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THE SKY WAS A SPARKLING BLUE AS SHE WALKED UNDER IT.

    Basilla was reveling in joy from escaping her personal hell. She wandered the woods surrounding the Dame's manor. She plucked berries from nearby bushes and ate them as she walked. Her bare feet carried her, wandering wherever they saw fit.

  Basilla was undoubtedly lost in the world. The only map she had ever known being the mental one of the exact dimensions of her old room. She knew much of the world outside those walls from what she read, or at least she thought she did. But, she had never seen any of it up close.

  And even with this beautiful world ahead of her, beauty was not on her mind.

  Basilla was inconsolable. She cried as she walked, both from joy and deep unrelenting guilt.

  She had killed. Killed.

    When she finally came across another person and they asked her why her feet and skirts were bloody, what would she say?

  She needed to wash at the very least.

And with that, she finally had a purpose in her travels. She needed to find a body of water.

  Of course, Basilla didn't know where to find one. So, in that sense, she was wandering aimlessly. She knew what it might look like. Had an idea of what it might sound like. If a brook or river came in sight, she would know.

  There wasn't much she could do but walk on. Her feet were starting to ache a bit so she tried to avoid stepping on anything that could cut them. But, luckily, it wasn't long until she came upon a small stream. She knelt next to it and dipped her feet in. Basilla shivered at the surprisingly cold water. She rubbed her hands over her feet and ankles where the blood was drying and scrubbed the edges of her skirt.

  But, no matter how she scrubbed, the stain was still there. It marred the hem of her dirty skirt in a pinkish hue that she hated to look at. It made her sick, but she couldn't stop scrubbing. Her hands were red and raw, but the stain was still there. In a panic, Basilla tugged and tore at the hem, until it ripped free from the rest of the skirt. She watched it drift down the stream.

   Basilla collected herself, wiping her freshly flowing tears and stumbling back towards the path. Her emotions were tearing at her and she couldn't understand why. But, there was something more. She felt something build up in her. It stuck in her chest and she couldn't push it down. It forced itself higher and higher, burning and ripping to be free. She tripped through the woods, her vision blurring as she did. She held a hand to her chest and a vicious fever ignited through it.

  But soon, the pressure was too much. Basilla sank to the ground and screamed.

Something erupted from her. Every pore of her body released a burning force that surged through the air around her. The sound was thunderous and booming. The ground shook under her in violent tremors.

It didn't last long, thankfully, but the aftereffects were jarring. Basilla could only convulse from the pain she felt for a few minutes until her heart and body settled. She felt weak, too weak to stand. Her head was both light and hammering all at once. Finally, she lifted her head from where it had been tucked behind her knees.

   And all she could see was desolation.

All around, there were fallen trees and shrubs, singed and smoldering. The green ground was blackened with flame. And all the devastation traced itself, in charred streaks, back to her.

   Basilla shook at the sight and a wail of agony burst from her. Barely an hour of traversing into this strange new world and she had already managed to destroy it.

  But, her mind whirled in confusion.

  She had felt pain before. Physical, emotional. Her heart had wrenched itself time and time again, even worse than her guilt now. But never had it resulted in absolute devastation. Never had such all consuming power left her. 

  There wasn't much time to contemplate such things, however. Soon, the repercussions set in. It started with a nose bleed, steady and streaming down her lips to her neck.

  A wave of nausea and dizziness that left her toppling came next. She landed on her knees in the dirt and vomited, her throat stinging.

  She called out feebly for help, but of course there was no one around.

  Basilla cried and shook as darkness overtook her.

She stayed there for a while. Drifting in a vast nothingness that blanketed her body and mind. Time seemed to move all at once and not at all.

  Her skin felt submerged in something thick and almost suffocating. She wasn't even sure she was breathing. There were sounds, distant and wavering as if underwater. What could have been shouts or whispers, there was no discerning it.

    Her essence took those moments to calm itself of the purge it released. All the while, Basilla felt herself move.

  Her shoulders lifted and her knees bent. She felt something cool on her head and heard voices, but she was tired. Too tired to address the feelings or the noises as the lights of her new world flickered in and out.

