A/N: Okay, so this took a hell of a lot longer than I thought it would and for that I would like to apologize. I really struggled with writing this chapter, yeah I get that I was revising something I'd already written, but I like to think that I had improved somewhat since I had initially uploaded this story as "The Alternate Destiny...". I use to think 1K words was long! Now I don't think it's long enough! And this chapter was originally going to be at more than 8k words which is a lot for someone like me, but I wanted to attempt it because I had intentions of doing a chapter per episode kind of pattern.

But with college and writer's block hitting me several times, I had to walk away from this several times. I felt incredibly guilty doing so, because I know I'm already incompetent with updates as it was and I made whoever was a fan of this story before wait on it for pretty much two years now only to be recieving something they've already read before with nothing new really. So for that I am apologizing greatly.

What I've ultimately decided to do is for the chapters I'm keeping somewhat canon compliant to the story, I will be splitting in half. So this is part one of "Death and the Maiden" and chapter 3 is part two. It's really the only way I can make any leeway with this story as I am. Part two is all written out basically I just have to revise it a lot. Hopefully that won't take too long, as I do have an upcoming break.

Anyway thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story thus far, and I hope you do like what I've written so far.


The dungeon in which they made her sleep that night and the morning after was still a terribly confining space to her. She at least counted her blessings that she was allowed to move this time, she had the option of pacing around. But her hands were still bound behind her back, and no matter how hard she looked at it, she was still very much a prisoner... not just in this place, but the shell of her own body was a man made prison on its own….and it had driven her to insanity for far too long.

Amara felt so stiffened and tense that she half expected to wake up from this delirious dream of her miraculous escape from her stone-like imprisonment. Though even she, scatterbrained as she was right now, couldn't deny the cold, concrete floor beneath her feet...just like she couldn't deny the disembodied voices of the damned that whispered in her ears.

They had been mercifully silent for most of the night, however the idea of shutting her eyes even for a second frightened her. She knew she would still hear them in her dreams, and she didn't believe they would ever leave her alone, no matter how much she pleaded. These voices that made her ears bleed, unyieldingly relentless...

Amara could almost feel their eyes...their lifeless eyes...firmly setting her in their sights. All of a sudden, one by one they started interrogating her again. She was on her feet in an instant, and paced in place as far as this tiny room would let her, trying to force all of them out of her mind. Once again, there were questions she couldn't answer. Questions of her location and the identity of her captors were. Insults were hurled at her like rotten fruit, questions on the fate of the Other Side in the event of her death were predominately of their concern.

"I don't know!" She snapped at them, even though she herself didn't believe in the conviction behind her words. "I don't know!" She ran directly to the wall, smacking herself against it with a hard clang! Entertaining the notion if she hurt herself enough, it would eventually drown out the overcrowding voices clamoring for her attention...or she would pass out trying.

"What's wrong with her?" Amara heard some faint murmuring from behind her cellar door. Though she couldn't see who had spoken, a sickly sense of recognition took hold of her, That voice that sounds like...why must you taunt me like this?!

She was positive that this was the sign that any plausibly existing god was laughing at her.

"Tessa turned her into a block of rock," Another masculine voice, one of her captors she realized, replied to his companion, "Left her in a box for two thousand years, probably went a little stir crazy like those deserted island guys who talk to volleyballs."

Amara was surprised that she could even barely make sense of what they were saying with every other noise pounding through her brain.

"I said I don't know!" She ran at the wall again at full speed with the same result. She was hyperventilating by now, taking shaky, quick breaths simultaneously making herself sick at the same time. She bent her legs to sit on the floor, but straightened herself up when she realized that it was only making it worse.

"So you're telling me," the first one spoke incredulously, "That this girl is the only thing holding together the Other Side?" But you should know that by now, don't you all know that?

"Yep," the second replied in a calmer tone, "She's the anchor." Don't they know that I can hear every word they speak...? Apparently not, she thought. Neither two suspected that she, who persistently heard the words and secrets of the dead, could possibly be eavesdropping on them...that or they thought she was too insane to pay them any mind.

It might have been funny to her if she hadn't been trembling in pain at that moment.

"Leave...me alone," Amara once again attempted to silence the other whispers against her ears.

"As long as she's alive, the other side exists, and we can keep trying to get Bonnie from over there."

