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The demons gave me the turnip with my life-light in it. They told me that I must wander the worlds of this realm collecting the life-light of others to maintain my existance.
I tried this, and killed a young boy in the process. I wept over his body for days, until I vowed never to kill again. I realised that if I had people volantarily give me some of their life-light they would survive and so would I.

So for years now I have been wandering the worlds of this realm, collecting the life-light from others when I need it.

If you befriend me you help to sustain me...

With dread, I realised what I had done. The anger was still there and it persuaded me to leave the room and enter that of my sisters. Again I raised the axe's wooden handle and brought it down. Again the faint cry of hopelessness escaped their mouths as I killed every one of my siblings and my parents.
I sat in the kitchen where we had shared countless meals, where I had listened and heard of my brother's death, and where we had played as children. The anger subsided and I looked at my bloodied hands numbly.
To my horror, blood began to ooz from the ceiling's wooden frame, drip-drip-dripping onto the floor and myself. It was the blood of my family.
Then the demons materialised again...

Out of the tree they came. The blood grew. Out of the ground moulded the demons. A ghostly voice sounded from them. Welcome us...
My drying tears wettened again out of fear.
'Welcome!' I cried. They moved forward and whispered through me. I felt strange, like I had been suddenly filled with hate. For what, I did not know. I picked up the axe's handle and began smashing the vegetables in the garden. I knew what I was doing, but I could not stop.
I went into the study where my brother was tying a bundle of papers with string. Seeing him brought a stronger rage to me. He could have stopped mmy younger brother! I surged forward and beat him on the arm. He whirled around and grabbed the axe's handle as I brought it down again.
'STOP!' he commanded, but I could not. An extra surge of power helped me to tug the handle from him and deliver the fatal blow to the head. A small cry escaped his lips...

I wept for all that was and all that cannot be. I wept great sobs of guilt and of loss.
Consolence came, but I pushed my friends and family away.
I gazed out of my window, out into the forest. The oak was standing tall and proud among the swishing leaves of the other trees. I stared a long time, until my entire attention was focused on the oak. I was my fault, I thought, mine! But then a feeling washed over me. No. It was his fault. He was the one who took himself away! Anger then shot through me. I raced down the stairs as he once did, I ran around the garden instead of through as he once did, and I stood under the oak as we once did. In my hands I held the axe.
I swung it harder than ever before. Apon impact it shattered , sending metal flying in all directions. I ignored it. Gawping at the tree, I watched as the V shaped cut in the oak filled with deep red blood, dripping to the ground and staining it.
I fell down to my knees and sobbed for the loss...

A half year late, it was a cold day in early March; the sky was grey and the wind harsh.
I was once again tending the slowly dying garden when I heard a shout. Looking up, I saw my older brother ride into our land on a dark grey horse and rear up. He fell off, and I rushed over to try and help him up, but he was already back on his feet and sprinting into the house. He barely glanced at me. All I could do was follow him in.
Him and my father talked quietly in the study while my sisters, my mother and I stood silently outside listening to the coversation. I took me only a moment to realise what -who- they were talking about.
My younger brother was missing.
Dread shot through me. I burst into the study despite my sisters' shouts of protest and begged them to take me to tell me everthing. And so they did.

A note was left by the rivers edge near his house saying how he cannot cope any longer. Buisiness was so slow that the money had dried up. In the note there was a will. It read:
My home and remaining money will go to my wife.
The possessions in my office will go to my brother.
To my sisters go the jewelery in the safe.
To my dearest sister, I give you my apologies. Farewell.
My dept will go to the bottom of the river along with me.

Over a year passed with my brothers gone. One day, they came back with much money and a wife each. My older brother's wife was pregnant.
They all stayed for four days and nights. We ate miniature feasts and celebrated their success with wine and parties.
On the last day me and my younger brother, who was now a head taller than me, stood under the now large oak and talked.
'I have missed you,' I began. I was true; even though I felt bitter at his near betrayal I felt an overwhelming care for him and his new wife.
'And I you,' he said. What happened to the hug? I thought. Instead we held hands.
'Are you happy?' I asked.
'Yes,' he replied, not meeting my eye. I did not know what to say.
'Once we have the house built up nice, you can come and visit...'
'OK,' I agreed, 'and you can visit us here.' He nodded.

And they left.
Little did I know, that would be the last time I see him...

Three years later, my brothers left.

I was sixteen, and that meant my younger brother and youngest sibling would travel to a larger town with my oldest brother to find work and marry and settle.
I cried because he left, but not in front of him. He would not know my sorrow, but instead my anger, I thought, because it is he who is abandoning me!
As much as I tried to believe my own reason, without him I was alone.
From my roon I could see the oak, growing taller and stonger every day. It seemed painfully ironic how the tree that symbolised my brother's friendship was strong when what it represents is growing weaker...

The tree I planted with my brother was an oak. It would be the closest yet to our house. The tradition of planting a tree every first of May had continued for thousands of years. This whole forest never existed back then, but was a giant wasteland. Our ancestors planted one tree every year since they settled here, leading up to now, when there are thousands of trees of different types lining the hillside.
We chose oak because we were remembering what we had said when we were younger, that our friendsip was stronger than the greatest oak. In a way, I think we were trying to remember the good times, and some how bring them back along with the intense love.

The first light of dawn played shadows on my wall. I snuggled in tighter into my cover. Being a teenager was harder than I thought it would be. Early mornings no longer held their previous appeal.
I could hear my family waking, my little brother jumping down the stairs. He was only a year younger than me but there was now so much difference. I was growing up. He was... well, he was staying behind, as my mother put it. Boys grow up when they hit fifteen, and not a second earlier, she would say, and girls always inherit their mothers' practicalness and sense. This morning in particular I felt completely unpractical.
Me and my brother had planned to go to the forest again to plant another tree next to the older ones before lunch, so I stayed in bed and pretended to sleep even when he came in to check if I was awake. I heard him sigh and run back to the kitchen to report my continuing slumber to my mother...

In the beginning, I was still Me. I lived in a small town north-west of Barton with my three sisters and two brothers. My parents worked at home, mending and making clothes.
In our garden there were dozens of vegetables growing towards the sky, or to the centre of the earth. Me and my younger brother tended these. We were close because of our ages, and because of our other siblings' older ages. Our love for oneanother was stronger than even the largest of oaks.
We explored the forests together, and told eachother stories. We looked after eachother.

But that was in the beginning...