  She wasn't sure she wanted to wake up. She was finding comfort in the drowsiness.

   Voices invaded her sleep. They came in quietly, faint and distant.

  "This little thing couldn't have done all that damage. You saw the state of the place."

"But, there's no saying she didn't. She was in the center of it all, it couldn't have come from anywhere else."

   She shifted. The voices spoke of her and she knew it. She wanted to get away, but her body refused. The blanket around her tightened, blocking her senses so that she was merely hollow.

   It felt nice. Calming even, in the way an animal calms when it's eyes and ears are covered. Basilla's body cooled from the heat it had endured, lapping over her like a rolling wave. Everything remained so perfectly still within her and her mind was so numbed, she didn't notice the soft, water soaked cloth gently wiping across her face. It felt like another wave washing over her. But, not exactly.

   Basilla finally realized that something was different. The strokes of the cloth were gentle and warm. There was an intent and care in the movement that made her uncomfortable. What could be kind and caring one moment, can turn into harshness in an instant.

  With her slowly gaining strength, Basilla forced her eyes open.

  The sun in the room stained her vision at first but soon her eyes adjusted. She carefully flitted her eyes this way and that until they came upon a figure. It sat next to her, illuminated in the sunlight.

A woman stood there, with hair a sweet honey orange color, but the sunlight made the edges gleam like gold thread.

  Basilla began to sit up, but the figure gently held her in place.

  "Don't move too much. You'll wear yourself out even more." The voice said, or rather scolded.

  Basilla didn't know exactly what she expected the voice to sound like. Maybe light and soft or gently resonant. Not so shrill and not so harsh.

  "What's happened? Where am I?" Basilla asked, taking note of the room. It was small and barely furnished. Little more than a small vanity and the bed she lay on.

   "They said they found you in the woods, burnt and bruised. Never seen anything like that. Or seen anyone recover from it so quickly." The woman, whom Basilla could finally get a better look at, wrung out a slightly bloody cloth in a basin of water.

  She walked to the nearby window and dumped the water out.

She turned back to face Basilla.

  Her form was rather wide and curvy and she was short. At least shorter than Basilla. Her red hair took on a more dull coppery tone when out of the sunlight. Her eyes spoke of a fierce determination, despite not much reason to be so firefly determined, but they were youthful eyes nonetheless. She couldn't be much older than Basilla.

"What's your name, hen?" The woman asked, drying off her hands on her apron.

  "Basilla." She replied quietly.

"Basilla? Oh, that takes too much to say. I'll call you Bas, fair?"

  Basilla could barely get a nod in before the woman continued.

"I'm Ginnivere, I go by Ginny. And don't call me Gin unless you're fixin' to buy me some." Ginny laughed.

  Basilla chuckled awkwardly along with her, not any less confused.

  Ginny glanced at Basilla's face and clicked her tongue. "That bleed refuses to stop doesn't it? Didn't want to have to waste my energy on it, but I 'spose I haven't much choice."

  Ginny walked over, her heels clicking on the wood in a way that made Basilla wince. It was a familiar sound.

   Ginny knelt, tilting Basilla's head to examine the blood that dripped from her left nostril.

  "Do you have a headache at all?" She asked.

"No." Basilla replied, watching Ginny's brown eyes search her face.

  Ginny sounded a soft hum before placing two fingers over the bridge of Basilla's nose. She whispered something that Basilla could barely hear and suddenly there was a warmth against her nose. Not uncomfortable or painful. It pulsed against her face gently for a bit before Ginny took her hand away.

  She took the cloth again and wiped off the remaining blood.

"There. Pretty as a pink peach." Ginny said with a smile.

    Basilla touched a finger to her nose.

"How did you do that?" She asked.

  "How'dya mean?" Ginny questioned, absently rummaging through the drawer on the vanity. "The nosebleed? Ha, the same way you lit that forest like a coal furnace, hen." Ginny chuckled.

   Basilla's heart raced at this.

She knows. Basilla thought to herself. She knows it was me who did it. And yet, she isn't upset. She's laughing even!

  Basilla watched the back of Ginny's head intently, but was too scared to ask any more of her.

