"So . . ." the mayor began to the Guide, and I rolled my eyes. "You're saying . . . that Zelda68 . . . managed to turn the goblins around . . . with nothing but words?" The Guide nodded. "And you're also saying that the leader of the goblins had sided with the demons?" The Guide nodded slowly. "And then Zelda68 ordered his archers to shoot him down, and then she let the goblins flee into the tunnels, promising to give them food and water?" The Guide nodded fervently. "So the goblins are now our allies?"

"Obviously." The Guide answered, an eyebrow raised.

"And you're also saying that this little fellow here is not just a goblin tinkerer but the Goblin Tinkerer, and that he's the one who gave Zelda68 the rocket boots?"

"Sold," the Goblin Tinkerer corrected him. "And I'm not little!"

"Be nice to the mayor." I said to him, wiping my face with the bloodied towel which the mayor had provided free of goblin blood and gore. "You're lucky that the villagers didn't take you out then and there, and that he didn't mind you coming here."

"You said that everybody here was nice!" he said in a whinging voice. "Why aren't they nice to me?"

"You know as well as I do that there's a lot of prejudice between humans and goblins. It'll take them a while to get used to you, but then they'll be fine. Don't worry."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Because they did with me." The goblin blinked, and I grinned at him. "Or at least should now that I've saved their asses yet again." I turned to the mayor. "Can he stay with us?" I asked.

"What?" asked the mayor.

"He's got nowhere to go, and nobody in the town would let him stay with them. Can he stay in one of your spare rooms, at least until I build him a house?" The mayor held my gaze for a moment, and then sighed.

"I suppose . . . he seems nice enough. For a goblin, anyway." The goblin grinned ecstatically and shook the mayor's hand.

"Thank you so much, chi – er, mayor!"

"That's fine. Zelda68, can you keep an eye on him for the time being? Just make sure he doesn't get into any kind of trouble." The mayor smiled. "It's all so odd . . . I'm living with a hero, a Guide and a goblin." The Goblin Tinkerer blinked.

"Hero? There really is a hero? You live with a hero? I'm going to live with a hero? Who? Who's the hero?"

"She's the hero." The Guide said immediately, pointing at me.

"Yep, that's me." I said, raising a hand. The goblin stared at me, mouth open and face vacant, then frowned.

". . . I thought you'd be taller." He decided. I laughed.

"They all do." I said with a smile, walking away from the group and over to the crowd in the church. I was immediately met with the stares of half a dozen people, and even more when the Goblin Tinkerer followed me in. Though most of the crowd parted when we walked by, one familiar figure remained.

"Hello!" Leaf greeted the goblin brightly, holding his hand out to the only one in the village that he hadn't already shaken. "My name's Leaf! What's yours?"

"Er – Goblin Tinkerer." He said, shaking his hand and then turning to me. "What was that you were saying about prejudice between humans and goblins?"

"Oh, I'm not a human." Leaf said with an infectious grin. "I'm a dryad! Zelda68 saved my forest!"

"And you." I responded with an almost identical grin. "Why don't you two have a chat, I think that the mayor's about to give a speech." Leaf nodded, the grin never fading, and the two sat down.

You wouldn't think that a century-old dryad who had never had a soul to speak to until a few weeks ago would make such a good conversationalist, but Leaf was so good at it that he never let the other person get a word in edgewise!

I waded aimlessly through the crowd until a spotted two familiar red blurs, and sat down next to Sarita and Felix.

"You okay?" I asked Felix, who smiled.

"Fine." He answered, clutching an empty bottle that I knew had once been a healing potion. "You?"

"As always." I responded, and he frowned at me.

"No, you're not. I saw you on the floor, surrounded by goblins. The Guide said that you bruised your ribs. Have you even taken a healing potion?"

"Gave them all to the swordsmen." I answered easily. "Don't worry. It's supposed to be me that worries about you."

"True enough."

"In which case I intend to fulfil my duties. What about you, Sarita?" I asked. "Not that long ago there was a goblin standing above you with his axe raised. Same with you, Christina." Christina glanced up from Amethyst, and smiled at me.

"We're all fine," the older woman assured me. "Thanks to you." I couldn't help but blink at the unexpected praise. I grinned at her.

Perhaps she was alright after all.

"Thanks!" I responded, and Felix frowned back at her.

"What about me?" He asked. "You haven't said thanks to me." She blinked and smiled at him.

"Thank you, knight in shining armour." She said. Sarita began making gagging noises and the associated motions as she gave him a kiss on the cheek, and I turned the grin on her.

"Yes, by the way," Sarita began, purposely interrupting the moment. "What exactly did happen in there?" I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Nobody told you?" I asked. She arched her own eyebrow at me.

"Felix was the only one in there conscious, other than the Guide, and when you came out it was all very confusing." I paused and nodded slowly.

"I suppose it could've been." I agreed, the grin returning.

"It was. You came out with a living, breathing goblin who you insisted was a friend, and there didn't seem to be enough bodies behind you. What exactly happened?" The grin faded into a small smile.

"A lot." I answered simply. "And I have a feeling the mayor is about to tell you." I frowned. "What is it with him and speeches?"

"I could ask the same of you." Felix responded. Christina turned to him, and looked as if she was going to ask what he meant, but I only just stopped myself from frowning when something occurred to me.

The scroll of paper . . . the scroll of old paper, hidden in the mantelpiece where the stolen painting used to be in Christina's old house. I had given it to her . . .

But after all that, what had it said?

She seemed to be in a particularly good mood . . . or maybe having a goblin ready to kill her had just given her some perspective. Made her feel a little happy to be alive.

Actually, no, that didn't sound like her. She'd more likely be clutching her daughters and thanking her God than grinning and thanking the hero who had saved them. She did tend to look through me, as if I was as simple as a vessel sent to save her, and that the spirit inside wasn't worth thanking.

And yet she was thanking me now . . . whatever that scroll was, it had put her in a good mood . . .

Or at least she didn't seem quite as depressed as usual.

. . . What makes me think I know her so well? We're nothing alike, her daughter and her are nothing alike, and her and her fiancé don't seem all that similar. How do I know her? I've been known to misjudge people . . .

Maybe I'm a bit more of a people person than my title would suggest . . .

I opened my mouth, considering asking Christina what the scroll was, when I realised that if she wanted me to know she would've told me already.

She wanted to keep it secret . . .

And I should respect that. Her secret didn't have lives depending on it, and it wasn't large enough to cause her any pain.

