?“Stop, Tsuki. Be careful,” Etan said inside her head, his voice strained with anxiety. “Houses aren't empty. Someone lives here. We need to hide.”
?But she didn't listen. Curiosity was a hunger stronger than fear. She pushed the door, which emitted a sharp creak, and slipped inside. The interior was saturated with life. The smell was dense and heavy: it smelled of burning wood, of animal fats used to grease leather, and that sour scent of old sweat trapped within the walls. Tsuki began to move around the room, touching everything. On a straw chair lay some worn, thick clothes, encrusted with dried mud and sawdust. Beside the hearth, she saw a longbow made of dark, polished wood, surrounded by a quiver full of arrows with gray feathers. There was an oak table scarred by knife marks, with a wooden bowl still soiled with soup and a hard loaf of bread sitting upon it.
?She touched a blade hanging on the wall: it was cold, oily, and smelled of sharpening stones and iron. Every object was a miracle to her. The sound of the crackling fire was like a constant heartbeat that reassured her. Then, she looked up above the fireplace. Her breath died in her throat. The head of a deer, enormous, with antlers branching out like winter boughs, stared at her from the wall. Its eyes were black, glassy, soulless. There was no blood, no stench of rot, but Tsuki immediately recognized that stillness. It was the same as the deer in the woods. It was the same as his father.
?“It’s here...” Tsuki whispered, backing away. “Death is in here too. They’ve hung it on the wall like a trophy.” The room began to sway. The heat from the fire became suffocating; the orange light looked like blood dripping from the walls. Her legs shook and she faltered, reaching for a support she couldn't find. At that moment, a massive shadow darkened the entrance. A giant of a man, with a thick gray beard reaching his chest and shoulders as wide as the door, entered the room. He carried a bundle of wood on his shoulders, which he dropped with a dull thud onto the packed-earth floor.
?The man froze, staring at this girl with silver hair and bare feet staggering in the middle of his home. The scent of wet woods and tobacco emanating from the man washed over Tsuki, making everything feel even more real, even more unbearable. The man didn't move. He stood there, a dark silhouette against the silver of the moons filtering through the open door. His breath was heavy, a bellows moving his resin-stained beard. Tsuki felt her heart beating against her ribs like a caged bird, but it wasn't just hers: she also felt the panic of Etan, who in the darkness of her mind kept screaming to run, to move, to do something. But she was captivated by a detail. On the man’s bare forearm, marked by old scars and bristly hair, there was a smear of fresh blood.
?“Who are you?” the man’s voice was a low thunder that made the glass jars on a shelf vibrate. Tsuki didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the deer head above the mantel. “Why did you put it there?” she asked, her voice thin as a silk thread. “Why do you keep death in your house?” The man furrowed his brow, his eyes disappearing beneath thick ridges. He didn't understand. He saw a beautiful, almost ghostly girl, dressed in rags with hair that glowed with its own light, questioning him about a hunting trophy. He took a step forward. The wood of the floor creaked under his hobnailed boot.
?“Tsuki, get out! That man will kill us!” Etan implored. “Look at the weapons, look at his hands... he’s a predator, just like Marcus, only cruder!” But Tsuki was drawn to an object on the table she hadn't noticed before. A small knife with a bone handle, used for peeling an apple. The fruit's flesh was turning brown in the air, another sign of slow death. She reached out, her fingers trembling. She wanted to touch the blade, to understand if that coldness was the same she had felt when Marcus had cut off her pinky.
?“Don’t touch it, girl,” the man said, reaching out an enormous hand to stop her. The physical contact was like an explosion. When the hunter’s calloused, warm fingers brushed Tsuki’s frozen wrist, she felt everything: the heat of his blood, the rhythm of his life, the raw strength of his muscles. But she also smelled the deer he had killed, the scent of grease and smoke that permeated his skin. Nausea returned in waves. The taxidermied deer head seemed to wrench its mouth open. The walls of the cabin began to tighten; the wooden beams felt like the bones of a giant about to chew them up.
?“Everything dies...” she whispered, and her power began to simmer beneath her skin. The oak table under her hand started to vibrate. The wood grain didn't turn to metal, as it did with Etan. Under Tsuki’s touch, the wood seemed to groan. The apple flesh on the table began to rot in seconds, turning into a black, liquid mush that dripped onto the floor. The man leapt back, crossing his chest in a quick gesture. “Witchcraft! You are a creature of the lake!”
?“I am Tsuki!” she cried, her voice breaking. The room was spinning too fast. The fire in the hearth became a blinding blur. Tsuki felt Etan’s consciousness pushing to the surface, a wave of panic wanting to retake control of the body. But the fusion between the due was still unstable. The pain of the transformation, the physiological hunger they didn't know they had, and the horror of death crushed them both. Tsuki fell to her knees, her hands clawing at the earth floor. She smelled the dust, tasted the ash in her throat. “Help me...” she murmured, but she didn't know if she was saying it to the man or to Etan.
