There is a story about bitterness that I want you to hear.
It happened so long ago, but it has shaped our city in the darkest way imaginable.
He was an ambitious fellow with stars in his eyes. He’d come to Vezzereth to study magic. He worked hard to master his craft. But there were a million others like him, and he lacked natural instinct. He couldn’t guide the magic properly. He couldn’t keep it pure.
I was the head mage of the academy and it was my responsibility to turn him down.
So I did.
But his determination knew no bounds.
Every year a fresh application arrived, and every year I sent a rejection letter.
Eventually they stopped coming.
When the plague struck I alone knew the truth. I alone suspected. I recognized the smell rising from the bodies of the sick and dying. It was the reek of magic gone bad.
I knew it was him but I had no choice. The bodies were piling up. My friends, my colleagues…
He alone could stop it.
And with a savage look of glee on his face, he did.
Sometimes I am glad that the sickness took me.
I did not live to feel the guilt.
But still, I cannot move on.
This is my monster.
As long as he remains, I shall remain.