Heather, 28 - Women's prison inmate.

Heather sat up in bed. She looked around - according the clock, it was 3:40 a.m. She suddenly knew that she had a gift. She didn't know how she knew, but she was sure of it. She could help someone with a touch.

She looked down at her petite hands. She was serving a two-year sentence for a second felony possession charge, and had managed to carve a safe little niche for herself on the inside. She wasn't any kind of hardened criminal, but prison had been easier on her than she expected. Her cellmate, Janet, was a lithe black woman who stood at 5'11" and kept to herself. She was in her bed, snoring softly.

Heather herself wasn't particularly imposing. At 5"5', with a slender frame and a short blond pixie cut she could be almost be mistaken for a boy if not for her B cups and wide hips. She envied and desired the statuesque beauty in the next bunk in equal parts.

She hopped out of bed and cautiously approached Janet. The other woman didn't stir. She tentatively reached out a hand and touched Janet's arm. With a moment of concentration, she felt an odd sensation and saw a spot on Janet's arm softly glow amber under her fingers. She removed her hand, but the glow continued.

Suddenly Janet's eyes shot open, and she looked at Heather. A beat passed.

"Thank you." Janet spoke softly. It sounded odd, almost sarcastic. She was usually curt, speaking in short phrases and clipped tones. There was a warmth and sincerity in her words that sounded alien.

"Do... do you know what I've done to you?" Heather asked.

Janet sighed contentedly and sat up slowly. "Yes, I do. Thank you." She continued to make eye contact as a beatific smile spread across her face. "I feel much better."