?The man, despite his terror, did not run. He took a rough wool blanket, heavy and foul-smelling, and threw it over her shoulders, keeping a safe distance. “You’re just a sick child... or a demon sent to torment me.” Tsuki curled up under the blanket. The heat of the wool disgusted her, but at the same time, it kept her anchored to reality. She closed her eyes and, for the first time, the Voice and Etan wept together in the darkness of a house that smelled of life and death, while outside the three moons continued their indifferent dance.
?Just as the tension in the room seemed on the verge of shattering like overstrained glass, a sharp sound of quick, shuffling footsteps echoed behind the man’s towering frame. From the shadows of the hallway emerged a figure that seemed plucked from a book of grotesque fairy tales: an old lady, incredibly short and stout, with wide hips and a slightly hunched back that made her look like a river-worn stone. Compared to the bearded giant, her presence was almost comical—a patch of colorful cloth and incessant muttering. “Honestly, Silas! Have you gone into a trance staring at the beams? I asked you to bring the wood, not become part of it!” the old woman’s voice was a lively croak, swift, cutting through the heavy air of the room.
?But as soon as her small, black eyes landed on Tsuki, trembling on the floor under the rough wool blanket, her expression changed in an instant. There was no fear, no hesitation. The old woman literally lunged toward the girl, moving with surprising agility for her size. “Oh, by all the stars in the sky! And where did you pop out from, you poor little sparrow?” she exclaimed, her warm, gnarled hands settling on Tsuki’s shoulders with a maternal firmness the girl had never known. Silas, the man, took a step back, still clutching his invisible knife of terror. “Mother... be careful. She’s... she’s a lake creature. I saw it. She made an apple rot with a touch. It’s witchcraft.”
?The old woman shot her son a look so loaded with contempt that Silas seemed to shrink. “Does this look like a lake creature to you? Does she look like a demon?” she barked, pointing to Tsuki’s thin, mud-stained legs and her tear-streaked face. “Look at how she’s shaking! Honestly, Silas, you’ve grown as dim as your father, heaven help me. She’s just cold and has terror written all over her eyes.” Tsuki felt the woman’s hands on her. They smelled of onion, earth, and old lavender. It was a reassuring smell, different from Marcus’s metallic scent or the sterile one of her cell. It was the scent of someone who handles life every day.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
?“Don’t just stand there like a sack of turnips!” the old woman continued, giving her son’s arm a playful but loud slap. “Help me get her up! Go heat some water right now, bring that cabbage soup that’s on the fire, and get the clean blankets from the cedar chest. Move!” Silas muttered something under his breath, casting one last suspicious glance at the girl’s silver hair, but he obeyed. The sound of his heavy footsteps receded toward the hearth, followed by the sound of water being poured into a cauldron and the clattering of metal.
?The woman focused entirely on Tsuki. She brushed the white hair away from her face with infinite gentleness. “You’re safe now, little one. My name is Martha, and this is the home of a son who has more muscle than brain, but he won’t hurt you.” Tsuki tried to speak, but her throat ached. In her head, Etan was as confused as she was. “Tsuki... I don't know what's happening,” he whispered. “This woman... she isn't afraid. Why isn't she afraid of us?”
?Martha didn't wait for answers. She took a clean cloth, dipped it in a basin, and began to wash the mud from Tsuki’s feet. The touch of the lukewarm water was a new sensation, almost painful in its pleasantness. “You have strange eyes, my child,” Martha murmured, observing Tsuki’s electric blue irises. “And this hair... it looks like it’s made of sea foam. But your skin is warm, and your heart beats just like anyone else's. I don't care what hole in the world you crawled out of, tonight you’ll sleep in a real bed.” The smell of the soup began to spread: it was a thick aroma of fatty broth, roots, and pepper. For Tsuki, who had never eaten anything but a nutritious and tasteless paste, that scent was like an ancestral calling. Her stomach contracted with a dull growl.
?“See?” Martha laughed, showing a single remaining tooth in her upper jaw. “Hunger is proof that you’re alive. Silas! Is that soup ready, or do I have to come over there and cook your ears?” Tsuki let herself be guided to a bench near the fire. The heat of the flames no longer seemed like a threatening blaze, but an embrace. As Martha continued to bustle around her, covering her with layers of wool that smelled of sun and storage, the girl felt a different kind of heaviness for the first time. It wasn't the void, it wasn't marble. It was the exhaustion of having become, in a single night, a person.
?Martha pushed the wooden bowl toward Tsuki. The steam rose thickly, carrying the scent of the earth and boiled meat. The old woman sat on a stool across from her, resting her stubby arms on the table and looking at her with a sweetness that asked for nothing in return. Silas, in a corner, was nervously cleaning an arrow, but his gaze remained planted on the girl, as if he feared she might explode at any moment. Tsuki took the spoon. It was heavy, rough. She brought it to her lips with a hand that still trembled. The heat of the soup hit her tongue: it was an explosion of flavors she didn't know how to classify. The saltiness of the rock salt, the sweetness of the cooked carrot, the metallic savor of the broth.
