It was locked. “Please, don't leave me alone!”
The sound of familiar footsteps coming from within the room made every inch of her body tense up.
“Sirona, my dear girl. What makes you think that you’re alone?”

Nightmare - the dagger

The boat was empty. She didn't have to search through it. Sirona just knew that she was the only one still aboard. The Mariner was travelling, adrift, with a gentle current leading her through a grey, mist ridden sea. The fog reminded her of a tunnel or a long corridor with no alternative paths. She was trapped. The space was wide-open, but she was still trapped.
Sirona looked over the railing down on the water. Without a sun to playfully sprinkle the surface with shimmering sparkles the ocean looked cold and uninviting. She had no desire to go for another swim anytime soon. She took a couple of steps back from the edge and walked below deck. As she entered the cabin they had been assigned she watched the empty hammocks wondering where the others could possibly have gone. Perhaps they had left a clue?
Sirona moved over some items trying to make sense of the remaining belongings that had been scattered throughout the room.
An unexpected loud sound followed by lunge made her fall over as the ship raised itself like she would imagine a spooked horse. A desk tumbled over, pinning her belly-down to the floor. She flinched as water hit her face. The room was taking in water.
Struggling to get free from the heavy desk her eyes darted around trying to find anything that she could use to get loose. The cold, salty seawater was now high enough so that she had to struggle to keep her mouth above it. Again she strained against the desk. Shouldn't it get lighter the more water got inside?
„Do you need a hand?” Sirona almost gasped, but managed to save herself from swallowing the water. She looked towards the female voice, but she was still alone. Instead her eyes fell on a knocked over chest with its lid ajar. The green glowing runes of Ilgron's dagger shone ill-fated at her. She could use it to stab the floor and pull herself out as soon as the desk started to float. Sirona reached out towards it, but found that she was short just a couple of inches.
„You need to want it more.”
„Shut up.” She spat, feeling water slipping down her throat. Straining all that she could she watched helplessly how the water level rose to engulf borth her mouth and nose. She blinked before lowering her head below the surface. The dagger was gleaming before her, leaning against the floor of the chest, which was now its wall. Spilling out from it was the cloth Adrian and Irdien had used to move the dagger over. Sirona reached out her hand again. As her finger gripped the cloth she yanked it. The knife fell out.
„Very good,” they voice praised her. Sirona ignored it and grabbed the hilt. As she did a silent explosion seemed to burst from her hand, traveling through the water filled space. It pushed the desk of her allowing her to get up on her hands and knees. The water was draining quickly. Breathing heavily Sirona looked at the knife in her hand. For a second it was just like any ordinary knife then a sharp pain shot through her entire body, like her muscles had turned into a snake on fire. She tried to let go of the blade but her hand was clasped around it. She had no control.
„Very good indeed,” the female voice returned with a tone of glee. Sirona watched in pain and horror as the skin of her hand grew black and it's shape angular. It spread rapidly up her arm and to the rest of her body. Her white feathers started falling out from her head and burned as they dropped down around her. What was happening? Her whole body was shaking in convulsions. As black bat-like wings burst from her shoulder blades, ripping her clothes apart, she screamed.