"I said I don't know!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, but she miscalculated her footing and tripped over her own two feet. And again when she tried to stand up without the benefit of her hands. Amara grunted at herself, thinking what foolish sight this must have been. But fools lose their minds, do they not? Death is the mayhaps the most merciful being to a fool that was made foolish with a fickle word such as "love", she mused. In which case, she was, undeniably, that same little fool.

"Well," said the first one, "Considering she's immortal, I'd say we have plenty of opportunity." No, I'm not...no longer...it worked, didn't it?

"You'd think," replied the second, dejectedly, "Except last night she stuck a hole in Silas' neck, sucked the cure right out of him, so now she's not only nuts, she's mortal, which means we have to keep her ordinary little human heart beating until we get Bonnie back."

…So that's their ultimate goal? She thought. They have summoned me back for their opportunity to play god? Is this really that important to them…?

No. It didn't matter. She didn't care who this Bonnie was, Amara did not desire to humor this pandemonium for however long they wanted. She refused to add even a few hours on her limited lifespan just so she could be a tool for someone else.

Never again. Not ever, they'll just have to make do with my corpse for all I care...

Amara frantically looked around the room for anything sharp she could use, furiously trying to rub the pieces of rope the bound her wrists against each other. It would have had to come loose from the amount of pressure she was putting, especially with the scratchy material against her small, fragile hands gripping against-

She felt the bonds loosen on her wrists.

"How would you plan to do that?"

"Silas made a pinky promise that he'd do a spell to bring her back. Unfortunately, he's taking his sweet time coming back to Mystic Falls."

Once Amara's hands were free, she immediately brought both wrists near her mouth and without hesitation, roughly bit down on them until they started bleeding. She did this repeatedly, enlarging the bite marks and bloodying her teeth. She groaned, It has to be over soon, it has to be over soon...

"Ahgh!" A frustrated groan and a metallic click from the other side of the door, "Amara, stop!" The door opened to reveal the blue eyed man, who tied her up and made her ride in the dark. He advanced toward her, grabbing for her arms.

Amara screamed as her wrists were pried from her, "No..!" He forced her to stand up, "...Nooo...! ...Let...me die! I want...to diiiieee!" She hyperventilated again as he spoke to his companion, who Amara refused to look in the eyes. You can't be real, you're not real…!

"Let's hope love is blind," He paused, trying to keep Amara's arms from her face, "Or at least deaf."


Things were silent in the hours that followed, and her captors had retied her wrists in front of her this time. Although, the ropes still scratched irritatingly against her skin, so she would fumble with them, at the very least trying to loosen them.

This was when her second set of visitors came to see her.

The first was a young woman with long, dark hair and caramel colored skin. She didn't attempt to make conversation with Amara when she stood in the doorway, and Amara was more than willing to return the favor. Those dark green eyes were solely focused on her, as if she were studying. She was as uninterested in being the first to break the silence as Amara was, but there was something very wrong in her actions.

Every time Amara's eyes flickered toward her, she never even gave a remote sign of being acknowledged. Perhaps she was the more stoic type, but even so, she acted like Amara was looking right through her. But her face was so devoid of emotion, it has hard for Amara to completely decipher her new supervisor.

Minutes later, a younger man showed his face. He had chestnut hair and eyes like Amara did, but unlike herself, he had a child-like face and youth in his eyes that his companion did not possess. He seemed like the direct foil for his companion, actually, she had a deep sadness in her eyes and a face that seemed used to frowning.

"How's our mental patient doing?" He inquired of her, keeping his voice low.

"I guess all those years alone finally sent her over the edge," the emotionless one explained calmly, maybe even with something reminiscent of sympathy.

The younger man turned to Amara for the first time since his arrival, and approached her with something in his hands. Amara involuntarily flinched, as she eyed him warily.

"Relax," He told her, noticing her fidgety movements. He spoke in the same non-startling tone "I'm- I'm just bringing dinner..."

Amara watched him carefully put down the supper plate in front of her...that was right, she wasn't immortal anymore so blood would no longer be able sustain her hunger. That mattered very little to her at the moment, she had no need for it. This boy...he looked so familiar, she thought. "I know you," she decided, saying aloud the young man, who looked surprised that she was speaking to him, albeit unconvinced at her words.

