People stare.

Even here, as far away as I dared travel from where you are, they stare. The people here have never heard of you, or of the court you keep. They have never heard of the miracle that occurs nightly for you, nor of it. Yet still they stare at me, and as they stare I feel they know about what happened.

It is as if you marked me that night. Perhaps you did. Perhaps when you spoke to me you left a mark for all to see, saying that I am a killer. Saying that I am not worthy of the joy that comes from companionship.

Or perhaps they just don't want to be associated with me. Of course, any boy of my age wandering about on his own must be trouble. Most likely they just think I'm no good, and of course that must be true. After all, you exiled me.

But I'm not a normal boy of my age, am I? I've met you, and you'll have to agree that no one who's met you in your courtyard at night is the same afterwards. And besides that, I've killed for you. Not many others of my age can say that.

I still wish it didn't make me so different though. When I walk the streets of whatever town I'm in the people stare at me, and even though I don't like it, I know they are right to be doing so. If only I could have stayed with you.

Of course, I'm sure nothing different is happening now for you than it was before. I was only with you in your court for a week. And I was with you at night only twice. You were fine before I arrived, so why would you be any worse off now that I'm gone? I can't help but worry about you though.

But what's done is done, right? I did something horrible, even if it was all for you. I killed those people, and no amount of wishing is going to bring them back. So I understand why you had to send me away. It's strange how I can accept that when I think about it, but I still want to go running back to you and beg you to forgive me.

I won't though. If I were to do that I would show myself to be just as young as I really am. I don't want to be treated like a boy, and if I were to go running back to you I would be treated that way. You wouldn't see me as almost a man, which I am. You would see me as just a little boy.

So I won't come back. Not until I can definitely be called a man. Until then, I'll let everyone stare at me. They know I'm different, and so do I. But that doesn't matter to me.

When I come back, I'll be a man. Then I'll be able to show you just how much I love you, and maybe I'll be able to get your forgiveness. But the one thing I know for certain, when I return, I'll be able to protect you better than I did that night. Maybe then whatever marked me will go away.

People will stare, but I'll just ignore them.