Stupid Cloth. Stupid, stupid Cloth. If she hadn't bought it at the market place by accident she wouldn't be here in this stinking dungeon. Nyx punched the stone wall in anger but immediately regretted it and yelped, pulling her hand back. Nursing her bruised knuckles, she stared glumly at her surroundings.

She was stuck in one of the filthiest cells. The ones that were usually reserved for the people who committed great crimes like murder. Yet she was only a girl who had happened to come by the Cloth by mistake. Ok, so most 18 year-old girls don't live in a hallow tree with a falcon and aren't able to shoot arrows and use swords, but other than that, she was quite normal. At least, she wished she was. Nyx hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. Memories flooded through her.

She was 6; running through the long grass to greet her father. The sun glinted in her eyes and she winced for a moment. When she opened her eyes again, her father was on the ground, an arrow through his heart. His face still held the joyful expression and his arms were still stretched open in an empty embrace. Her mother rushed over and dragged her away, leaving her father's body to be picked clean by scavengers, leaving her father's soul to wander alone through the face of earth until the end of eternity.

She was 12; her mother lay in bed, weak from the disease that was eating her up from the inside. She whispered something inaudible. Nyx leaned closer to hear. Her mother's last words were from an old verse Nyx had never heard before. "'Greed of men shall bring only hate. Hunger for power will open Hell's gate. But with out hate there is no love and with out love there's no above.' Beware of the Cloth, Nyx. Beware of its power………"As her last breath rattled through her and echoed off the bare walls, Nyx felt no sorrow, only a deep burning anger. How dare her mother leave her like this?! What on earth was the Cloth? What did it have to do with her? Damn them all, she thought. Damn them all to Hell and back! She left they're little cottage then, cursing the sun and the moon, the gods and the devils. It was blasphemy, Nyx knew, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything anymore.

Nyx sighed and raised her head from her knees. The dungeon was still there. The rats and roaches were still there. And death was still looming over her like the shadow from some giant's hand. Her execution had been dated to tomorrow morning.

When she had bought the Cloth, the only feeling she had was a bit of guilt because of the amount of money she had spent on it. 3 silver pennies! It was hard work earning money when you are good at nothing in particular. But the Cloth had called to Nyx somehow; it was the colour of the richest wine; a deep thick crimson. It was not made of the finest silk for there were imperfections here and there but it only made it more intoxicating to Nyx. When she left the shop and went outside into the sun, she saw that the cloth was not the colour of wine at all, but the colour of blood.

Winding the Cloth around her hands, Nyx felt a spark of Power surge through her body like fire running through her veins. Staring at the Cloth in disbelief, she continued to walk down the street. As she reached an alleyway, she was suddenly grabbed from behind. Rough hands pulled her head back and pressed a sweet-smelling handkerchief to her nose and mouth. Nyx inhaled. Her world clicked off.

She awoke to find herself the dungeon. She was chained loosely but not loosely enough for her to lash out at the man that sat at the other end of the room. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Finally, the relentless questions began. Over and over she was asked: Was she a Witch? Why did she have the Cloth? Where was her Familiar? Did she have the Powers? Was she a Witch?……….. it went on and on until Nyx's head reeled and she wasn't even aware of what she was saying. Just a blinding, searing pain in her head that kept her from forming coherent thoughts.

She was found guilty of The Craft and sentenced for death at sunrise.

Now, as the sun began to paint the horizon a light purple-ish orange, Nyx stood up and stretched. She sighed. So this was the end of her. It came with a strange acceptance. No panic, no remorse. Just………acceptance.

As the guards dragged her outside to the stake, there stood the man who had questioned her. He was holding the cloth in his hands with a satisfied smile, his red hat matching the Cloth in colour. Nyx stared hard into his eyes and suddenly, she understood. She was innocent. She did not deserve to die. She was only being burnt to death because she was unlucky enough to have what the Witch Hunter wanted. Finally, 6 years later, she understood what her mother's last words meant-and her part in it.

The Cloth was no ordinary cloth. It held power. Enough to open Hell's gate as her mother said. Nyx had learned about this legend when she was young. It was said that the Cloth could be used for both good and bad. It had saved an entire country from famine and disease a few millenniums ago. That was the cause of love the priestess gave to use it. But to be used for bad, all it needed was greed, and the Witch Hunter was providing it. Being what he was, the Hunter probably knew exactly how to use the Cloth. Nyx scoffed, call him self a Hunter. He practices the Craft himself.

The Hunter signaled the executioner. He lit the pile of hay at Nyx's feet. She felt nothing.

A piercing scream of a falcon cut through the air. A streak of brown flew past the Hunter and grabbed the Cloth, lifting it to the heavens. Nyx smiled as the falcon landed on her shoulder.

"Hello, Amaris."

Amaris chirped darkly in response and dropped the cloth on top on Nyx's feet. The fired died out, then and there.

The tow's people began to protest. They had come to see a Witch burn, not magic tricks. The Hunter was purple to the face with anger. He strode across the courtyard towards Nyx. Before he could reach though, the ropes binding Nyx to the stake simply dropped to the ground. The Cloth wove its way up Nyx's body and they rose together, into the air. Amaris shrieked and joined Nyx. As they flew off, arrows chased them. They flew right through Nyx as if she was not there.

As she soared on, Nyx realized that her mother knew all along that she was to be the next guardian of the cloth. It was supposed to be her father, but he had been killed. That's why she told her to be careful. The cloth had simply disappeared for a dozen years, waiting for Nyx to grow up. Nyx smiled softly into the cloth.

So it was all meant to be.

She could accept that.