A child of the Monastery

Rain drenched her hair and sticking mud grasped desperately at her feet as she stumbled toward the light of the monastery. Clutching her babe to her breast, she wept with every step. Entering the world naught but three hours previous, his life was already in jeopardy. With pure white flesh and red eyes, there was no way that he would be allowed to live. If not her husband, then surely her neighbours would slit his throat. "A demon!" They would yell, and his blood would spill. Full of love, pain, and shame, she trod closer to the oaken doors. When her gruelling sojourn finally brought her to those hallowed steps, she reached up with trembling hands and grasped the rope attached to a weathered bell. With a surge of strength she pulled and heard the dull ring from above. She looked at her babe one last time, so innocent, and so pure. She planted a lingering kiss upon his brow before nestling him by the crook of the door and retreating into the night. He was raised with the other children, yet he was never quite accepted. He was punished more severely, pushed harder, and criticized more frequently than the others. It is difficult to say whether he was evil at birth or whether his treatment molded his soul. Regardless, he grew to be an angry and resentful man. It would all benefit him, however, for pressing him harder only strengthened his body - much as great pressure forges diamonds. He surpassed the skill of the other pupils, and in time, the masters. He had clearly gained dominance in the monastery but he would never raise beyond pupil, for his "soul was not pure". Now he has left the place where he was raised and is in search of a new home and new challenges. Serin is a wide world. Such a place surely exists.