text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy]
  
  There could be someone in there that needs help. And while you don't have a lot of experience with others being compassionate towards you, you would like to think that there is still compassion somewhere in the world. If that compassion has to come from you in the middle of the swamp, then so be it. Cautiously you knock on the door. Another moan from inside answers you; there doesn't seem to be any discernable words in the sound.
  
  "Hello?" you venture to ask. There isn't a response. "I'm coming in," you continue to say, just so that you don't startle whoever is inside. When you don't hear an objection, you walk into the shack.
  
  It's dark inside; no fire is lit. You notice a slightly sickly smell pervading the room. Eventually your eyes adjust to the gloom inside. A woman sits slumped in an old rocking chair, which she's barely able to move. She lets out another moan. So far she hasn't really noticed you; at least, not as far as you can tell. Looking her over you think you find the reason for her near stillness. Her left leg is bound up in torn sheets, and it is oozing slightly.
  
  You're just a kid though; you don't know anything about medicine. But even you can't miss the fact that this woman is in a bad way. For a moment you even wish you hadn't come inside because then you wouldn't be faced with a dilemma over whether you should help the woman or not. However, you find you can't just leave her like this, so you put yourself to work. While you're clueless about medicine, you do know how to keep house; Father probably wouldn't have tolerated you for as long as he did if you were lazy as well.
  
  In just a short amount of time the shack is a much cheerier place. You've started a fire going and, after rummaging in some cupboards, you have put a kettle of tea on to boil. Some of the food has spoiled, and you've already taken it out of the shack, but you're able to find some preserved meat, hardtack, and dried fruit. It's hardly a feast, but it's better than going hungry. Since the woman is in such poor condition, you imagine she hasn't eaten much lately.
  
  As the shack warms up, the woman stirs again. First she just mumbles a few incoherent words, then finally opens her eyes. When she sees you, she blinks a few times, as though she isn't sure if you are real. Cautiously you hand her a cup of tea. She seems surprised when her hand successfully makes contact with the cup, and she slowly brings it to her lips and takes a tentative drink. After a few more sips she clears her throat and speaks.
  
  "Thank you, child," she says, her voice weary. She tries to stand, but then cries out in pain. Looking down, she blinks a few more times and hisses something softly under her breath.
  
  "Your leg must be pretty bad," you say timidly, feeling foolish for stating the obvious. The way the villagers shunned you hasn't exactly been good for your social skills.
  
  "It is. I tried to mend it, but the infection got the better of me."
  
  "Can I help?"
  
  "You can; I couldn't stop you anyway if you were determined to do so." The woman smiles kindly to show that she didn't mean her words in a hurtful way. "I'll walk you through it."
  
  Following the woman's instructions, you tear several strips of cloth from a sheet. One piece you tie over your mouth and nose. Then you unwind the bindings on the woman's leg. Even through the cloth you can smell the stench of the infection and you're glad for the protection, meager as it is. With a knife, you cut into the partially healed wound, and the woman whimpers slightly. Then, using your hands, you push both sides of the wound and watch the pus come out while the woman screams. You don't blame her. Despite the pain she's in, she tells you to do this several times. Each time you do so, you clean the wound with a new piece of sheet, soaked in boiling water. Finally, you bind the clean wound in more strips of cloth.
  
  The ordeal is enough that the woman passes out. Feeling a bit weak, you sit down for a few moments and just look at her. Although she doesn't look terribly old, her hair is mostly gray, with only a small amount of red to show the color her hair was in her younger days. She is terribly thin, and her eyes and forehead are quite lined. Still, you think she must have been very pretty once; you wonder what she's doing here and how long she's been living like this. As for you, you find the woman's bed and fall promptly asleep; it's been a busy day for you.
  
  When you wake up the next morning, you notice that the woman has moved; her chair is right next to the table now and she's wearing a different dress. You can only imagine how painful that must have been. With permission, you check the woman's wound again and repeat some of the process from yesterday, though you only have to squeeze the wound once. This time the woman manages to stay conscious afterwards. You make her some more tea and give her some food; the two of you share the simple meal in silence. After you tidy up, she asks you to sit with her for a while.
  
  "Thank you for your help; I probably wouldn't have lasted more than a few days if you hadn't come by," she says with a weary smile.
  
  "You're welcome." It's such a simple phrase, yet you realize that very few people have given you a reason to say it.
  
  "I don't want to impose, but I wonder if you could do something else for me," the woman asks, her tone even.
  
  "What is it?" Your mind flickers through a list of things she might possibly ask you for. Fortunately, you haven't experienced enough in life to scare yourself too badly this way.
  