"I don't think so," he shook his head and moved his hands to hers to undo the ropes on her wrists. This time, she wouldn't struggle against him. There were too many unanswered questions, and there were two people here who might provide answers for the first time in two days.

"You're the hunter," she explained, causing him to stare at her oddly. She added softly, "I never forget a face..." If she recalled correctly, he was Qetsiyah's hunters as well as a medium not unlike the abilities she possessed. There was no way she could have forgotten someone like him, he was so...human compared to everyone else who had ever passed through her onto the Other Side.

Now the silent companion stared at her as well, "...But Silas killed you." The two shifted, "You're dead..." Amara eyed the hunter questioningly. Yes, she knew that as well. Whenever someone passed on, she had always felt it...she was put directly into the mindset of that person, feeling the exact pain of their last moments in silence. For this young man, she knew he had been drained of his blood by the man she used to call her lover.

"I was," He answered her, affirming her suspicions, "I came back."

Amara glanced away from him, staring at the stone floor as she let her train of thought flow about this new information. Impossible, was her immediate first thought, Even the undead know to stay dead when their time is up, not a single soul can escape it as simply as you say.

She blinked slowly in questioning, "How?" she asked.

The hunter never took his eyes off of her, yet his silence persisted.

"I said how?" She turned her face towards him again, looking into his eyes. He remained silent, though she knew it was in vain. Somehow, those young eyes told her everything, the story of loss and pain. She knew it all too well...which is why her eyes shifted to his companion as she started to interrogate her. "It was you, wasn't it? You're a witch. You brought him back."

It made sense. She was Qetsiyah's direct descendant, come from a long line of powerful witches who had inherited her abilities ever since her passing. Her ancestors had passed through Amara long before her time, so this revelation was a very strong possibility.

The witch's eyes widened in a combination of acknowledgement and shock. "You can see me?" She asked just as calmly as Amara did, although her face suggested otherwise.

"Of course I can see you, I'm not blind," Amara smiled awkwardly, not really understanding why this was so shocking to her, "I have eyes."

The witch stared down at the floor nervously, and the hunter turned his head frantically looking between the two women. A sense of dread ate at Amara as she slowly realized her mistake.

"Or are you dead...?" She spoke to the witch again, shaking her head and in some kind of attempt of an apology, sadly whispered, "I get so mixed up, I can't tell the difference between the living or the dead..." Her eyes darted to each of the cellar walls.

"Can you see people on the Other Side?" The hunter's voice rose on a tone of inquiry, probably wondering if she was a medium as well. He had once been like her, he was likely thinking, seeing certain individuals that no normal person would have seen otherwise. But he was one of Qetsiyah's hunters...

"I am the anchor to the Other Side," Amara admitted shamefully, earning a concerned stare from the hunter. "I can see everything...!" Her voice broke off in a humiliated sob. She turned her face away from them, losing her will in trying so desperately to hold herself together...when it was made clearly obvious that she was far too damaged for a simple conversation. Her breath hitched in her throat, it was terribly unfair but...so was running off with a man promised to another...

That familiar regret came bubbling up and she wanted nothing more than curl in on herself.

She turned back her head just in time to feel the witch softly brush her fingers against Amara's shoulder. Amara gasped, "Don't touch me!" The hand was immediately retracted, eyes widened in surprise. The anchor tried to calm herself down when she realized she basically yelled at her, when this whole time she and her hunter companion had been something reminiscent of considerate to her, "Please don't-" She shook her head, "-don't touch me..."

"I can touch her..." The witch whispered, astonished.

"Okay..." The hunter remarked, "That's weird..."

Amara struggled to catch her breath, to stop trembling...

"Jer...I think I've got an idea..."


It had neared nightfall when her last visitor came to see her, and probably the worst one yet.

Amara's captors had tied her to a chair in preparation for this, but whether that was the decision of her visitor or the blue eyed man (who seemed to be the mastermind behind her capture) she didn't know. The hunter and the witch wouldn't answer any more of Amara's questions, and the blue eyed man and his companion (who wore the face of the man she currently loved and hated the most at the moment) hadn't spoken to her since retying her ropes the first time.

