My time with Ismeina has been in its way, delightful.

Although I'm little more than a servant for her, cleaning up after her when the drink comes out from where it entered, the amount of knowledge I've acquired is beyond great. I know dozen of plants and at least a hundred combinations that each offer a different result.

These are potions.

To recover from fatigue or aid in the healing of wounds, obtain better sleep, or gain muscle more easily. But even if the books and scrolls possess recipes to aid, they also have a few ones to cause harm. To paralyze parts of one's body, to cause pain and discomfort, these are poisons.

Learning was harder than I expected. The sensation was there that after reading the same passages time and time again they should stick, yet they slip from my mind if I don't read the books again every few days. Until they finally begin to remain as enduring memories, I wonder what's the difference between reading to learn and seeing or hearing to learn.

The movements of the spear and the shape of the mushrooms that I learned the day after the attack on the cave are still there, along with the language Ismeina taught me.

And while there is little else to read I do not complain. It has come to the point that when I tried my hand at replicating one of the potions, Ismeina simply shrugged and emptied another bottle of wine. So when people came from the village requesting aid, I presented myself, hidden beneath boots, gloves, a large hat, and a scarf, as her assistant.

None seemed very interested in knowing more, and only the men came. I noticed they looked around the place with a judgemental eye, as if expecting some sort of macabre finding inside the home, but no matter how much they looked while waiting outside after I had given them their medicine, they dropped some copper coins on the ground and left, some spitting on the ground, others cleaning the cold sweat from their foreheads.

I was referred to as "the gnome pet", and while I lacked understanding of what that meant, it seemed to be what kept them from asking what I was or demanding to see my skin. Something I was certain to be my priority for no matter what, I can't let people know what I am.

The days grew colder, and people fell ill more frequently, so I had to collect more herbs than before, and I had to go further away to acquire them. The wine also, while it seemed cheap, was being purchased in too great of a quantity, so money became an increasing problem, and I had to also add collecting berries and mushrooms to add to the soup.

By this point, I've become like the owner of the house. I cook, clean, make potions and work with the mortar to make medicine. While Ismeina drinks herself to sleep.

I worry for her, and ever since I saw her habit grow in strength I have tried to support her, offering company even if in its simplest forms by sitting next to her when she is passed out at the table.

And while she doesn't ask me to, I've also begun to clean her again. The desire is hard to ignore, and my body doesn't always respond to my commands, but I've tried to clean my mind from dangerous thoughts, trying to see her as what she is.

A dear friend, going through a difficult time.

So now I'm more than a servant, I'm a caretaker. I also feed her, dress her and treat the wounds she gets when carelessly stumbles around the house. But while any conversation we have is hollow, and ends quickly, I've done my best to make sure she isn't left alone.

It was one of the nights I returned with what little herbs and mushrooms I could find that I saw the door to her room open. It was one of the two rooms I was never supposed to enter, but with her needing my help to carry her there I had been given free access to it and she didn't lock it with her key anymore.

Her room was similar to the rest of the house, but with a place to store her clothes, a larger, more comfortable bed, and a small altar with an idol, the Goddess she worships. Made out of bronze she was a woman sitting atop a horse with many horns, and she had small protruding horns too.

That night I glimpsed inside the room and saw her kneeling in front of the small statue, holding her hands together in prayer, her hair unbraided and messy, trembling as her ragged breath was accompanied by tears and uneven words whispered from her mouth.

Too low for my pointy and larger ears to understand. But I knew whatever it was, brought her great pain. I left her be and got to preparing that night's supper.

However, the inevitable happened, and it became clear that the soup would be lacking, and leave us with little or nothing to eat the following day, at the beginning she would go daily to buy goods, but as time went on she left the house less and less until she stopped walking out of the porch at least a week ago.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

With winter about to begin the food I could forage was little, and when the snow fell we would have to rely on the food we could buy from the village. Decided, I approached the room and slowly opened the door, no longer in front of the idol, but instead laying on her bed.

"There is no more food" I announced to my somber friend as she lay still, like a corpse.

I knew she heard but gave me no reply. I saw on top of the altar a leather bag with coins, and I decided to take the matter into my own hands. So I reached for the bag, and gazed at her one more time, confirming that she was awake, just staring at the wall in silence, before I walked out with it in my hands.

There was an obvious risk with me heading to the village, but I figured that sooner I may have to be the one to also make the trips there in her place, and so long as I'm careful there should be no problem. I readied my clothes, putting on a thick gray fur on my shoulders, and grabbed a leather back to carry the food back.