  "There is a flower in the swamp, a lily, that would help my leg heal much better. I was too hurt to go get it for myself. Do you think you could do this for me? I have a book in my room that will have a picture of it."
  
  It sounds like a reasonable request, but the swamp is kind of big and you feel so very little. Are you willing to help the woman one more time?
  
  > Yes; it seems important.
  You've already helped the woman this much; it would be a shame to deny her request now. You ask her more about the book she mentioned, and she gives you very specific instructions where to find it. Because of this, it doesn't take you long to fetch the book and bring it back. Quickly the woman leafs through the book and finally shows you a page with a yellow lily on it; the lily has green spots on it that are vaguely tear-drop shaped.
  
  "They aren't terribly common, so it might take you a while. It would be best if you could get around three, but if you only manage to find one, that will do for now," the woman explains. You examine the picture closely, not only looking at the bloom, but the leaves and stem as well, just to be sure you know exactly what you are looking for. When you have it fixed in your mind, you tell the woman you are ready to go. She suggests you fix up a basket for things to eat and gives you some hints of where to go. She also tells you to take some clean cloth to wrap the flowers in. After you get your scanty preparations done, you head back out into the swamp.
  
  Oddly enough, you aren't as frightened of the place as you thought you would be. Somehow it seems less frightening when you're not just aimlessly running away from your problems; you have a true purpose in being here. Every so often you look back to make sure you can still see the shack; you don't want to be lost. But for the most part, your mind is on the task. Not only did you agree to help the woman, but you really want to help her. Quite likely it will be the most important thing you ever do. No one has depended on you so much before, and it gives you the backbone to press on. Walking in the swamp is tiring for your young legs, but you keep reminding yourself that at least both of your legs are working.
  
  Eventually you find the first lily, nestled snugly up against a rock. Carefully you pluck it, wrap it carefully in a swath of linen, and tuck it in your basket. Sitting on the rock, you have a bit of a snack and rest your legs. The ambient light isn't too bad, so you're guessing you still have time to look for more, as the woman suggested. It's better to err on the side of caution, or so you tell yourself. Once you feel well rested again, you resume trudging through the swamp. Even though you start focused, your mind starts to wander. You start noticing other plants, and little critters, and the way the sunlight filters through the trees. When you were a very small child, you always thought the swamp was such a dead place, but now you're realizing how alive it is. So caught up in these thoughts you are, that you almost completely miss the second flower. You backtrack a few steps and pick the second flower, wrapping it up as well. Although it's not dark yet, you don't know how far away another lily will be, so you decide to go back to the shack.
  
  When you walk in the door, the woman tries to rise, but then immediately sits back down because her leg won't support her. An expression of relief washes over her face, and she smiles. Gesturing for you to approach her, she waits patiently as you hand her the two flowers. She looks them over rather intently before nodding in approval. Handing one of them back to you, she gives you instructions to boil it in a bit of water, then soak the bandages in the water. You do this and when the bandages are ready, you tend to the woman's wound again. It's slowly getting better, but you fear that it won't heal in time. So it's much to your surprise when the wound is completely gone the next day. In fact, when you wake up the woman is bustling about the shack as though she'd never been hurt at all. She's brushed out her hair and looks quite tidy and respectable. You're so shocked that you just sort of stand there and gape at her. Eventually she notices you standing there, and walks over to you, putting a hand on each shoulder.
  
  "I know you were hesitant to go, but you really have saved me," she says, and you feel she is quite sincere in her words; it's in her eyes. Then she's quiet while she makes up breakfast for the both of you. It's the most delicious thing you've had in a long time, though this might just be because you have a sense of accomplishment. During the meal the woman watches you quite intently. Being as young as you are, you can't quite figure out the emotions playing across her face, but you get the impression that they are conflicting.
  
  That evening, after supper, she sits you down by the fire for a talk. Her expression is tired and serious, and the worry lines of her forehead are quite prominent. This troubles you, but you can't think what might be wrong. After all, her health has returned. Briefly you wonder if she's about to ask you to leave, but you can't think of any reason for this, especially after you helped her so much. Taking a deep breath, she doesn't leave you wondering much longer.
  
  "I'm your mother," she says, after struggling for a few moments to say anything at all. Such a revelation stuns you. So many questions flood your mind that you can't seem to pick one out of the jumble to ask.
  
  "But, why?" is all you manage to say.
  