And the other girl, Amara thought, She...she had my face...She must be my shadow self, she can no longer part of my imagination...It had scared her, upon their first meeting. It hadn't been natural, seeing her own face in the world of the living staring back at her on its own like a vivid reflection in a mirror. Upon her imprisonment in this cellar, she had remembered seeing visions much like her. Women who'd shared that face, stolen from her, that Amara had written them off as illusions of her shattered mind.

One stabbed through the heart on the end of a jilted blade. One drained of blood at the hands of an immortal creature that survived off it. One neck snapped, dangling from a rope at her own hands to escape a fate likely worse. One drowned in a river, veered off the road upon her attempt to return home. *

The first two she had certainly felt as real deaths, the souls of what she now understood were her doppelgängers passing through the original onto a supernatural limbo. The last two weren't as terribly clear. She remembered feeling them, but she didn't think they had ever passed through her.

Amara was unsure how much her doppelgängers knew about her. But if she hates me...and I would hate me as well...

And the blue eyed man's companion...he must be Silas' doppelgänger as well...They must truly hate us...hate me...for the misery we've caused after all.

Even as she came to this conclusion, Amara had already decided. Everything the doppelgangers had done, or would do from then on...Amara had no one but herself to blame for it. I, the one who spit in the face of mortality, am the one who started this circle of despair.

For the third time that day, the cellar door screeched open, the rusted metal creaking in protest, to reveal the last person Amara wanted to see.

It was Qetsiyah, with Amara's doppelgänger in tow. Qetsiyah stared at Amara, and for a second, her eyes flickered with excitement at seeing Amara in her shameful display, even as her face betrayed no visible emotion otherwise. The doppelgänger said nothing as she led her in and gestured toward Amara, as if she had been gift wrapped specifically for the sorceress herself.

"That'll be all," said Qetsiyah, shooing the doppelgänger away as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Amara cringed, remembering the same coldness Qetsiyah used whenever she ordered her servants around, the tone she used just now to spite Amara.

Amara paid especially close attention after the cellar door was shut. The doppelgänger hadn't left, but remained outside the door, listening in on the both of them, she realized. For a split second, Amara hoped the door would reopen, the doppelgänger refusing to leave her alone with Qetsiyah even for a moment. The door didn't reopen, but the doppelgänger didn't move from the door either. What's going through her mind right now, I wonder?

Qetsiyah kept her eyes on Amara from the moment she walked in through the door, smiling to Amara's surprise.

"Well, if it isn't the face that launched a thousand doppelgängers?" The sorceress greeted the handmaiden in a low, angry voice. She stepped closer to Amara and bent over slowly so she was leveled with Amara's face.

"A little birdie told me you aren't enjoying your immortal life." Now she sounded all too friendly, and all too joyful at Amara's expense. Is this who you are now "friend"? Or was the whole delusion of friendship another one of your games in the first place?

Amara turned her head away from that mocking, remorseless gaze, but Qetsiyah grabbed her chin forcefully and immediately turned her back to meet her eyes. Her fingernails dug into Amara's skin, and fingers cruelly tightening around her jawline.

"Two thousand years, and you have nothing to say to me?! No apology?" She was really angry now, Amara guessed it was because she didn't already invoke a reaction from Amara. Truth be told, Amara really didn't have anything to say to her former mistress, nothing that could possibly begin to make up for two millenniums worth for what she had done to her. The time for apologies had come far too late, and she knew there was no hope of forgiveness even if she did. A small part of her almost foolishly hoped her silence would be what got her doppelgänger to intervene, getting Qetsiyah as far from her as humanly possible.

She just wanted this ugly story to come to its bitter, tragic end. Though she knew of only one way she could do that.

"...I'm sorry..."

"What was that?" Liar, you heard me clearly...Just end this.

"I'm sorry..." There was only a bit more conviction in this, and a bit more shakiness.

"Oh..." Just "oh"?

"That's what you want to hear, isn't it...? How I suffered...how every moment of my life has been a living hell?! It has!" Qetsiyah smirked at the reaction, but Amara had no problem nor shame in indulging the her former mistress a bit longer, if only to ask what she really wanted..."My sin was falling in love, and I've learned my lesson. You win. You won. Now please kill me. Please. Please kill me!"

There was a pause here, as Qetsiyah studied the handmaiden intently before speaking again. Odd, it must have been taken nothing but immense satisfaction thus far in watching Amara plead so pathetically, so desperately, after two thousand years of an angry afterlife...what had suddenly changed? "Don't worry," she said, and without skipping a beat, continued, "When I make someone else the anchor, I will."