Less of a secret, more of a white lie. A white lie in saying that she hadn't received the scroll, something that she wanted to keep secret.

Something that I could appreciate, and had gone through myself. Although that lie had been more black than white.

Forcing my mind away from the secrets, I resurfaced with a small groan, feeling a pain shoot through my chest as I moved to speak.

"You alright?" Sarita asked concernedly.

"O'course not. Never am. That's just me." I responded, a cynical smile twisting my face through the pain.

"Yes," Sarita began with a small roll of her eyes, "but don't forget that we need you in tip-top shape if any of us are going to make it through the night. 'Kay?"

"What about your knight in shining armour over there?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "You've got him on watch 24/7, and yet you turn to the eighteen-year-old with the hole in her back and the broken ribs?"

"Broken? You said that they were just bruised!"

"Well I don't know, do I? Same difference." Sarita made a concerned face and gave a deep sigh.

"You should be at the hospital." She decided, turning to face me with a small glare. Felix nodded fervently, but Christina simply sat still, appearing slightly dismayed and unsure what to do at the idea of a girl sitting beside her with broken ribs. Amethyst, for her part, seemed bemused by the whole thing.

"As soon as this is over I'll go. Happy?"

"Not at all, but it'll have to do." She grumbled, sitting back and crossing her arms with a frown.

". . . You should lie down." Christina ordered, putting her squirming child into its father's hands. "If the ribs are broken then they might perforate your lungs. I think, at least."

"And changing my posture will stop that how . . .?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. She moved as if to force me down by my shoulders, but I raised my hands in defence and she frowned, looking as if to find a way to explain herself somewhere in her head.

". . . You should anyway. I think it has something to do with your lungs. I'm not a doctor, but I think I heard that somewhere."

"Who cares about my lungs anyway?" I demanded with a frown. "It's not like I need them for anything." Christina blinked at this and cast a slightly nervous glance around, as if worried that someone would hear. "Relax!" I advised her with a smile. "I'm fine. And if I'm not, do kindly remember everything that just happened. It's no small wonder that I'm still in one piece."

"Well," Felix began, an eyebrow arched. "I'd say that pieces of you breaking up inside your body are fairly serious, even when compared to being ripped in half. You should lie down."

"Ugh – but . . ." I made a face and let out an exasperated sigh, lying down on the hard wood bench. "I'm only doing this because you're you." I revealed to Felix, pointing a finger accusingly at him. "Okay?"

"Uh . . . I think so." He replied with a nervous smile. I laughed up at him, and closed my eyes, trying to stop my back from complaining once again.

Now is not the time for fainting! I scolded myself, scowling as I straightened myself out and felt a red-hot pain erupt from my back. You can sleep when you get back to the mayor's! You stopped a goblin army in their tracks and, in that, killed one of the demon's followers! Stop acting as weak as a kitten!

Felix, Christina and Sarita remained quiet, encouraging me to do the same. For a while the only sounds around me were the soft gurgles of the baby girl and the chatter of the crowd around us. I tried my best to ignore the light behind my eyes and the soft chanting of the mages opening the door again, silently praising the mayor for postponing his speech. What had happened in the cellar would take a lot of explaining, and I had a nasty feeling that he might leave some of it to me . . .

I sighed again and raised a hand to my back at the pain that admitted from it as soon as I did so, letting my grip on the world around me disappear as I concentrated on the pains that quietly echoed throughout my body every second. I vaguely – actually, very vividly remembered that the pain used to echo about me with every breath, and how the blood used to gush from my wounds with every heartbeat. It was all so simple back then . . .

Simple? Actually, no.

It was hectic.

I was so young, and so much rested on my shoulders. By the time I could pick up a sword I knew that it was my destiny to use it against evil, and that it meant scouring all that I knew of the world and beyond.

Which I did.

I conquered giants, slayed demons, and scoured dungeons . . .

. . . But that was just my life. My day job. That was what I did, and what I was meant to do.

It all seemed normal . . .

And then, it ended. As suddenly as it started. And then my life was over, and my title finally deserved . . .

A hero . . .

I had always hated that word. Secretly, fervently, passionately. There was something about that one syllable that set my teeth on edge.

And why?

Because it was who I am. It was what people called me, it was what I was meant to be, what I was becoming, and what I was. It was the reason that my friends were brought into the realm of the living, and the reason that I walked the earth of Terraria. The reason I was there to build all those buildings, and to mine all those caverns, and watch all those sunsets.

And why did Terraria need a hero? Why were my friends there for me when I needed them, and them me?

Because the world needed balance.

Because the corruption was there.

Because of the Eye of Cthulhu. That was why I died, and why the Eye did.

There can be no shadow without light, and no light without shadow. And if the shadow takes all, then the light will be there to fight back. That was what had happened here. The corruption had come so close to taking this place, and so light had fought back. A single candle, flickering against the ever thickening darkness. Perhaps that was even how I ended up here.

The world had decided that I was to be a hero, and this land needed one. Because I was the Saviour of Light, and this place was falling to the darkness.

And the word "hero" was supposed to describe everything about me. Me. That was what I was, a hero.

Apparently, I'm not a swordsman. I'm not a teenage girl. I'm not alive. I'm not dead. I'm not in pain. I'm not suffering. I'm a hero, and heroes show no weakness.

I'm not Zelda68. I'm that girl over there, the hero. The one who's supposed to do so much, save so much, and do it just because she is who she is.

. . . Which I do. Which I did, which I have the feeling I'm going to keep doing because it's just what I do.

"Ugh . . ." I groaned to myself, placing a hand over my eyes.

Maybe I should enjoy peacetime next time, and not just mope about like a depressed teenager with nothing to do. I should have realised that I was about to get dragged back into a brand new fray.

Like the rest of the world.

But hopefully, this time, I'll finish off the damn corruption for good.

I let my arm fall limply by my side and tried to adjust my position, wincing at the pain emitting from my throbbing stab wound. Practically every muscle in my body was aching, and for a second I irrationally wished that I had kept a healing potion or two for myself. But, God, had those swordsmen needed them. Most of them had been knocked against the wall before the whole thing had even started and stayed out for the most of the battle, but some had come to and received more than a couple of bruises from the nearby goblins in thanks.

But they were probably in less pain than me. My muscles ached all over from the acrobatic stunts that I had been forced to pull, particularly those in my neck and arm from the dodgy sword manoeuvres that I had used. Cuts seemed to cover my entire form and all of them stang and demanded attention, while I had a few nasty gashes up my side and along my legs – not to mention all of the angry red and purple bruises that the goblins had kicked onto me, and the fractured ribs that I felt were puncturing my lungs like shards of glass with every would-be breath.

