Ana walks past the hallway with an unusually clouded head, something that happens tonight bothers her, and not exactly in a bad way. With no more jobs to do, she takes a turn away from her room, heading to the communal shower instead, hoping it will clear her head from the fog.

And while it certainly does help clear the fog, her mind refuses to calm down. In lieu of the fog are thoughts of plans for the future, of what they're going to do should indeed supplies run short and their medicines could not hold.

Then, it moves to the past without her noticing, too busy planning for the worse. She sees herself alone and young, praying and begging for proof. On the verge of tears, that was the first and last time the Great Mother refused her answer.

She shakes her head, erasing the image from her mind. There are more important things to think of than such a past, though she knew what brings the past on.

The present, the gift of today in the form of an unexpected yet not unpleasant guest. An impish smile, overinflated confidence, and the gait of a daredevil combined into a tall and lean murderer.

Ana understood what people expected of her to feel about the woman, about Quinn. She and people like her have directly or indirectly caused harm to the helpless and desperate, feeding off their hopelessness to lure them into utter destruction.

Yet, when she imagines that face; that bright emerald eye, she's unable to do so. Not only does Quinn fail to disgust her, but rouses the opposite feeling in her pit instead. Something that doesn't scare her, but it is perhaps because she's unfamiliar with the feeling.

Whatever the feeling might be, she merely hopes the feeling does not distract her from her sworn duty. After all, she was sure it was nothing negative. With that in mind, she finishes the bath and makes her way again to the center of the temple.

And again, she prays. Her prayer is the same as it has been since she answered the calling: for the safety of her colleagues, of the people that make up the soldiery, of the general, and of Quinn.

Despite putting her name last, she does not do so as an afterthought, more absentmindedly, following the routine of praying for the people she cares about, deeply or otherwise.

Her face twists into a scowl from confusion with that realization. Once more, irrelevant and distracting questions enter her mind. Problems for my future self, she notes as she closes her eyes, delivering one last prayer to the Great Mother, asking—begging—for answers.

Only then does she go to sleep, hoping for a slumber peaceful and undisturbed under the kind and watchful eye of the moon. But a familiar dream bloom in full instead, its seed has been planted since her time in the bath.

Ana sees herself young and alone, praying and begging for proof. On the verge of tears, that was the first and last time the Great Mother refused her answer. Walls of fire surround her, threatening to consume her, but her prayers are not for safety: but for a trade.

She's kneeling in front of a child her own age, their body wounded deep by fire, charred by it. "Please," the young Ana pleaded. "Anything." Desperate. "Everything!" And tired. There's no stopping her tears now, the emotion and smoke both are too much for her now.

When nothing happens. "I—I didn't mean to! I didn't know!" she continues with an explanation painted fully in guilt. "Please...." She prostate, no longer able to bear the full moon. "They... they loved you!" It's thin and lusterless in her eyes. "Be real for them. Please! Be real for them." Her chest hurt, and so did her face.

The smoke is choking her now, the fire climbs her clothes. She deserved it—all of it—but not them.

Ana doesn't even know why she continues to watch, why she gazes all around her as if something will change this time: nothing does, nothing ever does. Not for her, not because of her.

The next thing she remembers is waking up as the sole survivor. They said the fire didn't even touch her, only eat all that is artificial about her. Some called it a miracle, but Ana can only see it as a sign and punishment.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Because it was. When she wakes up, she does not do so in surprise or cold sweat. Rather, she woke up with a renewed sense of purpose and the clarity of mind to realize she must never pursue the secret her heart hides.

For she already has a purpose and destination. One that does not involve a murderer, an architect of massacres and fraud. Steeling her resolve, she blew away doubt with a deep breath before starting her day all over again.

There's another battle to be fought today, but seeing as the moon still rules the sky: she has time to prepare. So, she does. She makes sure her supplies of medicines and first-aid kits to still be plenty by doing some inventory and just a little work with the mortar and pestle.

