When the first rays of dawn filtered through the branches, she shifted, looking up at me from where I held her. I knew what she wanted; the pile of clothes would not wash themselves. Wiping the stray tears off her colourless cheeks, I let her go. A single drop left her chin as she stood, falling until it was lost in the folds of her dress.

She had cried through the entirety of the previous night—both for the lives lost and those that would be. It was not with pleasure that she haunted the people of Saol; did the people not know how much their words hurt her? She was far from soulless. If Orpheus of the Greeks could move animals and stone, the sorrow in her voice would cause the town to flood with their tears.

Every time the people called her a monster, I wonder if they truly knew who they were speaking of. It was me they feared—me whose bidding she followed ever since I claimed her—so why was she the one to pay for it? Yes, it pained me to know that I played as large a part as the others in hurting her, but I hadn't lied the other night when I'd said this was the way of things. Doing otherwise was not an option, regardless of how cruel it seemed.

It wasn't long before she returned. Walking over to the Shannon, she sat herself down by the clothes on the bank, sifting through one garment after another. Coats, shirts, gowns, and trousers. The various pieces shared one morbid commonality: they were all stained red. The first of them was a coat the colour of dying bark. It seemed rough from the distance, the fibres standing up around the little holes. She didn't seem to think much of it as she dipped it into the eddying river, dutifully scrubbing the dry blood off. Her hunched shoulders straightened. She must have felt my presence as I made my way closer.

"Their numbers only grow with each passing day," she said, the defeat in her voice as tangible as the clothes themselves.

To a distant viewer, it would seem nothing more than a mundane routine, but the slight shake of her shoulders as she scrubbed them spoke volumes. Their blood is on my hands, she seemed to say. The edges of her hair were soaked; there were wet patches on her gown, but her gaze was fixed on the imaginary stains that were splashed across her pale hands. I knew not why she wore the form of an older woman today, though I was glad for it—it would've bothered me to watch idly otherwise—but it did nothing to quench my fear as I took my place an arm's length behind her. Had she continued to wither away so quickly, nothing more would have remained of her than a voice among a thousand other nameless whispers. "They do, and they will further still," I intoned. "They are doing nothing to stop it; I doubt they have the means to do so."

The smell of fish and rotting moss filled the air, the metallic tang lost to the raging waters as my charge continued to wash the bloodstained clothes.

"How do you bear it all?" She turned to hold my gaze, searching desperately for a secret strength she wished she possessed.

"I've never had it otherwise," I shrugged. "Never was one of them. To me, it is a duty I have always known and had."

She had just turned away when the sound of barely audible crying caught my attention. I moved closer to her, but she was as startled as I. The trails on her cheeks were far from dry, but she wasn't the one weeping. A brief look was shared. We had no intention of going anywhere—or even hiding, for that matter—but one thing was certain: we were not alone.

We heard a sharp intake of breath soon after. Whether the intruder had taken hurt from a stray branch or fall, I couldn't say. The rustling of leaves crescendoed before ceasing altogether. The girl was young—twelve summers at most. Her hands, bruised from her dash into the woods, swiped furiously across her face, trying and failing to stem the flood of tears that dribbled past her nose, down her chin. The stray twigs that peeked out of her flaxen hair were less out of place than the child. Perhaps it only dawned upon her that she was miserably lost once she entered the clearing looking much like a hunted doe.

It tickled my curiosity to find one so young entering the woods alone; it was no secret amongst the townsfolk, the tales of otherworldly creatures inhabiting this place. Had her need been so dire that she would abandon any thoughts of self-preservation? Surely even a child such as she would know not to seek danger, especially considering the times she lived in? I must, however, accede that there is much to be said of childish curiosity if it can indeed dispel such fear so easily. Tentatively, the girl inched closer to the river, dipping her legs into the running water as she let her hand find an occasional minnow or two. She wouldn't hear either of us—much less see—but I didn't miss the way my companion's gaze had settled on the girl.

"You cannot do anything for her. Not yet, at least."

"No. I cannot."

"And yet you still wish you could." Such confidence would've raised brows if not for the proof before me.

"I do not know," she said slowly.

"No?"

"I fear being able to. Or have you never known fear either?" Ah.

"I have never known it for myself, no. But I see enough of it to understand, wouldn't you say?"

She doesn't answer that either. No scoff, no retort. Not even a glare as she catches my reflection in the water.

"Tell me why."

She holds my gaze then, hunted and defeated all at once. "What good could come of a monster's touch? Even to hear me is to find you." She turns away with a sigh. "Maybe it is better this way."

"Maybe. Although that one looks like she could use a guardian angel," I added, looking meaningfully towards the girl.

"I am no angel."

"Indeed, but she could very well be yours."

The sound of frantic screaming cut our conversation short. "Aoife! Aoife, where are you?" Shouts of similar form continued, punctuated by heavy footsteps. I wouldn't be surprised if he had tripped on more roots and vines than the girl, for he was neither half as quiet nor as fast. "Oh, I swear my- there you are!"

The young man strode closer, muttering plenty of reasons why he would find an untimely end at his father's hands as he noticed the scrapes and bruises that littered her skin. The girl in question quickly shot to her feet, her wet hands discreetly drying themselves on her brown skirt. "Nolan?"

"Yes, it is I. Saw what happened and followed."

"You... you did?"