That was all that needed to be said, that was all Amara needed to hear. Qetsiyah was one that always kept her word, and she knew that killing her was a satisfaction that Qetsiyah wanted personally. That alone was more than enough to satisfy the former handmaiden. It let her breathe easier for the first time in days.

But there was no sympathy for the damned.

"And since you're nothing more than a non-supernatural human, you'll pass on while Silas is trapped on the Other Side. And then you and Silas? You're gonna spend eternity apart."

Amara could no longer find the strength to look into dark hate-filled eyes anymore. She had already feigned the bravery she had just to complete a sentence in front of her. And that final jab had broken her already shattered spirit, and she could feel herself starting to cry as tears threatened to fall right then and there. Oh, Silas...what have we become?

"And that," Qetsiyah condescended, "Is gonna be kind of fantastic...for me." Amara's eyes involuntarily flickered back to the witch, and she shrugged malevolently, "Selfishly speaking."


An hour and a half later, they had began the ritual for handing Amara's supernatural status to the dead witch she had met earlier.

Amara's doppelgänger had been the one to get her and explained the gist of the ritual. And much to Amara's shock, the doppelgänger was actually kind to her, gently untying her wrists, asking her if she was alright, and after talking, escorted her quietly to the drawing room.

"For the record, I am sorry," she had said to her, "For putting you in that cell, and for how you were treated since you...came back." She appeared unsure, it was like she was trying to tread carefully through thin ice, speaking to Amara. Like she feared her predecessor would shatter at the slightest touch. She shook her head, "And, I'm really sorry for scaring you earlier...My name is Elena."

Amara bowed her head lightly, showing that she appreciated her kindness at the moment. It crossed her mind that it had been an act, that Elena had attempted to be decent to her. Though if it was an act, it was a very good one. It begged the question, was she the one that absconded death for five centuries? Or the one that had for three years?

Amara had a much better look at her doppelganger now, and she theorized that it was the latter. She looked like she belonged in this time frame, despite the rather odd choice in wardrobe. Were her legs not cold, being so lengthy and overexposed like they were? From the cool confidence in her strides, and braver outlook, Amara supposed she really had no place to judge what her descendant wore.

She talks to me like a small child, Amara observed, But I cannot say I am surprised...how must I seem to someone like her? Elena shared the same face Amara used to hide shyly beneath her veil in fear, and yet it looked so mature on her.

It seemed, at the very least, that Elena didn't harbor any resentment toward her. Amara wanted to believe that, but she really could not assign blame to her if she were lying. Though she'd happily accept the lie for now, because the looks of hatred she'd received from the dead and her former mistress was more than she could bear.

Amara didn't want to imagine seeing it on her own face.

"Alright," Elena said upon entering the drawing room, "We're here."

Inside the room, Qetsiyah was standing in front of a small table, as was another woman who turned at Elena and Amara in clear annoyance.

It was another one of Amara's doppelgängers. This one had a mass of messy curls that fell elegantly past her shoulders. She was wearing a long sleeved black shirt that was cut off at the elbows, and Amara didn't think she'd ever get used to the sight of someone who looked like her in trousers.

"Took you the hell long enough," She immediately reprimanded Elena harshly, before giving Amara a brief, indifferent glance over, "And they say the original is always better." She crinkled her nose in what seemed like vague disgust at her attire, "Though I guess you can't help that, being ancient and all."

"Oh, don't be a giant bummer," Elena replied, "You're not exactly at the prime of your youth either, Katherine."

I see. So Katherine was the one who lived for five centuries…

Katherine's eyes held a flicker of anger even as she smiled bittersweetly at Elena, "And yet, cupcake, it's like you think I still won't stab you in the eyes with my heels."

"Shut the hell up," Qetsiyah snapped, causing Amara to flinch and Katherine to stop talking. "You want the spell done? Stop dawdling and take your damn places."

Amara looked over at Elena, who looked back at her with assurance and placed her hand on Amara's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Elena stepped toward the table, as did Amara by her side. Once the girls were gathered around, Qetsiyah pulled out a book and opened it so that its contents were on display for the doppelgängers.

"What is that?" Amara asked.

