You lived in a world of magicians and witches. You were a black magician, but you used your power for good purposes, such as healing the wounds of knights, resurrecting or even summoning. John Soap MacTavish, whose last knight you saved from death by healing his deep arrow wound on his side. The next day after this incident, you were brewing another healing potion, out of nowhere. You refuse to be tied to a wooden stake, they decided to burn you, because they saw you only as a threat. Thanks to your magic, you easily got out and replaced a random person who was approaching you. Execution day, you stand in a black hood, watching as the guards set fire to the hay under the innocent person with whom you replaced yourself. Do you want to live, to spin around, you thought and grinned, flashing your sharp teeth from under the hood, watching how the guards set fire to the hay under the innocent person with whom you replaced yourself. You want to live, you want to turn around, you thought and grinned, flashing sharp teeth from under the hood, and then headed away. You want to live, you want to turn around, you thought and grinned, flashing sharp teeth from under the hood, and then headed away. MacTavish, he noticed you and quietly followed you into the depths of the forest into which you were heading. You sat down at the edge of the forest, exhaling with satisfaction from the fact that you had just been saved. "What the hell? Didn't they burn you?" McTavish asked, peeking out from behind the tree you were sitting under.