After grinding down the dried herbs she gathered last night, she moves to check on the people still languishing in the sick bay. Most of them are only there to rest in a cleaner and less crowded environment than the barracks, but some are still sick.

She remembers all of their name, giving them the necessary treatment, advice, and medicine in a manner effective and timely before checking on the rest of the patients; making sure no one is getting worse from the cold.

When she was sure of it, she went to the center of the temple to deliver a quick prayer. The same one as last night, only this time: she consciously stopped herself from specifically naming Quinn in her prayer.

Assigning bath to after today's battle, she spent the last of dawn trying to scavenge some more in the forest before breakfast was served. Yesterday's interruption from Quinn forces her to stop early, an error she now seeks to correct.

Yet, as if reading her mind or are capable of precise portend: "Oh, hello, Matriarch!" The woman interrupts her attempt at foraging the forest yet again, from the top of a tree branch this time.

Ana doesn't even know what Quinn tries to see up there, considering the lack of light anywhere but the sky, making her scouting attempt seem rather futile to Ana, though she does not say that.

Instead, "Hello, Ms. Quinn," she replied as the woman jumped down from the branch back to earth, landing gracefully with a warm smile on her face. Upon their third meeting, Ana is confident that the woman's odor is unnatural but neither perfume nor incense.

She's saying something, but Ana is focused on trying to recognize Quinn's aroma. It smells floral with a note of wood, much like a.... "... lavender?"

"... that is why I—lavender?" Quinn cuts herself when she hears Ana's last word.

"Why do you smell like lavender, Ms. Quinn?"

When Ana clarifies her question. "Ah! That!" Quinn's smile turns more attractive, like a bard about to perform. "I was loved by the fairies, Matriarch. And that is one of their many gifts before the unfortunate end to our relationship."

Her smile does not change, but Ana is sure she sees a glint of regret in her eye, something that is gone when she continues: "A story for another time, perhaps! Accompanied by drinks and romantic candles, preferably, hm?"

And despite Ana's interest in the story. "No," she bluntly answered the playful invitation.

To Quinn's credit. "Or not!" She easily rolls with rejection. "Alas, my invitation stands, and your question answered. Which means, you should be willing to answer a question of mine, no?"

"Article—"

"Hahahahaha!" Quinn cuts her off with a light and bubbling laugh. "Please, Matriarch. I promise I won't ask about your name."

"I see. Good. Go on, then."

"Thank you! Now, do you mind if I accompany you in your foraging?" she asked. "As an apology for surprising you and forcing you to escort me back to camp yesterday."

Ana almost asks how the woman knows, but the answer is weighing on her right arm: the same basket she brought last night during their first meeting. With no worry of her mind being read, her brain became a place of open warfare between two ideas: allowing Quinn to accompany her or not.

The woman clearly has an interest in her, and to allow her to accompany her means encouraging said interest despite her blunt refusal from earlier. Still, Ana doesn't see the harm of permitting her to come with her, just this once.

With that in mind, "Yes," she answers her, hoping she's indeed capable of denying her last time. For now, she assumes the key was to not look her straight in the eye when she says no.

Unfortunately, she already made that mistake. "Thank you!" Quinn's smile widens and reaches her eye when she fully processes Ana's answer.

With a deep and whimsical bow, "After you, then, Matriarch." She steps aside. "I will watch your back." Allowing Ana to continue deeper into the forest with Quinn following closely behind.

Much like their walk yesterday night, Quinn made up most of the conversation: starting with the weather and moving toward a more personal territory later on. Despite that, somehow, she always manages to avoid topics that may reveal sensitive information for both parties while still being an engaging and charming conversationalist.

Trained for it, I am sure, Ana thinks. After all, that is the nature of all wet workers: charming to a fault to lure their prey to a comfortable position before they strike.

Yes, that must be it, she says inside her skull. It's not that I found her charming, it is that she tries hard to be charming and I am merely falling for it. Uttering the first lie in her life to herself.