delana || d8.cb.fin.

I've always had a healing hand.

A gentle touch, even when I was little. Mama would always tell me how special I was, that I had a gift, that I was able to save people. The second I was old enough she had me in the shop, learning how to mix plants, and to properly set a splint. She was ecstatic, told me I was a naturally, especially since none of my other siblings seemed to be any good at all.

I realized that I could do something, that I could make a difference. And so I did. Mama was getting older so I took over. Even others praised me for my work, I took hopeless cases and made them possible. "Just like your mother,"

I couldn't help but smile.

I was invincible, at least I thought. There wasn't an illness I couldn't cure, that was until Mama fell ill. I hadn't seen anything like it, and neither had she, but I was determined. I tried everything I could think of, even tried my own ideas, but nothing changed. One day, I got up to try and find something new, but instead she held my hand and smiled softly. I could feel the tears gently rolling down my cheeks. I thought that there was nothing I couldn't do.

But maybe I just got lucky all those times.

Because I am certainly no god.