She used to be a bright child. She was just not fortunate enough to have a normal life. Ill and bed-ridden, she slowly lost affect and cut herself off from outer reality, as her only joy was to construct a complex fantasy world. And eventually, she met her demise. Nevertheless, her story did not end here. Who is to say that Death is our last path? For her, it was just the beginning. She had been given a second chance. Reborn as a Goddess in the very own world that she created, it was now only up to her to write her own story.

The rising of the pre-noon sun cracks the leaves of a hardwood forest at the edge of town. The bright yellow rays rouse a man from his alcohol induced slumber. Squinting as he opens his eyes to take in his unfamiliar surroundings. Dazed as he slowly climbs his way to his feet and checks himself ensuring he still possesses his armour, weapons and most importantly, his coin. Now on his feet trying to shake off a hangover, his senses return to him. The distant sounds of a city in full trade, salesmen negotiating, tradeswomen plying their trades and farmers loading and unloading freight. River barges transporting fresh catches and exotic wares turn the city into a warm white noise. Over the white noise, an unfamiliar and foreboding cry for help casts its line. 'I guess we're doing the damsal in distress trope today' he questions himself. Unsure, why anyone would cry for help let alone so vaguely and with such desparation. Initially brushing it off as a "someone else will deal with it" situation he takes a step forward towards where his scrambled mind thinks is town. As his foot hits the ground he hears another cry, "Please someone. Anyone. Help me!"