Carmentia reflects on the day everything went wrong. These events take place when she is about 10 years old.
My Hands are Not Clean Either
We had arrived in the town about a week ago, Mother managed to find a place to rent on the outskirts for eight gold a fortnight. It was her hope that we could stay for a bit longer there, several months, maybe even a year. But we had to be careful. I had to be careful. I couldn't let them find out what I was. That was the first day I dared to go outside. Mother dyed my hair again and covered up my skin with the special paints. I was worried about playing with the other children, but Mother had only smiled at me and told me to have fun. I was uneasy, but the group of children I met accepted me quickly and were happy to let me join in. They were curious about me, and asked many questions, but I remembered what Mother told me to say and they were satisfied.
We played all day, I was happy, and for those few hours I forgot to be afraid. But the day was warm, and in the late afternoon the children all decided to head down to the nearby lake. I went with them, and as they all jumped into the cool, refreshing water one-by-one, so did I. I emerged from the water laughing, wiping the water from my eyes. But the girl next to me took one look at me and screamed. It was then that I noticed the paint dissolving in the water around me, and the red dye dripping off the ends of my hair. I tried to reassure them that I meant no harm, but they all ran before I had a chance to speak. I cried there, for too long, but finally I climbed out of the lake and tried to make my way back home, at least where home was then.
Word travels fast though, especially where Drow are concerned. Some older boys had found me and cornered me in an alley. It was just pushing and shoving at first, and when they saw that I didn't fight back, it became blows and kicks that rained down on me. I begged them to stop, for someone, anyone, to help me, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. I tried to run but they just threw me to the ground. And then one of the boys pulled out a knife. I was scared before, but then I was truly terrified.
I fought back. I tackled the boy with the knife. He mustn't have been expecting any resistance, so my sudden attack caught him off guard and I managed to knock him down. The knife fell out of his hand and clattered onto the ground. I picked it up and swung blindly. I don't know what I was trying to do. I don't know if I was just trying to scare them off, or if I really did want to hurt them. I was afraid, and angry, and I just wanted it to stop. I hit one of the boys closest to me. He hadn't hit me earlier. He had just been standing and watching by the side. The knife ripped open a jagged gash in his throat. People had called me a monster before, but that was the first time I felt like one. The others were gone in a flash, and I stood there, horrified at what I had done. I dropped the knife and tried to hold the wound closed, to just stop the bleeding somehow. He fought me every step of the way. I whispered apologies to him and begged for forgiveness in-between the words of healing I tried to invoke, but there was only terror in his eyes. There was so much blood. I couldn't stop it.
In my panic, I could only think of one person who could make everything right, Mother. I dashed back to the little hut we were living in. She was startled when I ran in, half-covered with blood, yet still the first thing she did was check if I was hurt. I tried to explain to her what happened, what I had done. I was crying and gasping for breath, but she somehow understood. She didn't lash out at me, or even reprimand me, just told me to get cleaned and patched up in that calm way of hers and to pack up everything and be ready to leave. She asked me where the boy was, and after I told her, she picked up her medicine chest and hurried out. I did what she told me, threw my torn and bloodied dress in the fire and packed everything back into our two backpacks. We had few possessions. I spent much longer trying to wash the blood from my hands, but even after going through two tubs of water, I could still feel it clinging to me. After I finished packing, I waited for her to come back. Seconds felt like hours. I don't know how long I waited, but I was restless and terrified.
In a split-second moment I decided to go find Mother, maybe help her if I could, and by some strange, inexplicable reason I thought to take my lyre with me. It was dark then, but when I returned to the entrance of the alley, there were torches blazing and both anger and fear permeating the air. The townspeople surrounded Mother, and though she looked to be trying to calm them down, it wasn't working. One of the people struck her, and stupidly I cried out. Many of them noticed me then, and it enraged them even more. My Mother screamed at me to run before a spear rammed through her and the people began charging at me.
I ran, and by some miracle I escaped. That was the last time I heard my name spoken.