...the story behind this grave, Lady of the Forest?

He shifts slightly, his emerald eyes glancing sorrowfully at the grave before him. How long had it been since then? A hundred years perhaps? He shakes his head, the petals of the flowers fluttering from his tines.

It was...many, many years ago...a hundred years, perhaps. I have seen many lives come and go in this Forest...however, none quite as tragic as this.

He sighs deeply, preparing himself to tell the story behind this simple grave, the one grave in the Ruins that he had a special fondness for. A part of him wondered if the owner was listening from the heavens, looking down upon him and the doe sitting beside him.

A child had been born in the center of these Ruins; at the time, it was a pristine church, where the faithful gathered on the 7th day of each week. Normally, the birth of a child was a wondrous thing; births in the church itself were considered fortunate, lucky. They were blessed children.

He lowers his head slightly, remembering the sounds, the voices. A part of him does not wish to recall these events, and yet, he feels it must be told and shared, if only to reveal the folly of the human race.

However, not this child. No, this child wasn't blessed in their eyes. The mother gave birth out of wedlock, you see. And the child bared a marking on his cheek. Of course, those in the church put two and two together, and concluded that the child was a spawn of the Devil himself. Which, in all honesty, was a farce. It was nothing more than a mark as a result of birthing complications...

Water begins to gather as his eyes, and he blinks, the droplets falling to the ground, and landing with a dull trickle.

I can remember it all...the mother screaming as they pounced like animals, punishing for something that was quite natural actually. Both she and the child were outright murdered, and for what? For something natural that they saw as an abomination?

He takes a moment to calm himself, not wanting to frighten his company. It was true that he wasn't one to hold grudges; but that did not mean he couldn't feel bitter over another's folly.

This grave was for the child and the mother. As a sign of their "disgrace," they were buried together instead of being buried separately. To add even more insult...a year later, when there was nothing more than bones, the grave was dug up, the bones left exposed, adding insult to death. It seems that the elders still couldn't quite understand that they were the ones who sinned...

He shakes his head again, more flower petals falling from his tines, showering the doe next him with purple petals. He shifts slightly, not quite sure if it was a good idea relaying the story behind the grave to a mother, no less.

This does not mean I hate humans. I do not bear grudges. It does, however, leave a bitter taste in my mouth when I think of it...this poor child and mother...I hope they are well in Heaven.

His eyes flicker, and, much like earlier, two small flowers sprout from the ground, directly in the center of the grave. While he knew better than to do this day in, day out, every now and then it was warranted. Whether it was a gesture of friendship, or a gesture of respect and condolences. It was the least he could do.

Forgive me, Lady of the Forest. I simply...needed to tell this tale...

He glances at her, his eyes meeting hers, an array of emotions colouring them.

Thank you...for hearing me out.