You were sick, inexplicably and incurably so.

Your town's healers had given up on you and so had every other health minister there was. No one could stop the voices that rang in your head; too loud at times and annoyingly soft at others.

And so you sought, Aeon, for he was the God of Healing.

As you explained, he listened attentively and then chuckled, "Sick? Oh, beloved, you are not sick."

"To be sick would imply there is something broken within you. And as I see you now, you are whole."