  And the knock at the door spared her of any more conversation.

  Ginny ignored it for a moment, still looking through the drawer.

  "Ginny, open the damned door, you troll." A voice on the other side spoke.

  "I'm coming you waif, quit your yelling." Ginny quipped back. She pulled open the door to the room, behind it standing two men.

  One, the taller of the two, had brown hair and a scar above his eye. The shorter was bald and held what looked like a permanent face of irritation.

  They entered the room, the shorter heading straight for Basilla.

"She's awake. Good. Bran is looking forward to meeting her."

  Basilla stared silently at the man, eyes wide. She had never seen a man before, spare a few illustrations.

"Oh, bugger off Conely, you're scaring her." Ginny spoke, shooing the man from the bedside. She looked over at the doe-eyed Basilla. "Fear not Bas, I'll make sure these swine don't get to you."  Ginny winked.

"Bass? Like the fish? Odd name for a girl." The taller man said.

  "Her name obviously isn't Bass, you idiot. It's her nickname. I gave it to her and I think it's nice so don't make a fuss about it." Ginny chuffed.

  The taller man held his hands up in surrender. 

"Well whatever her name is, get her ready. Everyone's anxious to-" Conely halted as Ginny ushered both men out of the room.

  "Yes, yes, I know. She'll be ready in a minute, hold the dogs off 'til then." She pushed the two out with barely another word.

  "They're a might annoying, that lot." Ginny said with a sigh. "Right then, I suppose that look on your face doesn't mean you understand the present situation." Ginny moved to sit, with a bounce, on the edge of the bed. "I ain't supposed to tell you this, at least not now, but no one else is gonna be direct with you. To make it simple, we lot are part of an organization, a rebellion really, against the king. The king has quite a bit of power behind him and so we need something of the same. These men have been recruiting witches, like us, to help fight for the cause. They want you to join us."

  Basilla could barely understand Ginny's words.

"You've got questions of course. I can tell that much. Go on, ask."

  Basilla stuttered for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts.

  "I am not a witch." Was all she could manage to get out.

Ginny snorted harshly. "Look, hen, we both saw those woods so there's no denying that. Don't worry, we won't report you to the authorities or nothing."

  "No, you don't understand." Basilla huffed, feeling her eyes start to water involuntarily. "I do not know how I did that. I've read about witches in my books and I know I am not one. I've never done that before, I couldn't stop it." Her voice dropped to a frail whisper. "I didn't mean to."

"How'dya mean you don't know how - you've never -" Ginny paused, for the first time seeming speechless. "You're not a natural witch, are you?"

"I am no witch." Basilla replied with a sniffle.

Ginny rose from the bed, and began to pace along the floor.

"Where did you come from?" She asked finally.

Hesitantly, Basilla replied. "T-the woods."

  Ginny rolled her eyes. "Before that. Where did you come from?"

  Basilla's eyes blurred with tears. She wrung her hands in her lap and remained silent. But, there was little she could do to hold back.

  The tears surged forward in unrelenting sobs. Through her tears she tried to explain herself. "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident, I promise. She was going to hurt me and take me away, I-" Basilla's shrill explanation gave out and she could not go on.

  She soon felt arms wrap around her and Ginny's voice in her ears, shushing her softly. "It's alright, hen. I understand. I've known legends of the old witch Gothel since before I got to this town. She hasn't got the nicest reputation. Whatever you did, I won't judge you for it."

  The relief that flooded Basilla's body as she shook and cried was immense. She had been hugged and comforted before, but never like this. Never so genuine and warm.

  Ginny released Basilla from the hug and set her hands on

Basilla's shoulders.

"I know it'll be hard, but Bran is waiting for you downstairs. He's expecting a powerful witch to grace them, not a newborne. For your safety, you can't let 'im know what happened. I won't tell them anything. My brother  is here as well, we'll get you out of this. They'll try to convince you to join us, but you must refuse. Can you do that, Bas?"

   Basilla nodded slowly, her heart calmed slightly by Ginny's assurance.

  Ginny's eyes flashed with something new. The fierce determination that hid just a hint of fear.

  A fear Basilla knew all too well.

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