When I was 3 years old, my father tried to murder me. He took his great, club like hands and beat them down on my small body. My bones snapped like dry twigs under his fists, and purple bruises blossomed across my skin. I was so tiny, the force of his blows alone should have killed me. But I survived. Within days I was healed and bouncing around as if the incident had never occurred. That was when he knew the shameful rumors circulating about the circumstances of my birth were true. I was a daughter of death. After that incident, he became fearful of me, generally leaving me up to my own devices. Everyone did. I have been hated from the moment I was born. The reason being that as I took my first breath, my mother took her last. It's my fault my father is the way he is, and no one will let me forget it. Because I killed her, he turned to alcohol as a remedy for his sorrow. That's why he spent all our money on the foul liquid known as liquor. That is why my father tried to kill me. That is why my father beats me. That is why my father named me Karma. That is why I'm alone. So you see, my life has been a string of endless misery. Causing suffering to those around me. I deserve their wrath, at least that's what they tell me. I personally can't grasp why I'm at fault for things so far out of my control. I could not help that the old god of death fell for the snare that was my mothers beauty, nor could I help that she was unfaithful to my father. I don't see how I can be blamed simply for being born. In all honesty, I think that those around me are simply weak minded and looking for someone to blame for their countless sorrows. Had my mother survived, she would have been ostracized and hated for her unfaithful ways and for bringing me into the world. It is only because she is dead that she became the victim. That may seem cold, but the truth often is. Had she survived, she doubtlessly would hate me as much, if not more, then my father does. It's just the was of things.

Today is the day I'm to be burned. My father had finally decided he had put up with me and the trail of misery left in my wake for long enough. I cant see why he couldn't have decided to do this 13 years ago and save everyone the trouble of raising me. It may sound like I don't care for my life, but I honestly do. I am hungry for it. My hart hammers against my rib cage with a force almost equal to my fathers fist those 10 long years ago, my eyes stung with the effort of holding back tears, and a cry built in my throat, I longed to plea for my life. To scream and sob and struggle against the priests tight grip on my arm as he leads me into the church to prepare me for my execution, but it won't matter. They will kill me either way, and I refuse to give them the satisfaction. I could already picture my sisters faces as they would be as I burned. Sara, my oldest sister, would stare impassively into the flames as they ate away my flesh, as if watching a dull play. Her calm demeanor untouched, but I would know that a malicious gleam shone in her eyes. Amanda would jeer and laugh at my pain. She always did enjoy my suffering. Rebecca, who was the closest to me in age an by far the most lovely of my half sisters, would be paying me no mind. She would be clinging to the arm of her current toy, whispering lies of love into his ear, and he, like all the fools before him, would fall for her honeyed words. She would be to busy filing that ignorant fool's head with lies to spare me a second though. If this surprises you, it shouldn't. I have already told you that I am unloved.

The priest refused to look upon me, as if even a mere glance would sully his holiness. I was expecting this reaction, but that isn't to say it didn't irk me a great deal.

"You know," I began testily, "I despise you about as much as you do me, but for a very different reason." the priests froze, eyes widened. I stared straight into them, my gave unwavering. His eyes were a washes out blue color that went well with what little white hair he had left. "You see, you hate me because of who I was sired by, which is something out of my control that honestly has very little to do with me. I hate you for something that is actually in your control. You have your head stuck so far up your rear end that you can't see I'm the one suffering, not you. I'm about to die. You could at least look at the girl your about to kill." It was a rather impressive speech if I do say so myself. I delivered it with a cold, unwavering voice that was hostile, yet emotionless at the same time. If I was going to die, might as well make my last words count. It obviously made an impression on the priest as well. He's eyes grew eyes wider if possible, and his moth was gaping like a fish. Satisfied with the reaction I was getting, I turned forward once again and offered him my arm, an impish gleam in my hazel eyes. "Shall we. I wouldn't want to be late for my own funeral pry, so to speak." Almost as if in a daze, he allowed me to hook my arm through his and we resumed walking. The still stunned man led me to a small, plain, dirty room. A simple white dress lay out upon the thin, threadbare cot. Of corse my father would want the dress I currently wore back. Rebecca would probably fit into it, she was always rather small for her age. In all honesty that suited me just fine. I would have no need for it in a few minuets anyway, and I wanted nothing from that man. I hated him. Hated him with a burning passion. Ironic, I know.

I had just finished changeling when a hesitant knock sounded at my door.

"Come in!" I called, attempting to make my voice childish and sing song. I was going to make that priest wet his pants if it was the last thing I did, which it would be. To my surprise, it wasn't the priest who poked his head through the door, but the local hedge priest. A tiny, mousy man he was, with a small, but growing shiny bald spot on the top of his head.

"Come child." He whispered, beaconing me towards him. When I reached his arms length, he took my hand in his and began hurrying me along, the slap of this sandals and the patter of my bare feet were the only sounds echoing down the empty corridor.

"Where are we going?" I asked finally.

"Somewhere safe." That was all I needed to here.