Glancing back one more time I began walking down the dirt road, with the many houses growing nearer, my heartbeat increased. My mind ran wild with thoughts that couldn't be stopped.

Do they know what I did? Do they know who I am? What I am?

And that last question felt more important than any for many reasons. Just what am I? I know I was a human, but now I'm a goblin. These weeks I've felt the human part of me grow and be cared for by Ismeina's teachings.

But this flesh is still that of a monster, that of a goblin. And though my mind is strong and my will to resist my nature endures, I wonder what will happen if I ever find myself starving, if I'm at my limit, will I lose my mind and become a mindless beast?

The thought of that smell, the one that led me to the girl I murdered, comes back to me like the hungry nightmare it is, I can almost savor the sweetness of it.

"Careful"

A hushed whisper draws my attention elsewhere, without realizing I have reached the village, the dirt road replaced with stone, and the many houses with large empty fields after the grain has been harvested. There are a few people out on the streets lit by brazier poles.

It is then that the smell, the sweetness of it, becomes suddenly overwhelming and I finally understand the source of it. It comes from the young daughters of the men staring at me suspiciously. Long had I wondered why neither Ismeina nor my mother gave off the same scent, but now as I could tell with certainty from who came the scent and who didn't, that I was entranced by the fair maiden's purity.

My body trembled as I could feel the darkness within resurface, urging me to commit the most atrocious of acts. Coming here was the greatest mistake I could have made.

"What is wrong with it?" one of the girls asked as a grown man shielded her behind him.

I had to calm down, I had to endure this and overcome it. I thought of Ismeina, of her kindness, of my duty to take care of her as we had agreed the day I became her assistant. And while the darkness still rattled inside its cage, I was able to keep it there.

Calming myself I managed to remain still, and return to normal. Waving at the group of men that already had formed at the doorsteps of the houses I seemed to ease their nerves, and I moved towards one of the houses, the closes, where the man made sure I saw the axe he held.

"That's close enough, what is it you want?"

I opened my bag and pointed behind him, the door of his home open, his daughter hidden behind it as she stared at me cautiously with two smaller children behind her. He looked back and then at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You want my daughter?"

I panicked and shock my head "Meat" I said, my voice taking him back for a bit before he looked back and saw I meant the hanging dry meat at the back.

He stayed silent for a moment and after some thinking agreed to sell me some of it, for ten coins of copper, only then did I realize that while I learned to speak, read and deal with the numbers, I had no idea what the actual price of things was.

This repeated itself for a few extra houses, some gave me vegetables, others eggs, and only a few meats.

The quantity of it varied as well, sometimes larger pieces or more numerous greens, while others I gave me less than what it was worth, but I didn't complain, the quicker I ended the exchange the better.

"That drunk has finally decided to stop coming has she?" The man said as I closed the now full bag and threw it over my shoulder "I suppose it is to be expected, let her know that she better not stop making her potions, the elder won't look too kind to her if she does"

I simply nodded and left, with a little faster step than the one I had come with.

"The witch's pet?" an elderly man said to a guard wearing mail armor next to him, they watched Rokan leave.

"Yes, the gnome was acting strange when it first entered the village, I was told"

"Gnome? Do we even know such a thing?" At the words of the elder, a small group of men walked up to him as he stroke his white beard, the gears in his mind turning.

I reached the house and entered, the cozy, warm interior melted away my anxiousness and I let myself breathe in the usual aromatic surroundings I had grown used to. Resting the hat and scarf on a nearby chair.

Dropping the leather bag onto the table to prepare the food I walked up to the corridor leading to the doors of the rooms, coin bag in hand to return what little was left but I stopped when I saw the door of the room I was never to enter, open.

I approached first Ismeina's room and she seemed to have gotten up. Leaving the bag where I found it first I exited the room and, while I knew I wasn't supposed to, I knew she was inside the room, and worried for her wellbeing, I stood in front of the open door.

The room was not much different from hers, only that it had several baskets with now withered flowers. A single wardrobe, and a bed, where Ismeina sat, her hair falling in front of her like vines. Surrounded by darkness, only the light of the corridor entered, my shadow almost touching her feet.

"This was her room" she whispered.

My eyes fell on the object in her hands, a blue dress with a green skirt. I have seen that specific pattern before, but where?

"This was my daughter's room, my angel" her broken voice was saddened, but also filled with anger "You..." she raised her head to meet my eyes, hers were...filled with desperation "you killed her, didn't you? Rokan?"

I had spent so long trying to forget, the way her face looked, the color of her hair, and her eyes...but now I saw it clearly, I saw it in Ismeina's face.

I saw the face of the woman I murdered.