. . . And here I am, lying on a church bench, in the middle of a crowd, without a healing potion in sight. I probably wouldn't feel that much better if I did – potion sickness seemed to be coming at me again. It used to all the time, but through all of my adventures (and misadventures, to be sure) I had grown somewhat immune to it. But then I hadn't needed that many during the two-year gap that had formed between my victory over the demons and that fateful day when I had woken up and found a sunflower above my head.

I resisted the urge to grin to myself as I tried to pinpoint when exactly over the last two years I had taken a healing potion – and then remembered the incident which could so easily have killed me for a second time . . .

. . . And just how ridiculously morbid that situation had been.

I began to try and blink the spots away from my eyes as a blinding light began issuing from above me. I tried to reaffirm my grip on my senses, and felt a searing pain emit from my back, head and leg. I winced and moved my arm to my forehead, in so finding that I was drenched with a thin layer of water that was between the air and the hard bed of stone that I found myself regaining consciousness in. One question ringed throughout my dazed and confused mind, eventually finding its way out of my throat once at least slightly self-aware.

"Where the hell am I?" I asked the world in a hoarse voice, opening my eyes to the dim place I was in, and finding an answer. Or at least, I knew that something bad had happened.

How had I known that? Well, I had just regained consciousness and the first thought that ran through my mind wasn't How long have they been there? in the direction of the Guide, and my groaning didn't sound the cry of "She's awake! Come on, in here! She's saved you lot all too many times, at least come and say hello!"

Bless the Guide, really . . . when he hasn't got his hand on a paper plane, at least.

. . . Yes, anyway, where am I?

I opened my eyes and stared up at a bright light shining down from above me. I squinted and blinked vigorously, surprised at the contrast between the darkness that I found myself in and the incredibly bright light that was issuing from above my head. My head lolled from side to side whenever I tried to face directly upwards, and I let out another groan.

I instinctively tried reaching into my pouch, though either for a healing potion or magic mirror I wasn't sure. I found that my hand, as well as most of my limbs, were trembling with the cold of the water, and that I had a bloodied dagger in my grip.

How the hell . . .?

I moved to look at my leg – the pain in which was growing – and felt a stabbing pain erupt from the side of my head. Letting out a cry of pain, I clapped a hand to the side of my head . . .

And drew it back as I found my fingers coated with blood.

Blood . . . pain . . . water . . .

My eyes snapped open as I realised where exactly I must be, having memories of such a place clear as day in my disoriented mind. As ever, the past was clearer and far more interesting than the present.

There was a time, not incredibly long since passed, that I had to fall down an ebonstone abyss, lucky horseshoe in hand, to find water. And during that time period, I had almost drunk that pool dry.

When the corruption had vanished, and when the parts of it that I had purified had returned to normal, it had left behind the massive scars in the landscape that it had created. The Eater of Soul nests had turned into gorges and the devourer trapdoors had become rabbit burrows, but the soul of the land had been wounded. The corruption left its scars on the heart of the world, and I had attempted to heal them.

I spent the last week gathering up soil in my pouch, ridiculous and pointless as it sounded. I remember emptying it of everything but the essentials, and then setting off to fill up the wounds that my purification of Terraria had left behind. I remember standing on the edge of an old abyss, judging whether I could fill such a big gap in with what I had collected, when . . .

A goblin scout . . . what?

I did my best to focus on the memory, and ignore the darkness calling me back out of the realm of the living.

A goblin scout had jumped me from behind . . .

I had spun around, trying to shake him off before his blade could find its way into my flesh. I plunged a dagger into the enemy and it let out an inhuman squeal, its knife falling to the ground . . .

And then . . . with the last of its strength . . .

It pushed the both of us over the edge.

That was where I was . . .

At the bottom of what had once been an ebonstone pit, and I had broken . . .

Actually, what bones had I broken? My leg hurt like hell and my back had hit the ground hard, and I must've hit my head against the stone floor. So chances were that my leg was broken, my back was bruised and I might've done something-or-other to my skull. I couldn't have fractured it, could I? I wouldn't be conscious if that had happened . . .

God, would that be dramatic . . . the girl who had slain armies, who had killed demons, who had purified the land and vanquished the corruption, taken down by a single goblin . . .

But then again, I have always been Queen of Drama.

And here I am, in such a dramatic situation. Once again. Stuck at the bottom of a pit. Leg broken, no way to climb. Head wound, no way of sitting up without the world turning upside-down. Slowly bleeding out.

I let out a groan.

Why couldn't I have just worn a lucky horseshoe? If I'd done that, this would never have happened! Of all the weapons of the ridiculous amount I own to leave behind . . .

. . . Okay . . .

So what I really need right now is a healing potion. Or a magic mirror.

The unfortunate thing is that I can't seem to move my arms without the pain increasing . . . very dramatic indeed. How on earth had I managed to touch my pouch before? How come I could do it then and not now?

Okay . . . okay . . . I'm weakening. That's never good.

There's nothing I can do.

I just have to lie here and bleed out . . .

. . . But who was it that had bettered me?

I turned my head to look at the goblin. The pain worsened, but I was determined to see him. I can be very adamant.

The scout had skin so green it was almost blue, and eyes that almost seemed to glow an eerie yellow against the inky blackness of the pit, even with the life absent from them. I had stabbed him in the stomach, and his sickly black-blue blood flowed out of it.

Goblin blood always confused me. Some bled red, some bled green, and some bled black. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what they bled or why they bled it, and to be honest it didn't so much fascinate me as disgust me.

Believe it or not . . . me, Zelda68, who has killed so many monsters over the years . . . I'm not a big fan of blood. I've seen plenty of it, I've drawn no small amount of it, and I have walked home splattered with it. But I don't really wanna know why it is that goblins bleed rainbows. It's just wrong.

I looked at the goblin corpse with admiration. He reminded me a little too much of me in my final moments – stabbing the demon with the last of my energy, just as he had thrown the both of us over the edge.

He was a hero in his own right . . .

If he were just any old goblin, I would either burn the corpse or just leave it to the zombies. If it were a scout, I would make sure to rip the cloth off its waist – a symbol of its rank. If there ever came a need to draw the goblins out of hiding, showcasing how many of them I had killed would be the easiest way to do it, and so the goblins would be more than happy to start a war over cloth.

