Iris was born in spring on a moderately sized farm, run by a farmer and his wife. At the time, Iris was the only child, but when she was six she got a sister named Isabel. The small family was neither poor nor rich and they got by without too much trouble. Isabel had always been a rather sickly child, getting ill from the smallest of disturbances in the weather or in her food. Iris on the other hand was healthy and strong. She’d take care of her younger sister, together with her mother, while her father worked the fields. It was instilled into Iris from a young age that she needed to care for people. First this was providing Isabel with water and comfort, and when she was older it was spending days buried inside books, researching mainly herbal remedies for various types of illness.
At seventeen, a cold winter struck the farm. Unlike usually, food was in shortage, and the cold made for a great cause of illness. Of course, Isabel became critically ill. Bedridden, she was barely able to talk. Everyone had seen this coming sooner or later, but it hit so suddenly that it almost knocked Iris out. She’d done everything in her power, everything, but everything was not enough. Upon return from going out to buy food from a local village, Iris was greeted by a heavy air, her mother weeping, and even her father had no words. She’d taken her last weak breathe just an hour or so ago, and not saying a word, she’d passed.
If only she could’ve been there, if only the winter was less harsh, if only she was the one born with terrible illness, rather than her dearest sister.
It wasn’t that she blamed herself, she blamed the world. Her sister’s death taught her that everything sucks and the world is horrible. That’s what she took from it. She was either gonna have to live the default life of misery or make it bearable by herself. Perhaps it was then that she realised she’d wanted to help people walk their path a little more easily, albeit unconsciously.
It took Iris 5 months to stop sulking and get out of bed. When she did, she’d combed her hair, grabbed her satchel, and wished her parents good luck. She then traveled away, only carrying food and some money on her. She slept at inns all across the country, Carolustadt, Belvitz, then Markev and even more. Wherever she’d go, she’d try with her limited knowledge to heal others, and that’s how she got by. After a year or two, she got a letter that both of her parents had passed. They were still quite young, and the letter didn’t specify how they died, she could only guess. It hadn’t hit her quite as hard, she felt now that this was just part of everything.
In Arcas, Iris still travels around, though less religiously than before. She’s okay with having a home, but will just want to leave the house a lot.
