Ham and bread. An apple. Coffee, as per my request. A generous breakfast.

The innkeeper, Herald Townsend and his wife, Jessica, sit across from me as I eat. Jessica is pale with silver hair. She keeps it in a neat braid that hangs over her shoulder. "My daughter won't leave the house. She's been bedridden for days, won't even help around the inn anymore. It's a curse, I'm sure of it. And it's no wonder. Someone like her seems to draw curses."

I lift my brow as I cut the ham. "How so?"

"She's... well..." She trails off. "I don't know where it came from."

Herald chokes on his coffee and has a coughing fit. "It's not my side of the family."

"Well, it certainly isn't mine!" She snaps, then settles back in her chair. "Alas, here we are. Running this wretched inn on the edge of town, and our only child is a useless devil."

"You speak of the girl as if she were more trouble than she's worth. I'm not in the habit of judging so quickly."

They glance at each other before Herald folds his hands on the table. "With all due respect, Father, you don't know her."

I slowly chew, watching them. "When can I see her?"

"Whenever you like. It's not like she's going anywhere."

I place my utensils down. "I'm ready now."

Jessica's face falls. "You haven't finished eating."

"Yes. I'm ready all the same."

"Hm. Very well." She stands, straightening her skirt before leading me to a bedroom toward the back of the inn.

The room is dark, but sunlight aches to peek between her curtains. The room is bare, but clean. The wall is lined with a few bookcases, stacked to the brim. Dirty blonde curls lie motionless on the pillow. The girl is tucked under a cotton quilt, asleep.

I glance down at the mother. "Leave me with her. I'll wait for her to wake."

"Do you think you can help her? I mean… do you feel anything?"

I focus on the girl once more. Nothing. Nothing obvious.

"No. Not yet at least."

"Well… thank you for your assistance, Father." She backs out, looking at her daughter. She finally turns and closes the door on her way out.

I step quietly and pull a book from my robes. The Treatises of Bahamut and Tiamat. I light a candle and sit by the window, my foot propped on one of the shelves of the bookcase.

I'm several chapters in before she stirs.

She rises, then catches my eye and goes still. She drags her blanket to her chest and her voice clenches.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I'm glad you're awake," I say, tucking the book away. "Your mother asked me to see you. I'm Father Shepherd."

Her shoulders relax, and she begins fixing her fringe. It hangs over her eyes, as if to hide her face. "A priest? Was it really bad enough that she needed to send a priest?" She lowers the blanket and glances down at her hands. "I suppose it makes sense. They're only looking out for me."

I kneel next to her bed, eye level with her. "What has been troubling you? Your father says you're corrupted." I lean left and right, looking her over in an obvious manner. "You don't seem to be cursed to me. Maybe a little tired," I say with a soft chuckle.

She smiles, picking at her dark nails. Her parents spoke of her like she's a child, but she looks to be my age.

"I am corrupted." She whispers. She drags her hand up her brow, lifting her fringe and revealing two flat nubs where horns should have been.

"By the nine," I mutter. "Didn't that hurt? Are you okay?" The maiming makes my stomach turn.

She nods softly, dropping the fringe, before returning to picking at her nails.

"So, is that all they meant? They want me to cure you of… being tiefling?"

She nods once more. "If you could, please Father. If you have a spell or a blessing or know someone who does."

I press my lips thin and take her hand. Running my thumb over her fingers. "What is your name?"

"Rika."

"Rika. There is a cure."

Her eyes snap to mine and she grips my hand.

"But you must first understand the problem."

I raise her hand to eye level.

"Is your body the curse, or are the people? You can't convince me that who you were born to be was a mistake. The only problem I see is the way your parents have made you feel."

"Father." Her mouth hangs open and her eyes begin to well before bringing her knees to her chest. She leans forward, burying her face in her arms.

I lift myself to the edge of the bed and gently rub her back.

At first, I assume she's merely retreated, until I feel her breath grow heavy. She softly cries into her knees.

"I'll be staying in the village for a few days." My voice is gentle. "If you need me, I suppose I will be a few doors down."

She settles and wipes her eyes, and I think I see a light smile peeking through. "I think. I think that would be nice. Even for a little while."

She tips her head toward me. "So. Whom do you serve, Father?"

"I am a priest of Bahamut. I serve the Platinum Dragon. Have you heard of him?"

Her toes curl into her bedsheets. "I have. Forgive me, but I have read about many gods in the pantheon. To me, Bahamut is merely a god among them. Not one above the rest."

"Perhaps that is true, but he is the one who stands against one of the greatest threats to us."

"Is she?" She flinches. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to..."

She flaps her hands gently. I take them into mine. "Please, don't apologize. Questions like these are exactly what are needed. I wish more people were like you."

"Oh." She looks at our hands mingled.

"Tiamat is a danger. There is no questioning that. She's been kept at bay for millennia, but I believe Bahamut has a message he wishes to spread. He's sent me to be that messenger. For as long as people wish to listen, they will be saved."

She blinks. "He speaks to you?"

"He speaks through me."

She nods and gently pulls her hands free.

I lift myself from her bedside and hand her my book. "If you wish to understand."

She takes it from me and holds it in her lap. "Will you come visit me tomorrow?"

I smile softly. "If you wish."

She glances up at me, before her attention returns to the book. "I would like that."