The author would like to request that you approach this work as a piece of art. It contains an earnest expression of her emotion and pain, and understanding that this work is meaningful is important to her. Please withhold any reflex to scoff at or withdraw from engaging with this vulnerable sincerity.

One day, a young girl approached a wizard's tower. He looked upon the girl, tears silently pouring down her face, and felt sorrow for her. She handed the wizard a piece of parchment. Upon it, the words, "Let them feel my pain." Taking pity on her, the wizard cast a spell. The girl turned, and walked to town.

She approached a woman in the street, who turned to her and looked with passing indifference. The young girl reached out and touched the woman's hand. The woman collapsed to her knees, wrapped her arms around the girl, and cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forgive me, I am sorry." She embraced the girl and carried her home.

The next day, the young girl ventured out, and found two young men who had wronged her. She stood before them and waited, silent tears upon her cheeks. One reached out to push her aside. As he pressed his hand against her shoulder, he stopped. He looked down at himself, at his companion, and at the girl, and drew his dagger. He thrust it into his chest, and collapsed. The man beside him, shocked, pushed the girl away in fear. He then sat before her, crying, and drew his blade. He held it before her, waiting. The girl picked up the knife, and with ever-silent tears and an expressionless face, drew it across his neck.

Weeks went by, and soon, the girl had touched all in the town. Some threw their arms around her, others threw their bodies at her feet, and yet more, themselves upon their swords. The girl returned to the wizard. She held before him another piece of parchment. "I still suffer." The wizard offered to help her forget. She clutched her note, and shouted, "No!" The wizard, knowing his fate, embraced her, and cried. "I wish I could do more." he said.

The girl returned to town, where she remained surrounded by people who had once scorned her, overlooked her, hurt her, now all dedicated to her. She felt empty.

One day, a young man walked into town. The girl stood out to meet him. As he bowed before her, she placed her hand upon his brow. He stood, nodded, and drew his knife. He placed it against her neck, and she whispered, "thank you." A smile lifted her cheeks, before it was swallowed by a grimace as the knife cut flesh.

He carried her body to a hill above the town, and with shovel, broke ground, carried stones, and laid her to rest.

The townspeople gathered there, and upon the stones was carved, "Pain. She brought us together."

Every year, on the anniversary of her death, the people brought flowers to her grave, and mourned the life they had spent ignorant of her plight.

No longer would she suffer.