The scent of freshly baked bread mixed with the crisp morning air as the village prepared for the seasonal festivities. The entrance gate, a sturdy wooden structure adorned with simple carvings, stood as a symbol of security and warmth. The town head, Gerold Varn, an elderly man with a broad frame and graying beard, stood near the entrance, watching as the villagers bustled about. His sharp eyes carried the weight of years of leadership, yet there was a gentleness in the way he observed his people.
Two guards stood at their post, dressed in simple leather armor. One, a young man with sun-kissed skin and short brown hair, named Edric, leaned lazily against the wooden post. The other, a more seasoned guard, Roland, had a stockier build and a thick mustache that twitched with every breath.
Nearby, a group of women laughed as they decorated the gate with colorful woven fabric. Among them was Martha, a plump woman with warm eyes, who seemed to be the ringleader of the gossip circle.
"You won't believe what happened last night," Martha said with an exaggerated whisper. "Elaine caught her husband sneaking out again. You know what that means."
The younger woman beside her, Lilian, gasped. "No! He wouldn't dare, would he?"
Martha smirked. "She chased him down with a broom and made him sleep in the barn!"
Laughter erupted among the women as they continued tying decorations.
Edric, the younger guard, chuckled. "You ladies sure love your gossip."
Martha turned toward him, hands on her hips. "And you young men love your drinking! Just last week, I saw you stumbling home like a newborn foal."
Roland grunted in agreement. "She's right. Maybe if you stood as firm at your post as you do at the tavern, we'd have fewer complaints."
Edric groaned. "I'm never living that down, am I?"
The women laughed again, the sound blending with the playful shouts of children running through the streets.
A group of kids, no older than seven or eight, darted past the guards. Their laughter filled the air as they played a game of tag. But as they turned the corner, they slammed into something—or rather, someone.
The collision sent them tumbling backward, their cheerful expressions twisting into sheer terror as they looked up.
A woman stood before them, hunched slightly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her long, tangled black hair hung over her face like a curtain, partially obscuring her hollow, sunken eyes. Dark circles marred her pale skin, and her thin frame trembled as if every breath pained her. Her tattered dress clung to her body, dirtied and torn, revealing bruises along her arms.
The children gasped in horror. To their young eyes, she wasn't human—she was a ghost, a specter of the forest come to steal them away. One of them, a boy named Thomas, let out a startled yelp and fell backward onto the ground.
Seeing their fear, Alric, one of the hunters who had found her, stepped forward and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "It's alright, children," he said gently. "She's just lost and in need of help."
The kids hesitated, still staring wide-eyed at the woman before dashing away, screaming about a forest spirit.
The woman flinched, pulling herself tighter as if trying to disappear. Her fingers twitched, her breathing ragged. She looked as though she hadn't eaten in days, her lips cracked and dry.
Gerrik, another hunter, approached the town head. "We found her just outside the outer hunting grounds," he explained. "She was collapsed, barely breathing. Something or someone did this to her."
Town Head Gerold frowned. "Bring her inside. I want to hear her story."
The woman tensed at the mention of speaking, but she was too weak to resist. She allowed herself to be led toward the village center, each step slow and unsteady.
Inside the village head's home, Maribel Varn, Gerold's wife, gently guided the woman to a seat. Unlike her husband's stern demeanor, Maribel had a warmth to her that made people feel safe. Her soft auburn hair was tied into a simple bun, and her green eyes gleamed with kindness.
The woman flinched as Maribel reached for her, her entire body coiled like a wounded animal.
"Shh, you're safe here," Maribel said softly. "No one will hurt you."
Slowly, the woman allowed Maribel to tend to her wounds. The moment warm water touched her skin, she shuddered, her body reacting as if she expected pain.
Maribel's heart ached at the sight. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"
The woman didn't respond at first. Then, in a trembling voice, she whispered, "He's… hunting me."
Gerold, who had been standing nearby, narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
The woman squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the edge of her tattered clothing. "The man who… owned me."
Maribel gasped. "You were a slave?"
The woman nodded weakly. "I ran away. But he… he always finds me. No matter where I go."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Gerold's expression darkened, suspicion flickering in his gaze.
Suddenly, a faint rustling came from outside. A small figure was crouched near the wooden gate, peeking through the slightly open door.
It was Elise, Gerold, and Maribel's daughter. The seven-year-old had her golden curls tied in a loose ponytail, her big brown eyes filled with curiosity. She had been listening the entire time.
"Elise," Gerold's voice carried a firm warning. "Come here."
Elise hesitated before slowly stepping out from her hiding spot. Her mother sighed, shaking her head. "You know you shouldn't eavesdrop."
Elise pouted. "I was just curious…"
Maribel led her outside, kneeling beside her daughter. "Curiosity is fine, but you must respect people's privacy, alright?"
Elise looked down, kicking at the dirt. Then, with a mischievous glint, she stuck out her tongue at her mother and bolted. "Catch me if you can!" she giggled, disappearing into the village.
Maribel groaned. "That child…"
She returned to the house, carrying a fresh set of clothes. "I apologize for her behavior."
The woman shook her head. "It's… fine."
Maribel smiled as she handed the woman the clothes. "Here, these should fit you. Once you're rested, you can clean up properly."
The woman hesitated before accepting them. Her fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the fabric.
Maribel finished tending to her wounds, giving her a reassuring nod before stepping out. "Rest well."
As soon as the door closed, the woman sat in silence. She stared down at the fresh clothing in her lap, her fingers curling around the fabric.
Then, slowly, she stood.
She didn't know why, but her feet carried her outside. The festive air of the village greeted her—the laughter, the warmth, the joy. It was as if she had stepped into a dream.
And yet, as she wandered, absorbing the kindness around her, her steps abruptly stopped.
In the distance, she saw a group of children gathered in a tight circle. Laughter rang out—not the joyful kind, but the cruel, mocking kind.
At the center of it all, a small, battered child lay on the ground.
Blood dripped from his nose, bruises already forming along his arms and legs. His wide, terrified eyes darted from face to face, pleading for mercy that would never come.
The woman's breath hitched.
A familiar face stood among the bullies, sneering down at the injured child.
Elise.
The village head's daughter.
A slow, eerie smile crept onto the woman's lips.
"…I see."