It only occurred to me now just how disrespectful it is to strip a soldier of his rank after he has done his duty. Memories of the soldier should live on, untainted by time. And what I was doing by taking the cloth was a terrible, terrible thing.

That goblin, that single scout out of the ridiculous amount that I have killed, had managed to finish me off single-handedly, even if it had cost him his life.

. . . There was no way that I could take his rank from him.

I looked back up at the sun, feeling myself once again fall into darkness. The light began to fade as the world around it did, until nothing but a speck remained, and then it too faded, like a candle burning out.

I lost consciousness, feeling sure that nothing could bring me back into the light, and that all was finally over.

Although each second was filled with agony they soon began blending more easily into minutes, and then I felt sure hours. I lay there for what might've been an hour, or might've been several sunlit days, until I felt sure that months had passed and that the world had frozen with my absence. But, in the end, I was called back to reality by something that I should have expected wholeheartedly.

Voices . . . calling me . . .

A figure blocking out some of the light, calling something . . .

". . . Zelda68! Zelda68! Hang on!"

Someone calling my name . . .

I squinted through my eyes, honing all of my senses to what was beginning to feel like their maximum to try and make out who the figure was. My grip on the world began to tighten as I spotted that the figure had distinctly (and of course ridiculously) spiky hair.

"Guys, she's over here!" cried the Guide. "I've found her! She's hurt! Quick, give me the mirror!" I felt my mouth shape itself into a weak, crooked smile as another figure with a long braid of green hair (the Dryad, as my brain later decided) handed the Guide a small, circular hand mirror with odd markings on the back of it. "Catch!" called the Guide uselessly as he dropped the mirror down to me. I snatched it out of the air with the last of my strength, letting out a cough which for a second I felt sure would make me let out blood.

A few minutes ago I wouldn't even have the strength to make that catch, but something about that the fact that my friends were there to save me for once gave me the strength, and something in the hope that I might not die for good at the bottom of a stone pit gave me the ability to actually let the escape plan work.

And something to do with that figure with the ridiculously spiky hair made me laugh.

"You took your bloody time!" I laughed up at the Guide, letting his presence lift my spirits. He frowned down at me and I knew that he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"You're unbelievable!" he shouted down at me. "Do you have any idea the amount of times that you've gone off exploring without letting us know? And then you go off and manage to get yourself wounded, and you expect us to know straight off that you've been hurt?"

"No." I admitted with another cough. "But seriously, how long did it take you?"

"What?" he asked, concern seeping back into his voice. "You mean you don't know? How bad are you?" I tried to take a breath, but it turned into a violent coughing fit and only ended with my gasping for air and once again clinging tenaciously to the edge of consciousness. "I can barely see you, tell me what you've broken." At this his voice broke, and he let his worries show on his face. "Tell me you're okay, please!"

"I'll be fine, Guide . . ." I reassured him. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I've had worse."

"Yeah, that's what you said when –"

"I say it a lot, okay? Don't worry. I'll . . ." I took a gulp before letting the word out, "live."

Without another word I looked into the magic mirror. Thank God for mirrors like those . . . I'd have died a hundred times over if it weren't for them.

"See you at home." Called down the Dryad quickly, doing her best to maintain her all-important dignity.

I looked at the reflection that stared at me. Smiling through a bloodied face, with blood coating her forehead and soaked through her hair. Not exactly what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. But was it this morning? Was it days ago, or hours? There was of way of telling. Then the reflection suddenly shifted and warped, reforming into a picture of what I considered home – a simple bed in a small wooden house, weapons lining the room and a shelf of plants along the wall. I blinked at the reflection, resisting the urge to clutch at my wounds and wince as I knew what was coming next.

This was going to be rough . . .

I took a strangled breath as the reflection suddenly became the world and the darkness of the pit began to disappear as the mirror began to glow extravagantly. I lost myself in the picture the mirror presented me with, and then the picture was like a whirlpool, pulling me inside and down. The little air that was in my lungs rushed away and I felt as if I was underwater, with the surface far away. And then I was falling, falling into the bed, and landing hard on the mattress.

Suddenly, violently, I was home. And I knew that the Guide would be there as fast as he could to check up on me and, hopefully, offer me a healing potion.

If only he was here to do that for me now . . .

In a way, this situation is even worse than that one. Sure, back then I had a broken leg, a bruised back and a concussion, but now I'm bruised all over and have broken limbs, yet my body refuses to let me lose consciousness.

In the middle of a crowd.

In a church.

And, somewhere over to my left, there is a dryad chatting with a goblin.

Can this day get any weirder?

. . . Actually, knowing my life, it's probably about to.

I paused as I realised that the chanting of the mages could no longer be heard in the crowd, and that I felt sure there was something looming above me.

"You all right?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and I opened my eyes with raised eyebrows.

Looming over me was a girl about my age, perhaps a year or two older, her face upside-down compared to mine. It was hard to guess her age – she had a kind of ageless quality about her that was hard to describe. Her eyes were an odd steel-grey that I had never seen before, and her skin a little too fair – as if she spent all her time indoors. Her hair was an unnatural hot pink, tied back in a short ponytail even though there was barely enough of it to do so. Her lips too were painted in the colour, parted in a curious frown and quizzical look, as though she were in deep thought. My eyebrows raised even further when I realised that she was garbed in the loose, blue robes patterned with strange symbols of a mage, despite her age. She must be a real go-getter to be a mage already at her age . . .

But then I'm one to talk, I suppose.

Sarita, Christina and Amethyst sat just down the bench from me, seemingly uninterested in the strange girl that seemed to be fascinated with me. I could see a faint blush on Sarita's cheeks however, and she faced away – as if this girl was something of a role model for her, and she was embarrassed that she should approach me so suddenly and directly.

". . . I would say yes, but then Christina would argue." I replied in answer to her question. She smiled a toothy grin which I returned with a smile, liking her already.

"Abigail." She offered, holding out a hand to mine. I took it and shook it, moving to sit up. At the movement she pushed me back down forcefully, and I glared at her.

"Why can't I sit up? I don't get it." I grumbled. She laughed at this, and I made a pitiful expression which she met with a wild grin.

"Becaaaaause . . ." she began in answer, stretching out the word for as long as possible. She placed a hand on the side of my face and I flinched slightly at the touch, but she closed her eyes for a few seconds and opened them with a satisfied smirk. "You've broken three ribs and bruised pretty much all of the rest, you've got fluid in your lungs which is going to be hell to drain out, and you've got bumps and bruises everywhere else. I'd say that's a cause as good as any to lie down." I blinked and returned her grin tenfold.