"It's Bonnie's grimoire," Elena calmly explained to her.

"Grim- what?"

"It's a magic spell book," Katherine elaborated coldly before Elena could respond. She rolled her eyes and she muttered under her breath, "Idiot." Which earned an insulted look from her predecessor.

"It's a talisman," Qetsiyah commented, unimpressed with Katherine's answer, "Since Bonnie can't be here, her grimoire will have to do." She made a small gesture toward the book, "Hands in, palms up." She demanded.

There was a short lived moment of silence as the doppelgängers shared a three way glance with each other, unsure of who should go first. It was a rare moment in which Amara truly felt a connection with them, their bloodlines having been intertwined by a twisted yet carefully controlled fate that allowed them to even exist in the same room. Despite the centuries between them, they were here.

Amara only thought it fair as the originator of their lineage to be the first to offer her blood in order to end this. She extended her arm shyly, but Qetsiyah impatiently snatched her wrist and sliced her palm. She gasped at the sudden action.

"Sorry, love," Qetsiyah feigned concern, "Did that hurt?"

Amara turned her palm over and let her blood drip on the pages stained a faded gold with age. "I've been through worse." Her eyes flickered toward Qetsiyah without that hint of fear faltering her action.

Elena looked at Amara with concern evident in those doe brown eyes, though Amara couldn't fathom why that was.

"Easy, okay?" Katherine interjected warningly to the sorceress. "I'm fragile these days." She dramatically extended her hand.

Qetsiyah rolled her eyes, annoyed, and held the knife in front of her, facing down toward the book. Katherine gripped the blade and squeezed hard, blood dripped from the blade and leaving a large, ugly gash on her hand. She pulled her hand away after a satisfactory amount of blood landed on the paper, clutching her wounded hand.

Elena seemed the most confident in stretching her hand out. Qetsiyah quickly punctured it with the tip of the blade. Smiling still, Elena turned her hand over towards the paper and looked over at Katherine mockingly.

"Show-off," Katherine grumbled.

As soon as Elena finished, Qetsiyah started chanting and the candle lights brightened with intensity in tandem. The blood on the paper started to move and coil around the middle, forming the Celtic symbol "trinity". The candles light became stronger until Qetsiyah stopped speaking, and they flickered out.

"No..."

"Is it done?" Katherine questioned.

"No, it's not done," Qetsiyah snarled back.

As if to confirm the worst case scenario, the windows flew open with a strong gust of wind. The ceiling lights imploded on themselves as the wind blew harder. Elena and Katherine showed no visible signs of shock, looking at the chaos about them as if it were a minor inconvenience. Amara, on the other hand, flinched at every unfamiliar sound and occurrence frightened at whatever was causing this.

"What is happening?!" Elena shouted over roaring winds to Tessa.

"Silas is happening!" Qetsiyah shouted back before addressing the impending chaos, "Show yourself, bastard!"

The moment those words were uttered, the last few lights blew out, engulfing the room in complete darkness. Before Amara could even think to call out for someone, she felt a pair of strong arms restrain her body as a large hand covered her mouth before her vision blurred and the drawing room went further and further from her view.


I have a headcanon that Qetsiyah's and Amara's relationship was reminiscent to the Salvatore brothers prior to Silas entering the picture. Like their interactions from what we've seen wasn't just the reaction of a mistress and servant who frolicked with the fiance. It was genuine anger and betrayal that Qetsiyah had portrayed, at someone who she very much felt hurt being betrayed by. She even said Amara was "very close to her". And it didn't seem like Amara had no clue what she was doing either, she was helping set up the garden for the wedding (I think). There was more to Amara's reasoning as to why she would run off with Silas (and betray her own Lady and mistress) than a simple "I felt like it".

Perhaps I may write a one shot someday that reads more into it, and I already have plans for a fic where Amara was never immobilized and lived out the entirety of her two thousand years of immortality as well.

But that's a story for another day. Amara is still very much my favorite character (besides Damon and others of course haha) and I'm nowhere near done with her as VD is. Please let me know what you guys thought about anything you've read, I am always open to input and suggestions! And I hope you have a wonderful day!

-Goldy

* Amara's reflecting over her previous doppelgängers' deaths in order (Doppelgänger number one is a headcanon, Tatia, Katherine as a human, and Elena as a human).