"Yes, now come along. This is no place to be in." His tone brooked no argument, though it wasn't unkind. He looked frustrated to say the least, but I much doubted the girl was the cause of it. Maybe it had something to do with the reason she had dashed into the forest so recklessly, I mused.

The girl—Aoife—looked at him hesitantly before deciding to follow the young man anyway. There was apprehension in her eyes, but perhaps common-sense had finally overridden the desire to be alone. Interesting. The two of them were acquainted with each other—of that I was sure—and the man's muttering told me they were kin. Indeed, if that were true, my companion would be obliged to interfere anyway. Better sooner than later. I watched as her eyes stayed on Aoife; I knew she felt something stir within her—a vague sense of familiarity. All she had to do was act on it.

The next few hours were spent in companionable silence as she continued to wash the clothes that remained. Hours, when it should have taken no more than two. Her gaze was fixed on the clothes no more, but a few paces down the river, all the way to the non-existent outline Saol. I said nothing more of it then, having contented myself with the lack of any more outbursts as there had been the previous evening. I looked for it too, the path they had taken, for just a moment. It was the same path I had walked not too long before them.

The grass along the path we had taken were long dead, leaving a trail in their wake. Perhaps the girl had followed it to the glade, believing it to be a path often trod upon by frequent travellers. If so, she couldn't have been more mistaken. Wrens were one of the few creatures that dared enter our presence, chirping emphatically as they flitted across the trees. The bats—ever reclusive—preferred darker boughs, while the deer and foxes sensed a dangerous predator; they kept their distance. Whatever the case, the girl had come, and only time would tell what kind of tale she'd live. Time, who is just another word—another subject—that holds little meaning without me.

It was soon time to return to the heart of Saol—time to resume what had started yesterday. The scene was the same as the day before—not that I had expected it to differ. If anything, the many faces I passed by were more fraught with fear than worry. The footfall on the streets had reduced considerably, though I imagine it would have been higher in the light of day. They were foolishly naïve if they truly believed the sun would keep them safe from harm; she would only watch without batting an eye, driving them sooner into my arms if she felt particularly ruthless. Few walked amongst the others as I did; the sun and moon were but spectators who chose to intervene when it best suited their needs. Her arrogant displays saw the already wearied townsfolk sweating and weary, reluctant to work for the food they desperately needed.

A slight struggle at the door of a modest house caught my sight as I walked by. "Quit being an eejit, boy. The lad down the street carked it yesterday and I won't have you die next!" The woman's stern expression quieted the boy, but the way his eyes strayed longingly towards the others had the lady on her knees, trying to cajole him into asking for something more reasonable. Even from the distance, her distress was evident: she had no treat to offer, but if she had to choose between his life and joy, she would not budge on the decision she'd already made for him. She was no doubt one of many who thought that way, for there were considerably fewer boys on the street, and even they were rather subdued, looking to the sky every so often. It could make things harder for me today, but if it meant that the people would be content and in the company of their children, so be it.

Heart-wrenching cries drifted in the wind once more, and the few who were outdoors fled to the comfort of their homes. The crowing of magpies rose in volume with every step I took, reaching their crescendo as I stopped in front of a wooden door. Age had left the bottom of the door jagged. The texture was far from smooth, worn by weather and time. Given the state of Saol, I would have called it ornate by comparison. It didn't matter the least that this family was richer than most in town; I see no difference between the rich and poor. Moreover, the man in question would be paying the price for his own indulgence. Lying on a plush bed with his family around him, the household no doubt knew to expect my presence. I knocked. A moment's pause after the two sharp raps, I stepped in. One too many Double Stouts had left the man as round as a barrel, the whites of his nails longer than the pinks. His yellowed eyes rolled about meaninglessly, meandering from one familiar face to another before closing from the exertion. It wouldn't do to tarry here too long.

"Come with me," I said, humming softly as I spoke. I didn't wait to see him follow—there was no need to—choosing instead to make my way out the door. As though on cue, my companion's was no longer the only grieving voice in the wind. The windows of the house I had just left were now closed—the black curtains were drawn. The hungry weren't the only ones who found solace with me.

The night was far from over as I walked beneath the rain. The blanket of clouds were as thick as the gloom that surrounded Saol. Raindrops fell like bells of silver beneath the moon, splattering over the cobblestones before running in argentine rivulets. The ripples that went out in waves at my every step weren't unlike the changes caused by my own presence as house after house drew their black curtains in mourning.

I found my companion standing by a small house that stood apart from the rest. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, not noticing my presence until I stood directly behind her. It wasn't long before I found the sight that had her looking so despondent, languishing in distant memory. The shadows cast by a solitary lamp illuminated the silhouettes of a young girl and a man, each finding hope in the arms of the other. I wouldn't need the moonlight to perceive the wistfulness on her face—the longing for a life that was long over. I knew then that there was still hope for her—that my effort wouldn't be in vain.

"You were right."

I scoffed. "It doesn't escape my notice that I usually am, but pray, tell, whatever do you mean?"

"The girl," she began, her face settling with the ghost of a smile. "Something about her comforts me. She reminds me of... " Myself. The silence echoed with the remnants of what was never said. I nodded, wrapping my arms around her as she continued to watch them, living in the few moments of respite she'd found before we retreated into the woods once more. "Can I come back into town tomorrow?"

"Of course." The edges of my lip twitched, aching to smile after many a year. It might have been selfish for me to wish that she would find a lifeline in Aoife, but I'm sure you knew it all along. Death is nothing if not selfish.