"Impressive!" I laughed, reaching into my pouch. I drew out a restoration potion and held it out to her, and she gulped it down as soon as it was in her hands.

"That really takes it out of me." She admitted. "But it's one of the coolest things I can do. And in this case it was worth it, because you really need to go to a doctor."

"I've had worse." I countered easily.

"I know." She chimed in with perfect timing, flashing me an impish grin. "You've got a fair amount of scars, don't forget, even if most of them aren't there for everyone to see. Plus there are bandages wrapped around your middle, and I'd be willing to say that you've got a pretty bad wound on your back that refuses to heal. You've lead a rough life, obviously, and look at the ridiculous amount of weapons you're carrying . . ." She squinted at me slightly, as if trying to read my face. I frowned at her.

"You have more mood-swings than me, you know that?" I said with a frown. She tilted her head to the side in concentration, and I threw my hands in front of my face in defence. "Stop that!" I cried. "You remind me of the Guide . . ."

"The Guide?" she asked in surprise, blinking. "As in the hero's Guide? As in the guy who spends way too much time in the library?"

"That's definitely him." I agreed. "And seriously, stop looking at me like that."

"It's not like I can read minds!" she laughed. "But seriously, you make no sense!" I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Neither do you." I argued. "Little-Miss-Mage." I raised my gaze to meet the pink blur atop her head. "And neither does your hair. It's so . . . pink!"

"You don't like it?" she asked.

"I don't know! It's weird! It looks so . . . unnatural. Honestly, I wouldn't have thought it possible to have hair that pink."

"Maybe it isn't." She shrugged, taking another sip of her potion. ". . . Anyway, what's your name?"

"Zelda68." I answered without batting an eyelid. Abigail raised her eyebrows.

"You have numbers in your name?" she asked with a frown. ". . . Cool." I grinned at her smugly. "So, where are you from, Zelda68?"

"Um . . ." I began, unsure what to tell her. If I told her the truth, it would only lead to more questions – but if I lied to her I felt sure she'd know. ". . . Not here." I answered in a half truth.

"Then where?" she asked, in a tone which begged me to continue. I propped myself up on an elbow, and she rolled her eyes. "I don't know why you won't tell me. I don't understand where you could have come from outside of the village. It's all corrupted."

"It's not!" I replied immediately. She blinked at the suddenness and resoluteness of the statement, and I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance with myself. "Sorry. I'm not from here, I'm from a place . . . a place that's free of the corruption. Don't ask me how I got here – I have no idea myself." Abigail paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, as if trying to find the sincerity that I presented in them. She then nodded and grinned at me.

"Sounds too good to be true." She laughed. "I would've thought that the corruption was everywhere. Good to hear that there's still some light out there . . ." I frowned at the morbid note in her cheerful demeanour, and the fact that it centred over her doubting the power of light over the shadows.

"Of course there is." I insisted with a small smile. "There always is. There is no shadow without the light, and no light without the shadow. Don't go forgetting that."

For a moment neither of us said anything, but her smile widened slightly.

"You're a poet at heart, huh?" she asked, her smile turning into a boisterous grin. I gave a small laugh and began to blush, looking away from her keen gaze.

"No . . . I'm really not." I laughed. Abigail gave a smirk in return and downed the rest of her potion, handing me the empty bottle. She then turned to face Sarita who, despite the fact she was sitting right next to the young mage, looked as if she was hoping that she wouldn't be noticed.

"Hey!" she greeted with another grin, waving a hand at Sarita as though she had just arrived.

"H-hey." The young girl replied, meeting Abigail's gaze evenly with a small smile.

"No need to be shy." Abigail jested with raised eyebrows. "That should be my job if it comes to it."

"Or mine!" I offered, and Sarita gave a shaky laugh and blushed.

"Sorry," she laughed. "I suppose that after spending a lot of time acting casual with the Hero of Terraria I should be okay with . . ." she stopped in her tracks and raised an eyebrow at me as I frantically gestured for her to do so from my awkward position. Abigail blinked and turned her steel-eyed gaze on me, admiration and shock hidden in her irises.

"The hero of what-now?" she asked – or rather, demanded – crossing her arms over in their loose blue sleeves.

Should I tell her? I mean, she as good as knows already, but nobody is supposed to know before the speech, that would be what the mayor would want . . . Sure, the swordsmen, Sarita, Leaf and the Goblin Tinkerer knew, but that's different . . .

Actually, what am I saying? I am valuing a goblin, no matter how shiny his boots may be, above a mage in terms of keeping secrets!

"Uh–I . . ." I stammered, trying to wrestle my ego down in my subconscious to come up with a resolution that was both self-satisfying and intellectual.

"Hey!" came a voice from the crowd, blissfully interrupting the awkward moment. The Guide emerged, holding a towel at the ready and wiping the black blood from his face.

I pushed myself into a sitting position from my lying down, batting away the hands that tried to push me back down and blushing furiously. The Guide gave a small laugh at my distress, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing himself.

Don't ask me why.

I really don't want to think about why.

"Who's this?" he asked in an attempt to start a conversation, pointing at Abigail.

"Abigail." She answered with a smug smile. "And you're the hero's Guide, I've seen you around. So . . ." she moved over to give the Guide a seat, his and my eyes locked onto hers. "Where are you two from, exactly?" The Guide's cheeks went from a faint blush to pale, and we both stammered and tripped over half-formed words in trying to come up with something that she would believe.

Thankfully, Sarita interrupted us with "Look, there's the mayor!" – a cry which all of the villagers responded to. They took their seats and faced the altar where, sure enough, the mayor stood. As if under a spell, all of the villagers suddenly took their seats and faced the mayor expectantly, their faces unsure yet full of trust.

I'm starting to think that they are under a spell. Seriously, why else would they act like that, especially after the shock that they had just had? And the mayor is a mage . . .

"Sorry, gotta go." Abigail whispered to me as the conversation died out. "Nice meeting you."

"Nice to meet you too." I replied with a warm smile, having a strange feeling that we would be seeing her again as she darted off through the crowd and joined the rest of the mages on a bench towards the front. Some of the older and more imperious of them shook their heads at her disapprovingly, but her smirk and shrug back almost reduced them to smiling back.