Nightmare - The butterfly

As the butterfly, with its brightly coloured wings, landed on the book she was currently reading, Sirona lost her concentration. She looked at it, branches so thin that sunlight was staining the page with spots of blue, green and yellow. She carefully moved one hand from the book and put her finger next to it. The beautiful insect transferred from the page to her. Sirona held it up to her face for a closer inspection. It flapped its wings at her as if purposely showing off its pleasing aesthetic.
She got up from the chair she had been sitting and turned towards the window. Sunlight was pouring into the otherwise muted room. Moving carefully not to spook the small creature on her hand, she reached out her other one to unlatch the window. It creaked as it opened with the sound of a frame that hadn't been used for years. Sirona leaned out, holding her finger high up to the blue sky.
"Go on. Off you go," she said encouragingly, and the butterfly made another vibrant flap with its wings before taking off. She watched it for as long as she could, but the outside garden quickly obscured it from view. She remained at the window for a while just enjoying the fresh air and breeze. The longer she stood there, the longer she got the sensation that something was off. Her gaze travelled over to the hinge on the window. This shouldn't have been able to open. She looked over her shoulder at the interior. The bed, desk and blackboard looked right except for the fact that the sun was shining unhindered on them and not through the usually stained window. Sirona looked back outside. The garden was lush and open. She could just slide over the windowsill, and she'd be out. Climbing up on the ledge, she quickly noticed that She could easily reach the ground on the other side without even having to jump.
Sirona walked through the garden of the mansion. It was well-kept and elegant with tall hedges and colourful flower beds. Children's laughter carried from somewhere further down the graveled path.
Up ahead the tall hedges merged into the entrance of a maze. Sirona stopped in her tracks, looking at the dense vegetation. The bubbling laughter was definitely coming from somewhere within, but she had no idea which way she should go to find it. She noticed the butterfly from before soaring past her. It circled her once, Its wings reflecting the rays of the sun, before heading inside the maze, turning left. Sirona followed.
Inside the maze, the hedges grew tall enough to block out the light and warm rays of the sun. The butterfly guided her deeper into the labyrinth, and this time she heard the laughter growing nearer. She turned another corner and entered the middle of the maze. It held a secret smaller garden with a rough stone table at its centre. The voice was coming from its other side. Sirona approached slowly. When she was just a couple of steps away, a blond little girl peeked over the stone at her.
"You found me! Now it's your turn to hide," she said.
"Lucy?" Sirona breathed looking at the small child climbing up on the stone. "Your hip… You're not in pain anymore?" Lucy spun around on her elevated stage, hands high in the air, laughing before putting her hands over her eyes and started reciting the old poem they'd always used before playing hide and seek.
"Silver bark of beech, and sallow; Bark of yellow birch and yellow; Twig of willow." Sirona looked around. There was only one prominent place to hide, behind a row of statues along the far side of the hedge. "Stripe of green in moosewood maple; Colour seen in leaf of apple;Bark of popple," Lucy continued as Sirona hurried over knowing that the poem was almost over. "Wood of popple pale as moonbeam; Wood of oak for yoke and barn-beam; Wood of hornbeam... Ready or not for here I come!" Sirona pressed her back against the cold statue, awaiting Lucy to find her, but her sister didn't come. Slightly puzzled and a little worried Sirona peeked out from her hiding spot. Lucy was sitting on the stone, her legs dangling over the side. She was working on a flower crown and appeared deeply absorbed in her work. Her tongue was sticking out from the corner of her mouth as a clear sign of her dedication. Sirona was just about to call out to her when the sculpture she'd been concealing behind moved. It held out its hand for her, palm open, resting at her eye level. Sirona watched the butterfly perched on its hand.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sirona's eyes traced the statue's hand, along its arm, until she reached the face. Confessor Ilgron looked back at her with unimpressed eyes, then he closed his hand into a fist, crushing the butterfly. Something inside her seemed to break along with it.*
"You…" She breathed, her eyes darting quickly between him and the stone. Lucy was gone. Only the flower crown remained.
"I think it is time for you to go back inside, where you belong. You're not learning anything by squandering out here." Sirona swallowed.
"Why the butterfly?" He smiled at her, but it was a smug smile, full of contempt. Ilgron rotated his wrists and released the broken pieces of the once beautiful insect. They fell to the ground at her feet, colours now muted. Again he smiled at her in a way that suggested that he knew something that he was not going to share. He dusted his hands together.
"Come, if you want to find your way out now, you have no choice but to follow me."
He started moving towards one of the trimmed openings in the hedge. Sirona lingered. She approached the stone and picked up the flower crown. She could still hear the laughter, but it came from somewhere else in the maze now, and she had no butterfly to guide her. "You better hurry up, my dear. They get a little restless after dark, and we don't want you to get hurt, now do we?" She lifted her face to the sky in time to see it shifting into dusk. The shadows grew taller and darker. The wind felt cold against her cheeks as it blew past her to rustle a hedge. Something moved in the corner of her eye. Sirona pulled the flower crown close to her chest, feeling her heart thumping. A loud, crisp roar carried through the labyrinth. Sirona flinched, and the crown snapped in her grip. She watched the now dry withered petals fall through her fingers down to the grass, and after that moment there was no longer any innocent laughter echoing through the garden.