?“Eat, little sparrow. Soup heals the holes in the soul before the ones in the stomach,” Martha murmured, reaching out to stroke her white hair. “Tsuki, listen to me,” Etan’s voice rang out urgently in the darkness of her mind. “That woman is kind, but we can't trust them. If they find out who we are, they’ll hand us over to Marcus. You have to make something up. Say you’re a refugee, invent a believable story. You have to improvise!” Tsuki froze with the spoon in mid-air. “Improvise?” she repeated aloud, staring at the wall. “What does it mean... to improvise?”
?Martha stopped, watching the girl talk to nothing. Silas stopped cleaning the arrow, his brow furrowed with suspicion. “It means to lie, you fool! Don't answer me out loud!” Etan hissed, panicked. “Invent! Say you came from a village to the north, that there was a fire!” Tsuki huffed, irritated by that voice echoing in her skull. She looked at Martha and tried to fish through Etan’s memories, but the images were confused. “I... I came from far away,” Tsuki began with a tired voice. “There was a wagon. A wagon made of clouds and old wood. We traveled for a thousand years over the mountains. My father was a king without a head, and my mother had become a statue of cold stone that wept marble.”
?Silence fell in the room, broken only by the crackling of the wood. Silas made a choked sound. Martha, however, did not laugh. Her gaze grew even heavier with deep pity. “What kind of story is that? Headless king? Stone?” Etan yelled in her head. “I told you to be believable! They’ll take us for madmen or demons!” Tsuki lost her patience. She slammed the spoon down and shouted at the void: “Then you tell a better story instead of just screaming! You're making my ears burst, you grumpy bully!”
?Martha winced, watching the girl argue with the air in front of her. Silas crossed himself, backing toward the door. “Mother, I told you... she’s possessed. She has an evil spirit whispering words to her.” “See? See what you’ve done?” Etan continued, desperate. “Now they’ll throw us out!” “He says I smell of lies!” Tsuki shouted again, ignoring Silas. “He says cloud wagons don't exist! But what do I know? It's the first time I've ever seen a wagon or soup!”
?Martha sighed deeply. She stood up slowly, walked around the table, and positioned herself behind Tsuki, wrapping her in an embrace that smelled of laundry, ash, and lavender. She rested her chin on her shoulder, holding her tight, ignoring the girl's shouts. “Shhh... it’s alright, my little one,” Martha said, rocking her with a slow, reassuring rhythm. “You don't have to strain yourself to tell fairy tales. It’s plain as day that your words are tripping over each other. You’ve been through hell tonight. Your poor brain split in two just to keep from bursting from the pain, and now you’re talking to yourself so you don't feel alone.”
?Tsuki stiffened for an instant, then let herself go against the old woman’s soft chest. That physical affection, that real maternal warmth, was something Etan had never received and Tsuki didn't even know existed. “He says he’s a prince,” Tsuki murmured, her voice growing fainter as Martha stroked her white hair. “He says I’m stupid because I don't know how to live outside the dark.” “Of course, of course,” Martha smiled, shooting a stern look at Silas to make him put away the bow. “My grandfather used to say he was an emperor when his fever was too high. Don't worry about your Marble Prince. Now you’ll drink some warm milk and then you’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, after a good rest, everything will seem clearer. Or maybe we’ll find some better new lies, what do you say?”
?Tsuki nodded, feeling the weight of sleep pressing on her eyelids. Etan, deep down, suddenly felt small and humiliated, but also strangely protected by that stout woman who wasn't afraid of him. “Did you hear that, Prince?” Tsuki whispered, curling up in the bed as Martha blew out the candle. “The lady says you’re just a fever. So sleep and be quiet, or she’ll give you a smack with the spoon.” Etan remained silent, defeated by the soup, the warmth, and a caress.
?Her belly was finally full, a warm and reassuring weight Tsuki had never felt before. It was a sensation that silenced thoughts, a torpor that started from the stomach and rose to her eyelashes, making them heavy as lead. Under the wool blankets that gently pricked her skin, she felt like a chick in a nest; Martha was beside her, and her steady breathing was a lullaby that Etan, in the darkness of her mind, couldn't stop listening to with a hint of envy. But as Tsuki drifted into sleep, the matter around her did not stay still. There was no effort, no fierce concentration like the kind Etan used to create metal. It was something deeper, as if the veil holding things together decided to dissolve and re-knot itself according to her dreams. Silas, who had to give up his spot in the big bed to his mother and the girl, sat on a stool in the corner. He watched the scene with wide eyes, holding his breath. Under the influence of that serene sleep, the breadcrumbs left on the tablecloth began to glow with a cold light. Silas watched, paralyzed, as those tiny remnants of food lost their floury texture and hardened, becoming tiny transparent stones, hard and pure, reflecting the orange glimmers of the hearth like small diamonds born from nothing.
