During the Dark Ages, the world was an uncertain place, especially for anyone who isn't human. In a time of strangeness and obscurity, there's only one safe place: a forest guarded by the creatures who dwell within it.
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Your mother was taking you to a cabin for, she said, some fresh air. She had bought it for next to nothing and spent weeks going on about how good it would be for the two of you to get away for a while. You were excited, too. You'd only ever lived in the city, and to be honest, you hated it there.
You were born healthy, but as you aged, your right arm began to wither. Every healer in the city had been consulted, but no one could tell your parents what was wrong with you. By the time you were ten, the arm was completely immobile and permanently curled up against your side, skeletal and gnarled.
You knew they resented you. At first, you didn't realize it, because you were a child and it happened gradually. But as their friend's children grew up and got married or started apprenticeships, only for you to remain uselessly at home, you could see it on their faces. They knew they'd have to take care of you forever, and they loathed the idea.
You spent all your time reading because no one trusted you to do anything else. You insisted you could still do basic chores, like sweeping floors and dusting, but they heard none of it. It was confusing to you; you were asking to help, and they were refusing to let you. It wasn't your fault you were growing weaker and more infirm since they never let you leave your bed.
You read all your books a hundred times, played all your card games, cleaned up after yourself until there was not a speck of dust in your room, but nothing could dispel the crushing boredom and madness of being alone all day.
A lot of the time, you lay in your bed and stared at the ceiling, dreaming of a life you could have had if your body hadn't betrayed you. You could be married by now. You could have a wonderful job as an artist's assistant or a alchemist. You could have children, or not. You could have had a choice. There was no choice now. You were what you were, and nothing would change it.
That was why this getaway sounded so amazing. You and your mother would spend a few months living in the fresh air in the country. It would be so freeing. You could go outside! You could feel grass beneath your toes. You could try and take a run for the first time. You found yourself daydreaming about how lovely it would be.
You were going to pack up your things, but your mother insisted the cabin would be fully furnished, including clothes; all you would need was a single change to wear on the trip up. You took a small bag of books and a few of your treasures anyway.
Mother had hired a carriage to take you both, a fast, bumpy thing with an impatient groom. Your mother had told you to wear your cloak to hide your arm until you had gotten out of the city, despite it being high summer and extremely hot, but you complied. You didn't want people looking at you, either.
The journey was several days ride by carriage, and you slept most of the way, stopping only to sleep at various inns along the way. Your mother insisted you wear the cloak at all times despite the heat, and though you felt a little resentful, you complied.
