I saw her again today.

God help her. She is so naïve.

She will be led like a lamb to the slaughter. I cannot help her…will not help her. I will stand and watch just like so many others.

When it is over we will talk about her in hushed whispers. The other children will point their thin, pale fingers at her and laugh smug in the belief of their own superiority.

It is her own fault, after all.

One brings these kinds of things on themselves. She will bear this mark, wear this cilice forever.
After some times passes she will grow tired of the burning, chaffing, and bleeding. She will throw the hair shirt and cross to the ground letting the crow use of it what she will.

She will cover the scabs with honey and silk only to pick at them until her trembling fingertips are covered in blood.
It is not my place to defend her from the onslaught, to stop the stinging words. I will not rub her wounds with scented oils and wrap her in warm blankets.

I must do what is true to my heart I know this is her destiny. This is what will make her strong. I hardly feel my own sores anymore. The time is now.

Her fear will ultimately consume her and spit her out of its great maw with a toughened soul. As I watch I smile to myself knowing that soon I will reap the rewards of her pain.