The knock on the dark wooden door was very persistent and so loud, with each one, a drop of dust fell on the floor. It made Rokah wake up and sneeze. The pain in his back is still vivid from the hit he stupidly took. After a massive effort, he finally sought the door and opened it.

The pig-faced lady was one of the waitresses at the tavern. Known as madam Linda. Her forehead was drenched in sweat despite the cold weather. Her features were covered with fear and uncertainty. She couldn't articulate a simple word and form a clear sentence.

Instantly, Rokah grasped the situation. It must be her little daughter, either dead or her illness gets worse, more likely the first prospect. There was nothing a doctor with limited materials could do for her anymore. Nevertheless, Rokah pretended to be concerned for the sake of appearances.

They hurried to her place. When the doctor saw the girl, he didn't even need to check her pupil and pulse to confirm her death. The serene, peaceful look on her visage was enough to predict her death.

Finally, the little girl's prolonged suffering ended, and she was able to rest. Once again, for the sake of appearance, Rokah pretended to examine the girl before he shifted his head, giving her mother the hopeless look, pointing in left and right motions that her daughter was no longer considered alive.

Loud wallows escaped from the mother's sad heart, it disturbed the silence created by the cold. Rokah didn't understand her sorrow. Neither had he felt it and maybe he will never do. From his perspective, the mother should be happy for the ending of her daughter's physical ache.

It wasn't long since he had met this little girl, but this was the only moment when her face was free from pain and suffering. She even made this peaceful sight. Rokah thought she was better dead than being trapped between the claws of the pain.

In the agony of the moment, Rokah remembered what he had told Mr. Hendrickson about life.

"Life gives us choices". At this very instant, he thought maybe he was wrong. Sometimes the only choice life will give was death and only in death, some people can find their peace.

Closing her eyes with his palm and using her sheet like a shroud to cover her face, the doctor stood up aiming for the door when he glimpsed the mother's tears, working their way to her chin, veiled by grief. He was very helpless in this kind of situation.

What was he supposed to say or do?

She lost her husband about two weeks ago because of the attacks of the Aractanthrope and now she lost her little girl to the disease. He didn't feel her loss. His heart learned to be unconcerned, for the ash can't be burned twice*, but he needed to pretend for the sake of appearance.

He let himself get close to her, and he awkwardly held her while she cried in an oppressed voice.

Later on, the doctor learned that the daughter of the pig-faced lady - Madam Linda - will be buried at a special funeral. A funeral was decided to be held for the honor of the victims of some unknown predator who preyed on the woodcutters in the nearby forest.

For him, it was perfect, and now he has a powerful reason to attend and collect information without raising suspicions.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

He also heard that at the same time, a request would be held to the village lord, begging for his help against the cause of the attacks.

Rokah considered himself the only one who recognized the attacker's true identity, and he was sure that this predator will attend the funeral of his victims since there was a chance for the lord of the village to show himself.

Likewise, it will be Rokah's chance to know or maybe even meet this village owner if he chose to appear and console his subjects. Since his arrival, he has long pondered about the true identity of this person. What kind of creature he was? What kind of heart he has to create this place for unwanted mongrels and to protect it.

The frozen soil was hard to dig and to prepare the graves, the icy wind made it even harder to stand. It surprised Rokah to learn the location of the cemetery. It was behind the grand house. More accurately, the cemetery was the backyard of the big manor itself.

He arrived at the spot; he asked one of the attendants about this strange location. The answer was a long explanation shortly before resume; each family had its own grave and all members of one family got to be buried in the same grave. That was because his lordship wished the cemetery to be limited to his own backyard.

This lord must be sick or trapped inside the cluster of madness, who wants to have a cemetery as a backyard." Rokah thought to himself.

The attendant continued his explanation that there were graves prepared specially for the workers of the manor, and they must be buried there, no matter who was their family and it was considered a great honor.

Rokah followed with his sight to where the finger of that person pointed. It indicated the location of these graves of honor. Rokah didn't believe his eyes. Wasn't this Mr. Hendrickson, the one who was standing there, leaning on his cane? So he wasn't lying when he said that he was a resident of the great manor.

"Was he a worker?" Rokah wondered in silence, "Impossible. He didn't give the aura of a worker, he rather had the aura of someone important, a master, a lord."

The speaker demanded Rokah's attention with the cliche cough excuse. He told him when his lordship starts accepting new residents, the officials will put his name at the top of the list. The man also added that he will be the number one to give his voice, so Rokah will be accepted. Because in his eyes, no, but in the eyes of all residents, a doctor coming to this village was a grace from heaven. Then, before he joined his acquaintances, he thanked Rokah for his assistance when he broke his arm.

The response Rokah gave him was a smile, a happy one, the one he gave and will give to every person who sweet-talks him whether they meant it or not.

Finally, the regulations for burial had ended. It felt so long and Rokah became unable to feel his fingers and nose. Truly, he never grasped the meaning of funerals and why they needed long rituals.

Was it some kind of goodbye to the loved ones and family, friends, and people we came to know? A way to ease the parting pain, or just to remember that we are all going to die in the end. But even so, Rokah does respect it. He hoped that there will be a person kind enough to bury him when his time comes.

He lifted his hands to his mouth and started breathing on them to gain some warmth. The snow started falling again. And the crowds started departing. However, he waited...

He wanted to check the place where he saw Mr. Hendrickson before he left. A simple move to please his curiosity about this person. It crossed his mind for a second that maybe Mr. Hendrickson was the lord of the village, but he brushed it off for several reasons. First, why does the generous Lord want to commit suicide? Second, it was the injury in his right leg. From what he gathered, the Lord wasn't crippled.

From close observations, the graves themselves weren't very different, but there were a lot of headstones compared to the others, and there were two that stood out. Rokah advanced, aiming to read what was written on them.

There was a script in two languages: Aramaic and Latin. The first had the name Charlotte Velvalee De Nobilis and a number 1100, the second had the number 1102 and the name Nicolai Hendrickson.