  "It's not an easy question to answer. If you had been a little older, I would have taken you with me, but as it was, it was too dangerous." She sighs deeply and puts her hands up to her face for a few moments before she continues. "You see, my family has a lot of old traditions, things that the people of Endlemire never truly respected or even understood. When your father," and her voice hardens here, "discovered that I followed such traditions, he cast me out. That's when I came to live in the swamp."
  
  "What sort of traditions?" you ask numbly. You're still not sure what to think of the whole thing, and your feelings are put on hold.
  
  "Communing with spirits. There's a whole world that lives alongside our own, and the people of Endlemire are either too blind or afraid to realize it. People naturally seem to fear what they can't understand, and those who hold power usually try to keep people that way. I don't blame them, exactly, but my life would have been easier if this were not true." She sounds defeated. "But how is it you came to be here?"
  
  You give her a detailed description of what your life has been like, up until the point that you felt you had to run away. By the end of the telling you've raised your voice and your face is wet with tears, both from your anger and your sadness, some of which you even direct towards your mother. Despite this anger, when she reaches forward to console you, you let her pull you towards her in a motherly embrace. For a few minutes you just sit there, crying stormily into her shoulder.
  
  "I never realized it would be so bad; I thought your father at least would protect you better than that. I guess his pride was worse than I thought," she murmurs softly. "I am so sorry." Gently she smooths your hair with her hand and utters comforting sounds until your tears are spent. The next few days are pretty awkward as you range between anger and sadness and numbness. In all that time, your mother never speaks a harsh word to you, even at the height of your anger.
  
  When things settle down, your mother starts teaching you the old ways. You learn things about spirits and nature and certain patterns of thinking can sculpt the world around you in a myriad of ways. There are also some lessons about history, how only some lineages were able to connect with the spirits so closely, and that as time wore on, these people became mistrusted and hunted down because of the unfathomable and exclusive origin of their powers.
  
  Finally the time comes that you know enough to undergo the rite of passage. Your mother summons up a spirit: a shimmering form that has a vaguely humanoid shape with no facial features at all. It seems to be comprised of something that glows like light, but tendrils off like smoke. Curious, you reach out to touch it, but all you feel is a brief tingle as your finger goes right through the apparition.
  
  "Think to yourself what you want. All this power comes from life. There are other powers, that are rooted in destruction, or the elements, but for us, power is in the ebb and flow of living things." It's probably the most puzzling matter you've ever been told to consider. What does life mean to you? So far it hasn't meant much other than sorrow and loneliness. Until you found your mother, that is. And there you have your answer.
  
  "Life is connected. We're all connected," you murmur, looking over to your mother. She smiles, and you even think she looks proud of you. Nodding her head, she shouts a command to the spirit in a language you don't understand. Without warning it rushes at you, spreading itself around you in a fury of activity before flowing inside of you from every available opening. It isn't painful, but for a brief moment you're terrified as all your senses seem to be blocked for a few moments. You can feel the spirit inside of you, but it isn't in your consciousness, though you can sense some sort of strange intellect brushing up against your own. There's no indication that it's trying to invade you, but that it's observing you somehow. When your senses clear, you are filled with a tingling sensation, and you see your mother watching you closely. You smile back at her weakly, and she nods her head in approval.
  
  "This spirit will always be your companion, the keeper of your abilities. As long as you accept it, it will be harmonious with you, whatever your wants or actions. Rest now. When you're a bit more used to things, we will work on how to use the powers within you."
  
  > Time passes
  The last four months have been the happiest of your life. No longer are you plagued with the mystery of your mother; that problem has been solved. There isn't anyone to tell you that you are wicked and ungrateful, or that your mere presence is a slight to decent people. Spending time with your mother has caught you up on a lot of the love and care that you had craved for so many years. The only thing that puzzles you is how a warm, caring woman like your mother was considered bad, while the upright, but cold citizens of Endlemire were considered good. However, you're mostly so focused on mastering your abilities that you don't spend much time worrying about this, except for those odd hours when you wake up in the middle of the night.
  
  But then after four months you get the sense that your mother isn't as happy as she should be. When you ask her about it, she kisses your forehead and gets you some tea. She seems hesitant to answer your question, but once you've had your tea, she doesn't put you off any further.
  
  "I think it's time you went back home," she says solemnly.
  
  "But I want to stay here with you!"
  
  "If I were completely selfish, I would keep you with me here always. In the long run, I think it would do more harm than good."
  
  "I'm sure Father doesn't miss me, or anyone else." You're starting to feel a bit sullen.
  
