Summery: I'm Silva Everto; I live in a world of war, a war that is forced upon all children when they get of age. Most people agree with this war. One side is wrong, one is right but I can't find myself to think that since it killed my mother. Sure I'll play along, follow the orders given to me, but I always thought thinking one side is dark and one is light was false logic. After all only thing we have that is different is our opinions, and no one can change those.

Luckily I have little to do with the on goings of the war, because as far as anyone knows I was born with powerful healing powers. I, along with the rest of the healers get assigned to take care of the prisoners of the 'dark' side that we have. After all, they would not be useful anymore if no one could use them for target practice.

And it will remain this way. Days going by with people only thinking I'm some basically useless healer. Those fools will never know my true power, the one that could help them so much but they will never be able to harness. After all, not just anyone can walk threw the shadows. And no one is going to find out.

Silva

I don't know how long it was into the school year that I was assigned my own prisoner to heal, somewhere after my fifteenth birthday. It seemed like forever and at the same time only a few days. I hated it though. I knew what they did. I had seen it happen a few times, and it toke all my will power not to take out one of my own hidden daggers and slit the thought of the bastards. Things that not human should face, forced upon innocent people. Makes me sick.

My first prisoner was a boy named Jeff. He was my age, and he probably would have been handsome before the torture he was put through. He had lanky black hair that fell around his beautifully chiseled face. Dark purple eyes that sparkled with defiance no matter what he had been through, and a body that would make most girls faint on sight, but those retards toke his beauty away. Every part of his skin was scared, cover with burn marks and big roping sections of flesh. Things a healer could have easily stopped from happening but were too far in their hate to care.

The first time I meet him he did not trust me, but hell in his place I would mot have trust me either. He gave me this terrifying glare as I healed his wounds and talked to him. I don't think he really listened at first, thinking I was mocking him, but when he did surprise flickered in the depths of his eyes. Because the words flowing out of my mouth were not the painful bards of scorn he had grown accustom to in this hell he had been forced in to. They were apologies, words of encouragement and stories of what was happening outside of the four walls ha had been confined to. I healed his wounds and removed all the acres that I could, bring back some of the face that belonged to boy that was there before the war. Everything I could to help and it would never be enough because sooner or later those monsters would hurt him again and I'd be back. Trying to remove some of the pain, and us both knowing the comfort would last barley enough for it to matter.