"Citizens of this village," the mayor began in a commanding voice that reverberated on the sides of the church and resounded to my ears with an echo that tore me between averting my gaze and bursting out laughing. "This day has been grave indeed. Our seeking refuge in the church of our lord proved inefficient against so cunning an enemy . . . and although I am sure that the faithful of us have no doubt as to the protection of our gracious and benevolent God, and these walls are bound to be the most safe in the land, the goblins were able to penetrate them." My mouth split into a wild grin and I could swear that the mayor gave me a knowing glance with his sparkling eyes, as if to agree with me.

"You see what he's doing, don't you?" I whispered to the Guide as the villagers began murmuring among themselves.

"How d'you mean?" he asked in return with raised eyebrows.

"He said 'the faithful of us'. Normally that'd be taken for granted." The Guide's eyes widened with a new respect for the man, topping that which he was already displaying.

"He's putting the idea into people's heads . . ." he realised in wonder. "The idea that some of them might not believe. Subtly, inch by inch, he's opening their eyes . . ." I nodded, the grin never fading, and turned back as the mayor resumed his speech and the chatter died out instantly.

"But I come before you today with good news!" he announced. "It is understood among you all that the goblins are not creatures of the corruption?" A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. "In fact, it is the corruption that had forced these creatures from their homes. The goblins that attacked us today are not the same goblins that we have battled with in the past. These goblins were robbed of their heritage and were forced to adapt to ours and, as such, they now speak our language." A series of unreasonably dramatic gasps and questioning shouts rose from the villagers, and the mayor silenced them with a raised hand and a shout of "Please!" Clearing his throat, he continued. "The goblins that attacked us were led astray by a leader who wished the end of us, a leader who sided with the demons. Our swordsmen managed to kill the goblin's chief after he revealed his true intention to his troops – in fact, it was his own archers that shot him down." The mayor made a small pause, as if waiting for someone to contradict him or to argue, but no one dared meet the challenge. ". . . In this chain of events, unlikely as it may seem . . . We have found ourselves an ally in the goblins."

Suddenly the church erupted in shouts and cries and protests, which the mayor's booming voice did little to silence. The Goblin Tinkerer hid himself at the doors of the church, ready to bolt should anyone turn their attention to him. Only the swordsmen, tending their wounds, and the mages, who had no doubt could have found a career in remaining emotionless, remained still. Then, of course, there was me. And the Guide. And Sarita, and Christina, and Felix.

Sitting still. A little oasis of calm in the sea of anger and noise that the room had suddenly become.

. . . Me . . . sitting still . . .

. . . That could never last very long, could it? The mayor seemed to agree with me as well.

At the same moment as I began reaching into my quiver to draw out my jester's arrow in hope of silencing the throng (as I had used it to silence the Dryad and Demolitionist rowing on many other occasions), the mayor threw a single arm upward, and a blue light seemed to collect around it. The light coalesced into a beacon, projecting itself from the man's arm, which tore through all of the noise in the room with the force and impact of a bullet. All the eyes which were there to be turned were suddenly riveted on him once more, and all mouths open and silent. The light faded into nothing but nobody did anything to break the silence that had descended as the mayor put his hand back down on the podium where he stood with a small sigh, no doubt having exhausted his powers with the display.

"Thank you." He breathed, taking a breath. "If I may continue, will you please resume your seats?" Blind obedience was the only response which the villagers seemed able to give. "Now, I know that this must all seem very strange to you, but you have to trust me on this. We are backed into the same corner as the goblins here, surrounded by demons. The goblins are just as defenceless as us here, but if we join forces then we may be able to win this battle against the darkness! United we are stronger than either of us could be on our own, so I think you would agree that we should take all of the help that we can get in such circumstances as this." I couldn't help but admire the calmness of which he begged his people to accept something that I still couldn't believe I had achieved. "Only a number of days ago the village was set upon by a harpey, and they are not even creatures of the corruption! It seems as if all which is evil in this land has been set upon us, and it was time that we raised arms! Together, with the goblins, and with our hero, we can pierce the darkness and bring back the light, avenging all that we have lost!" his voice escalated to a shout, and numerous cries of appreciation began breaking through the crowd. "We shall take up arms and purify the land of this vile darkness, as one we will be unbeatable in spirit and audacity and shall kill those that have killed our friends and relatives!"

It was simple fact, and one which I despised, but all the same it might just save the villagers from their own blind faith:

Everyone has lost someone to the corruption.

"We will rise up, together with all the friends that we can find, all those who have too lost their purity to the darkness, and we will save this village from the darkness which threatens it! My people . . . we begin the battle for survival here!"

With these last words the mayor raised a triumphant fist, and I jumped out of my seat, no longer able to contain my excitement. Giving him a bloodthirsty grin in thanks, I reached over my shoulder and unsheathed my sword, holding it skyward in agreement. The Guide stood up too, his eyes wide with admiration and respect, and raised my gun. Felix did so too, and the rest of the swordsmen soon followed.

Everyone has lost someone to the corruption . . . everyone has a reason to fight back.

Like a ripple moving through the crowd, people stood up and raised their fists, giving cries of exhilaration. Sarita jumped up in her seat, the fire of her hair reflected in her eyes. Christina stood up and clutched her baby protectively, clenching a scroll of old paper close to her chest. All of the mages, Abigail first, raised their arms and let flames gather at the tips of their fingers. Leaf raised a fist of his slender, unused fingers, perhaps feeling sure for the first time that to hold a weapon in them would not be as barbaric as it might seem, his corrupted arm dangling uselessly by his side. The Goblin Tinkerer stood up on his bench, through his glasses the pale glow of a goblin's eyes clearly seen.

Everyone has a reason to fight. They all have a memory to hang onto, and to fight for.

Sarita is doing it for her father. The swordsmen are doing it for Vincent. Christina is doing it for her daughters and her parents. The mages are doing it for the mayor. Leaf is doing it for the forest which it was his duty to protect. It is the Goblin Tinkerer's duty as in all of those with titles for names.

Everyone was fighting for someone, and for everyone. They were doing it for husbands, for wives, for children, for siblings, for neighbours, for friends, for the people they never had the chance to know, for relatives long since lost, for people who were never born, for wanderers reduced to skeletons, for children turned into zombies, for people known by face but not name, for the first victims and the last, for the still mourned and the long since gone . . . For everyone, everywhere, every time. Everyone who had ever died for anything, and everybody who had ever died for nothing. But, at that moment, they weren't individuals anymore. They were the village, and they were an army.

But . . . who am I fighting for?

