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Here Lies

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At the edge of your town lies a pillar all of granite. Only the bravest children dare go near, and the adults barely speak of it. When they do it is in whispers, fretful glances cast out to the woods. When they tell you there is great evil in that place, they never quite meet your eyes. 


You think you must have gotten closer to it than anyone else, because when the other children speak of it, for all their tales of witches and curses, none of them have ever mentioned the words.


Carved so deep into the stone that you can still make them out, despite the fading of time and the fact someone had clearly once tried to destroy them.


The first time you asked how you could ever love someone who’d kill you, all you got for an answer was dirty looks. You asked many times over the years, and each time the response was much the same, usually followed by reprimands and shouting.


“Why do you keep asking?” They always wanted to know. ‘Why won’t you let us forget?’ Their eyes always seemed to beg. Each time you thought you could see a bit more shame there.


The day that tongues of colorful flame appeared in your hands, their eyes turned from you to glance fearfully towards the woods. 


That night you packed a bag and walked to the edge of town. You paused for a moment, and ran your hand over the words you’d long since committed to memory.


‘Here lies the sorceress of Alois, who loved the people who killed her.’


And you made a promise before starting off down the road, away from the town that made you, the place that would kill you.


“I’m leaving. And I will remember you.”