  "I fear that if you wait to go back, your father will never accept you again. You have a home in Endlemire, and while the people there have been unkind, you are far more equipped to deal with them now than you have ever been. The pact that you made with your spirit is about connections. Out here your abilities and your spirit will wither. My own spirit has withered, and I doubt I'll last another decade. I'm only happy I got to see you again." Her voice tightens, and you can tell she's struggling not to cry. When she composes herself, she goes on. "And this isn't the end. When you get a little older, your comings and goings won't be examined. You can visit me whenever you wish then. I want you to reach back out to that life before it's too late."
  
  As sad as you are, you don't argue further with your mother. You accept that she must be wise, and so you go along with her request. But when she doesn't think you're looking, you catch her winking a few tears out of her eyes. The two of you spend one last week together, during which you formulate a story to explain the last four months that doesn't involve 'witchcraft'. Then she packs you a lunch and sends you home.
  
  The walk back is made with much trepidation; you're not sure Father even wants you to return. Maybe he was even happy you were gone. So you're greatly surprised when he answers the door, stares at you in surprise, then puts his arms around you. At first he doesn't even demand to know where you were, but makes certain that you're unharmed. When he is assured of your safety, he takes on his more familiar, gruff manner and asks where you've been. Since the best lies are those that have an element of truth, you tell a story of how you were picking flowers for the table, ended up lost in the swamp, and found a lady who needed help. You stayed long enough to help her, then came back when her health had returned. He seems to accept this without question and even a modicum of grace. After all, there was no shame in helping a fellow person in need. And it sure seemed better than having to tell everyone you ran off in a fit of disobedience.
  
  You're not surprised that the village is less receptive to your return than your father is. But the sadness that made you run away in the first place is mostly replaced by a certain tranquility. You feel the power of the spirit within you like a comforting glow and the knowledge that you'll never be lonely again. You work on making sure your mannerisms are quiet and polite, without being meek or cowed. Beneath your compliance you observe the people of Endlemire, filing away bits of information about them for the future.
  
  At age 18 your father dies. You find yourself quite sad at this, though not to the point that the grief overwhelms you. Even after your return, you were never close other than that brief moment when he realized you had come back to him. Although you admit that you miss him a little, you knew that your true work could never start until he was gone. You wait a few weeks after his death to show some semblance of mourning. Then you, and your spirit, get to work.
  
  As you expected, a lot of the young men started paying a lot of attention to you. And you start paying it back. On the surface you're carefully demure, moving softly and slowly. You want the population of Endlemire to believe you can be like the regular girls. But you subtly work a spell of attraction to ensure that the men are looking. Some of the young men, chief among them a guy named Conroy, are quite rude in the way they stare. There's a strong element of objectification in those lewd glances that are not what you're looking for. You don't need someone cocksure and privileged. What you want to give them is not what they are seeking. Instead you favor a man named Alden, who isn't quite as attractive or rich, but there is a far more wistful nature to his desire.
  
  You carefully manipulate him until he works up the courage to make a move on you. Graciously you allow him into your house and follow his 'suggestion' of going to your room. While outwardly you are the one being pursued, in reality this was the intent of your machinations. True, Alden is shy and awkward, and you doubt he ever would have managed to make it this far without your help, but ultimately you're less interested in pure pleasure and more interested in sharing your first encounter with someone as uninitiated as you are. From the first moments your lips lock, you feel the power surging through the spirit, sending wonderful tingles throughout your body. Turning up the strength of your spell, Alden sheds his inhibition and proceeds to shed your clothing, at which point he makes a thorough investigation of your body. Each touch is enhanced by the spirit, which has enveloped both of you, although Alden is never aware of this. Together you truly being to learn the meaning of ecstasy.
  
  But you learn much more than that. From your night of passion, the spirit imparted to you brief glimpses into Alden's mind. You learn things about him you might not have otherwise. You learn of his struggles and his sadness. With the connection forged between the two of them, with his seed inside of you, you are able to use spells to make his life better. Slowly you seek out other men to do the same with. You find those who are sad, or lonely, or down on their luck. While on the surface it looks like you've become the village whore, and are censured for it, the truth is much more complex. You take these unfortunates, and you turn their lives around. But you work your magic subtly enough that it can't be traced back to you. In general, the men just think that having a tumble with a beautiful woman increased their confidence. While it's a thankless job, you find you don't need any rewards.
  
  A few times the more radical villagers try to have you removed, but the men you serviced always stand up for you, leaving you to continue your work. All in all, you are happy with your life. By the time you are old and gray, Endlemire is a better place than when you entered it, screaming and naked at your birth.
  
  This is your legacy.