My grin split wider as I found my answer. I'm not just doing it because I am who I am. It's not just because it feels right, or because it is my duty, or because of what the Eye did to me.

I was doing it for my friends. Back home in Terraria and those that I had just made.

But in that moment . . . that shining moment . . . most of all . . .

. . . For the Guide.

And as I glanced at him, that wild grin still spread across my features, I saw another spread across his.

And I knew that he was doing it for me too.

. . . But after that moment passed, we turned away from each other, no doubt each of us forcing themselves not to dwell on whatever had just occurred, or to dismiss it as hormones winning over the brain.

Then again, maybe that's just what I do.

". . . Now, go home and get a good night's sleep." The mayor blissfully interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You might need it for whatever tomorrow will bring."

I turned back to the mayor, who was slowly dropping his fist with everyone else as they each milled out of the seats, heading for the doors. Everyone looked weary and tired from the display of enthusiasm, but their nervous laughter told me that they fully understood what they had just gotten themselves into.

And about time they did, too!

I approached the mayor, the Goblin Tinkerer sticking to my back like a shadow.

"That went well." The old man admitted with a mischievous smile.

"Mayor . . ." I began with a very serious expression. "It would be an understatement to say that that was the best speech I have ever heard!"

"Says the girl who turned the goblins around with one?" he asked, the smile fading, and a small tilt of his head forwards so that I could see his eyes behind his glasses.

"Oh, forget that, will you? You topped it by miles!"

"Well, we'll see whether that's true sooner or later. Our alliance with the goblins may be tested, even with the old prejudices aside."

"Hopefully not just yet." I answered simply, turning to the door and gesturing for the Goblin Tinkerer to follow me.

". . . Does stuff like this happen to you a lot?" the goblin whispered from over my shoulder.

"Stuff like what?" I asked with a frown, turning to face him.

"That's all the answer I needed." He answered, nodding slowly.

There was no point in arguing about it – practically everybody that I knew insisted. They all wanted me to go to the doctor, no matter the ridiculous hour and the fact that he had undoubtedly gone home after what I had already started referring to as 'the speech.' In the end, I simply resorted to "I will in the morning, okay? I just need some sleep. Has it seriously been less than a day since I found the scout in that house?"

"Yep." The Guide had answered, nodding fervently. "But it has been a very long day. And you're red and blue all over, you know. Those goblins really did a number on you."

"Do I look in the least bit respectable?" I asked, throwing a hand down to encompass the whole of my figure.

"Do you usually?" he had countered easily, gesturing at the hilt of my sword over my shoulder.

"Do you usually?" I countered with a scowl, pointing a finger at the hair which can only be described with the words 'ridiculous', 'ludicrous', and 'just plain silly.'

"Hey!" he cried, throwing his hands in a defensive shield around his head, as if I were threatening to harm it. "It's cool, okay? Let's just leave it at that."

"Cool? If I didn't know better I'd say that you'd let a slime loose in there! I mean, seriously, there might be things living in there. It's like a nest! And it's practically your distinguishing characteristic, so if you ever want to look respectable then I suggest you get a haircut!"

". . . Not in the best of moods, are you?" he observed, not daring to remove a hand from his defence as we entered the grand front room of the mayor's equally grand house, leaving the Tinkerer to lag behind us and gape in amazement.

"Sorry." I sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose against the headache that was rampaging through my wearied body. "A lot has happened these past few days, y'know?"

"Like what?" he demanded suddenly and sharply, and I turned to him with a frown, stopping in my tracks.

"You're supposed to say 'That's fine!'" I decided after a small pause, starting a walk again at more than my usual rapid pace.

"Hang on – what's up with your hand?" he asked suddenly, and I felt my eyes widen and my pace increase. I winced as I realised that my hand had unconsciously moved to fiddle with the bandage that surrounded my burnt and bloodied hand.

My corrupted hand.

Not that all of me wasn't corrupted . . .

But I couldn't let the Guide find that out! Not yet!

"I'm fine, really!" I cried back, ignoring the protests that emitted from my lungs as I did so. "I just need to sleep it off!"

"No, seriously – Zelda68, come on! There's no point in trying to hide anything from me, I'm your guide for God's sake!"

"I know, and I'm sorry!" I called uselessly back. I hesitated at the beginning of the staircase as the Guide caught up to me. The Goblin Tinkerer looked unsure whether to intervene or not, so he simply began to inspect the carvings on the wall, blinking and staring from the carving to me and back again when he realised that I was in it.

"Just let me see your hand." He insisted, holding out his expectantly. With something between a scowl and a sigh, I placed my gloved left hand in his.

He started at the hand, then back up at my impassive face, before plucking up the courage to pull the leather off and look at the flesh, and he found himself confronted with a bandage, the visible tips of my fingers in a poor state. He began unravelling the bandage, the Tinkerer's face peering around his side, and took the padding beneath off to find himself met with the wreck of my hand. The skin was burnt and peeling, the tissue beneath there for all to see, and I couldn't help but let my arm tremble as the still air met the burns and it began to sear again. His eyes were wide and his own hands trembling, and I gave somewhere between a cry of pain and a gasp as he ventured to touch it.

"My God – how the hell did this happen?" he bellowed, his eyes full of concern rather than anger. He let out a few swears before he managed to contain himself enough to continue. "When?" he demanded suddenly, regaining his control. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday." I answered simply, looking the other way.

"And why did you not mention this before?"

"We had goblins to fight, didn't we? No offence." I added hastily, remembering the presence of the Goblin Tinkerer.

"None taken . . ." he muttered, seemingly mesmerised by the sight of my hand.

"No, you didn't know that yesterday!" The Guide shouted. "Why the hell would you keep something like this to yourself? It needs to get seen to!"

"It served me alright in the battle, okay? That's all that matters in the grand scheme of things."

"Maybe, but it shouldn't have done! How did you even manage to burn it like that? I'd have thought it was impossible!"

"Well, maybe it is." I said with a roll of my eyes, beginning the ascent of the stairs, sarcasm replacing guilt in my voice. "Who knows. Can I sleep now?"

"You have to go to a doctor first thing in the morning, okay?" the Guide ordered, pointing a stern finger at me as he began climbing the staircase behind me. "First thing. Promise!"

"Fine, sure, I'll go." I answered, boredom already taking its hold over sarcasm.

. . . A day. I reminded myself. Wow, it's only been a day since the whole hand thing happened. Really only a day since the demon plucked my soul out of my body to ask me to play with her . . .

