Adrianna, please understand that Woman whom I loved was never Ella Bandita.
As I said at the beginning, she didn’t become that monster until later.
Over the years, I’ve wondered what my life would have been like if I had made different choices on that fateful night.
Here, Adrianna, you’ve already asked me about this sketch of Woman with blood on her face and holding my littlest lamb.
That is the first of many I drew of her, of us, and of that time in my life.
But what might have been if I had chosen to move on through the night once I realized where I was, in the Abandoned Valley and Ancient Grove of the Sorcerer of the Caverns?
What if I had left rather than stay the night with my flock after I knew I was in dangerous territory?
And what if I had stayed frozen when I woke up in the middle of that night to a young woman screaming from deep inside the Ancient Grove?
Or even if I had chosen to ignore that raging despair, rather than follow the wailing into the trees where I saw her for the first time?
Everything about that scene was bizarre.
A highborn young lady, dressed in elegant finery, pounding her fists against a large granite boulder and screaming for the Sorcerer, as blood covered the lower half of her face and stained her beaded, pale blue gown.
She was so caught up in her anguish, she didn’t notice the Sorcerer floating across the clearing from the trees opposite me until he turned her around and slapped her face.
I did not grow up amongst violent people.
I was so shocked I flinched, while the girl with the bloody face spat at the Sorcerer.
Their ensuing argument made no sense to me at the time, but I could tell that something between them had gone horribly wrong.
“Why did you bring my father into this?” the girl shouted.
“Because I can’t bring it back to life!” the Sorcerer snarled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your heart. Don’t you remember the request you made about your heart?”
The bloody girl froze. Her fury suddenly gone as confusion shifted to understanding, and finally dismay.
“If you can bring my heart back to life, then you must, Sorcerer. Please. I’m begging you.”
Her pleading fell on deaf ears.
The Sorcerer of the Caverns laughed as he shook her off and turned his back.
But he had finally met his match in this one.
After centuries of preying on the hearts and dreams of young girls and virgin women so he would never die, I was there to witness his fall when the Sorcerer’s last conquest destroyed him.
The Sorcerer waved his hand over the giant boulder the girl had pounded on, which moved to reveal the entry to his underground Caverns.
But the girl with the bloody face grew eerily calm. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small satchel.
With a pinch of dust from that pouch, she used the Sorcerer’s magic against him and turned him into a slug.
Then she stomped the slug to death.
What would my life have been if I had not seen any of that?
Would I have fallen in love with a robust, country girl with rosy cheeks and a cheerful laugh?
Would I have given up the roaming ways of a Shepherd and settled down to the hard-working farmer’s life?
Would I have had children?
Would I have been happy?
Either way, my time would likely have been more peaceful.
But I didn’t make those other choices. The choices I made that night cast my fate for the rest of my life.
I tried to flee the scene without being detected, but it was no use.
The girl with the bloody face heard me running through the trees, and followed. She caught up with me easily because my small flock had scattered during the night, and I lost precious time gathering them.
I tried to pass myself off as a Shepherd coming through on an overnight run, one who hadn’t seen anything extraordinary.
Of course, she didn’t believe me.
I could feel the tremor of fright in my throat every time I spoke, and my attempts to act casual failed pitifully.
The sketch of her holding my lamb by the throat was the moment she accused me of lying.
I was only nineteen years old that night. Still a boy, not yet a man.
The girl before me was my age, but she had already crossed the threshold into womanhood.
