I re-entered the earth. The time was about the 12th century when the Catholics were persecuting heathens. Our village was considered to be Christian. Daily, some pagan was brought into the center of town and executed. I loved my father dearly. I hated my mother. Whenever she took me to a public execution, her eyes would glaze and she would tremble with joy, as she watched the body of sin burn and bleed. When the individual was pronounced dead and the remains were being cleaned up, she would recover her dignity and take me home. I told my father that I hated it. But, he persuaded me to go with her each time.
One day, I decided to stay home. I prayed to GOD to make me sick so I could stay home. I contracted a fever. My mother went daily to the executions, but rushed home to care for me when it was over. My father would sit by my bed and pray for my recovery every evening. I refused to eat whole food. They force fed me liquids. Eventually, I slipped into a coma. My father was devastated. He fell ill and eventually my mother, our servants and their families fell ill. I died. The plague was beginning to spread all over as I was leaving with my Angels.
Back to My Story Links: Heritage Outline 2 3 4 5 6 6a 7 8 9 10 11 11a 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 42a 43 44 45 46 47 47a 48 49 49a 50 50a 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66