I stopped in my tracks along the upstairs corridor.

Could the goblins be her idea of a game? Of a first round? I wouldn't have found that scout if I hadn't happened to walk down that alley and spotted that the door had been forced, and it had been luck that I had even noticed the alleyway in the first place. Had the demon been the one that put that thought in my head, that idea?

She wanted me to face down the goblins, to kill what might be our best chance of survival . . . that was why she had employed their leader, she knew that I could beat him and thought that seeing him with the powers darkness would convince me that the goblins were a lost cause – that they deserved to die . . .

But it had all gone wrong. And now the villagers and the goblins have united, and the corrupted leader is dead.

Plus, I now have a Goblin Tinkerer on my side.

. . . It obviously didn't think this one out carefully enough!

I walked into my bedroom and closed the door, bidding the Guide and the Tinkerer a half-hearted goodnight. I felt sure that the high-pitched voice of the demon (or child (or demon (or child (and so forth . . .)))) would soon break into my thoughts with that dreadful giggle or a jibe. But as I glanced around the room all remained silent, except the animated conversation (which I felt sure was about me) between the Guide and the goblin out in the corridor.

No doubt someone who knew me as well as the Guide wouldn't be surprised by my keeping my burn secret, but he would almost definitely wonder why – or why, at least, I didn't combat it with a healing potion. If I'd just done that, then I could've explained it away as nothing to worry about.

But, to be honest, I almost liked to have it there. It was a kind of punishment, a constant reminder of the mistakes I made in my battle with the Eye, and I felt like I deserved it.

If the Guide said that the battle with the Eye was my finest hour, I would be unable to deny it – but I also knew that I had thrust where I should have blocked, shot arrows where I should've done daggers and been altogether overconfident.

Also the finest swordsman of Terraria, but that's just coincidence . . .

I might be my own critic, but I need one. Everyone's always telling me how great I am, it's not good for me . . .

My God . . . listen to me!

"I already am!"

I felt my muscles go rigid and a hand move to my waist, ready to draw any of my weapons at the slightest provocation. A shrill giggle echoed through my subconscious in response, sending a chill down my back. That little, high-pitched giggle sent more terror storming through me than the death-scream of a devourer ever could.

Who else are you competing with? I demanded internally, closing my eyes. You said that it was two against one. Who else are you playing the game with?

"Why so curious?" the voice asked in response, curiosity making it even more shrill than usual. "Do you want to know who your real friends are?"

I searched through the blackness before my closed eyes, searching for the source of the voice in my head. Suddenly an image came tearing through my subconscious, the image of the girl that I had no choice but to fear, and as I opened my eyes I could no longer be sure whether it was my imagination or reality which presented me with the image before me, because I couldn't make sense of it. I saw the room as if it were through a curtain, but a curtain of shadow which I found unable to penetrate, and the only other person on my side of the curtain was the demon-girl. Although the rest of the world refused to come into focus, she was clear as crystal in her black, writhing robes and a cowl that could not hide the wide grin upon her face and her glowing ember eyes with a mischievous tint.

Where are we? I demanded immediately, casting a wary glance around the room that was and was not my own. What have you done?

"Just had a bit of fun!" she laughed, taking a step toward me. "You enjoy a bit of a laugh as much as I do, so I'm going to keep you trapped here like a fly in a bottle until you tell me everything."

I have a question or two to ask myself, actually.

"Oh, I'm sure you do! Keeping you in the dark about practically everything that I've been up to has been entertaining!"

Learnt some big words now, have you?

"HEY!" she screeched, glaring up into my face. Her red eyes were filled with hatred and malice, and for a second the veins around her forehead stood out in the purple of corrupted creatures – but again, possibly, of demons.

I think that these little friendly conversations between us are becoming all too plentiful. After all, if I am playing this bloodthirsty game of yours, then I need some sleep. Deal?

"Oh! You think that the goblins were part of the game, don't you?" she giggled, encircling my battle-wearied figure. "The real game hasn't even started yet! They were just a warm-up!" For a second I felt my face drain of all colour, but just as quickly it was returned in the red of anger. A scowl spread across my face, sending a fresh wave of pain into the cuts that had managed to gather there.

A warm-up, you call it? So many of my friends injured, so many innocent goblins killed, an army raised against you, a warm-up? Because if that is the case, then I assure you that my sword will find its way into your gut before the game has even began!

"Feisty, aren't you?" she mused, stepping out of the range of my sword before I could draw it. "Well, in that case, I say this." She began stepping forward again. "If you
tell . . . anyone . . . about me . . ." her face inches from mine, a wicked grin spread across it once again. "Trouble will find you." The grin split wider, more like a gash across her dainty features, long since tainted by the darkness. "And your friends!"

No longer able to contain my anger, I let out a snarl and ripped a dagger from its sheath at my waist and plunged it into the place where the demon was standing . . .

The girl seemed to dissipate into smoke – if she had ever actually been there – and the dagger sliced through the curtain separating me from the world which I knew like a shark through water.

Reality once again took its hold over the place which the demon had taken me inside my head, and I was standing in the centre of my room, dagger in hand. With a hand still trembling with anger I slid the knife back into its sheath and made as good an imitation of a deep breath that one with still lungs could manage. I glanced over at my desk to see it still a mess from the mad schematic drawing of the previous night, and let out a small sigh, my corrupted hand falling limply by my side.

I raised the trembling hand to my face, staring at the thing as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, unable to take my eyes off it or ignore the truth which it held.

This must be how Leaf feels . . . I thought miserably to myself, half expecting the demon to give a taunt in reply.

I sat down on my bed, grateful for the feel of the mattress give way slightly under my weight. I grabbed a healing potion off my bedside table, scolding myself for not taking it before, and pulled the cork off the bottle, taking a sip to numb the pain. I gave an exalted sigh as the cold tendrils of the potion felt their way around my body, reminding me of the Nurse's gloved hands, numbing all of the pain that it could find. The last batch certainly gave mixed results – potion sickness from one and instant relief from another. Certainly odd, but I wasn't complaining . . .

I gave a grunt as I pushed myself into a lying position on the bed, pulling the sheets over myself and knowing that it might be necessary to wash blood off them in the morning. Both the stab wound in my back my back itself ached at the movement, but began to accept the comfort of the situation after a few seconds. I closed my eyes and settled down, grateful for the second night in a row to have a pillow beneath my head. It wasn't so much of a struggle to do so as normal, as I'd hardly had the chance to relax yet.

It's been a long day . . .

20