A withered, old hag slowly made her way through the marketplace, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden staff. As she went, the crowd parted to form a path for her, not in reverence but out of disgust: there was just something about the woman that made the average person wary of coming into physical contact with her. It may have been her long, white strands of hair, caked with dirt and mud and crawling with lice. It may have been the odd yellowish hue to her otherwise white skin. It may have her extremely bad hunch, or the way she was mumbling loudly to herself. It may have been that she was just plain ugly. And also nasty. And a lot of other similar adjectives.

Whatever the reason, Peccant hobbled through the marketplace, her eyes completely closed (somehow still managing to follow the gradual curves and turns of the street), her screech of a voice standing out in the midst of all the hustle and bustle. Anyone trying to listen to her would have surely been very confused, as she did not speak complete sentences, seeming to randomly pick some words to mutter audibly and others to keep to herself. "...disgusting place, so full... in that desert with... find that... such a place... spit in the Dreamer's..."

Peccant suddenly realized that she had stopped walking and opened her eyes. Even such a simple action ilicited gasps from those who happened to be looking at her, since he eyeballs had the peculiar quality of being completely black. She looked around herself and noticed that she was standing in the entrance to a large tent. Nearby was a man sitting at a desk, and another man with... horns? That seemed to be unusual (although Peccant wasn't completely sure, since she wasn't from the area and had kept her eyes closed most of the time lately). Completing her quick scan, she hissed, "... isn't here." She paused. "But..." And without further ado, she hobbled straight past the desk and the horned man, headed straight into the tent, and walked right up to the person in the black robe. She studied him for a few seconds, then opened her mouth in a wide (mostly toothless) smile. "You kill."

-- an imitator of the Author of Life.

"Therefore be imitators of God as dear children." Eph 5:1 (NKJV)