I found myself in a familiar home, although a little earlier. I have an unusually familiar relationship with time, as a concept. So as I watched the girls in Harrison's home, having breakfast, I couldn't enjoy seeing them alive and well like I wanted to. When Junia opened the door, I felt an intoxicating mixture of regret, relief, and guilt. I could no more identify the source of every emotion I felt than I could count the blades of grass on the ground. But I was aware of time. The time they had spent alone and afraid while I was making up my mind. The time it took to get them to a, temporarily, safe space. The time they waited while I introduced myself to Harrison again, this time without a token of my intentions.

Every second while I made them food or drew them a bath. And every second that I wasn't leaving to help the next person. Time was pulling itself away from me like a spurned lover and I was powerless to keep it with me. I had to leave. I had to go and save the next person on my list. But I had to stay and make sure the girls were comfortable. I had to explain who I was to Harrison. I had to make everything right, but I couldn't. The next victim needed me too. I felt like a stone, no different from the graves outside. Planted over the corpse of my intentions.

"Mars, was it?" Harrison asked, bringing me from my worries to the present. "You look... anxious. Thanks for bringing Junia here. I don't know how you knew I could or would help, but thank you. I've got it. You were right, you can trust me," he reassures. I know I can. I saw a flash of his corpse huddled over the kids. I saw his burned flesh. I knew he would keep them safe, at least until the second night. Which meant I could go. I could help other people, in theory. So long as I went back at night and stopped the fire. But I... didn't know if I could. Those old doubts still taunted me. Those eyes that watched me whenever I used a powerful spell were still there.

In my selfishness, I wanted to latch onto the girls. To use them as protection for me instead of the other way around. Protection from the obligation of the loop I had created. An excuse to wait there and hide. To wait there and die in peace. But that plan carried its own terrors. New guilts from the people I'd have to abandon. Worse, it would provide me with time to reflect on my own past. I had to move. Because facing my inadequacies and inability to deal with everything in front of me was like looking over a cliff. It held promises that anyone would fear, but an uncertain result. The past, however, threatened to crush me beneath its feet. There was no changing it, and it was too ugly to face.

"T-Thank you," I finally responded, making up my mind. "There is actually something else I need to do. Um... thanks for looking after the girls. It makes me feel a lot safer leaving them with you."

"Of course. I'm truly grateful you brought their... situation to my attention. I feel like shit that I didn't notice what was going on for so long. They owe you a lot," he replied and I shook my head.

"No, you couldn't have known. It's not your fault, Harrison. You're here now, that's what matters," I assured him. The words didn't feel like mine. They tasted far too sweet on my bitter tongue, but they were true. Harrison was a good man. He didn't cover his eyes when he saw suffering, he just didn't know. As soon as he knew these children needed help, he opened his home to them. If he had seen and pretended not to then it would be his fault. If he left scales on his eyes and covered his ears while they asked for help, then it would be his fault. If he were anything like me, he would deserve the blame. But he wasn't.

"Thanks for saying so. But you noticed. You don't even know them and you found them, and then me. If a stranger can find them safety, I should have been able to," he disagreed. Then he paused for a moment. "Someday you'll have to tell me how you knew they were in trouble, actually."

I responded with a hollow smile. "Tonight, if you'll allow me back. I... want to check on the girls. I'll tell you everything then," I answered. I would definitely need to be back at night. They were probably victims of the quiet at the time. Victims I should be looking for and trying to stop before they hurt someone. But with the fire, there weren't many rumors I could follow or memorize. All anyone talked about happening at that time was the fire in the southern part of town. I couldn't leave them anyway. So many people were going to die in that fire, including the girls. I didn't know how much I could do, but I knew how to stop the quieted. So I would be back.

"Of course. My door is open, and the girls are in good hands. I promise," Harrison said again. I nodded and finally left. As I walked past the cemetery, I again saw the boy trying to dig behind the same headstone.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing?" Margaret reprimanded, replaying the scene I had witnessed the first time. It was a reminder of how long I had spent with Harrison, Junia, and Millie. Too much of the day was already gone.

"I know what I saw! I'll find out what it is eventually!" came the boy's retort. This time I wondered what exactly he had seen. Why was he so determined to dig up that one grave? I almost followed him to ask, but a trail of teal sparks on the ground demanded my attention. This time, I thought I knew where they led. My heart pounded out of my chest as I hurried through the tired town. Each beleaguered building threatened me as I approached the home where I knew I would find something I really didn't want to see.

I wasn't sure which house it was but the sparks on the ground helped me pick it out. It was run down. More than the others around it. This was the home of a poor family, with little to their name. Parents and a single son, no older than twelve. If the rumors were true, the child would die within the hour, then kill his unsuspecting parents before disappearing into the yard. This is all I had been able to put together from the rumors, anyway. I felt my pulse in my neck and my breath started to shorten. I recognized the beginning of an episode and closed my eyes. It was not the time to panic. I wouldn't be able to do what I needed to do if I panicked. Camilla would be able to handle this, so I needed to do the same.

I stood there, on the quiet porch of the weary building, and held my breath. I put one hand over my mouth to choke the anxiety. I tried to grab it and unravel it so I could face what I needed to face. I couldn't freeze anymore; I had to push through. I choked back the worry and knocked with trepidation. I didn't know how I was going to handle it. A child turning into... whatever the quieted became in front of his parents. I didn't know how he overpowered them. But I knew I had to stop him. It was a long, excruciating moment before the door was answered. Every second taunted me. Every breath carried new anxieties. But finally, a large man opened the door.

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He looked, well, like me. His eyes were weary and sunken. Not like those of a man without sleep, but like a man burdened by loss. "Are you the doctor?" He asked, looking over my shoulder as if he expected someone to be with me.

"I'm sorry?" I replied, a little taken aback by the question.

"If you're not the doctor, I'm sorry, but I don't have time for you," he dismissed, beginning to close the door on me.

"W-wait!" I spluttered and he paused for a brief moment, looking up at me through guilty eyes. "I'm here to help you!" I assured before he could close the door entirely. He paused there, eyes a cracked dam ready to shatter at the first sign of increased pressure. "I'm here to help," I repeated, unsure of what else to say. He let out a weary sigh before swinging the door open and inviting me in with a gesture.

"I suppose you can't make things worse. Want some tea?" he offered as I walked inside. As he went into his kitchen I realized my first impression had been somewhat mistaken. Standing, practically hiding, behind the door, I had thought he was a small man. But that wasn't right. He was a hunched man, the curve of his spine bent with tragedy and his presence was small. He himself, however, was as tall as a man and a half. His shoulders were squared and still held something of the pride of a strong, imposing man. They were just covered with a shawl of anxiety which lessened him.

"I'm alright, thank you. I don't much have the stomach for it, at the moment," I declined. He didn't seem to hear me as he filled his kettle with water and hung it over the fire.

"So, how exactly are you going to help us?" He queried and I paused, standing awkwardly in the entryway to his humble home. I didn't know the answer. He was still alive, so the issue I came to help with hadn't happened yet. In fact, his wife and son didn't even appear to be home.

"I... can you tell me more about the problem?" I asked and his baleful eyes moved from the fire to me for a moment.

"You came to help, but you don't know the problem?" he interrogated.

"I... I'm a mage," I answered. I could tell him this much safely. I didn't know why, but telling people about my actual accomplishments was never believed, but my claims of knowing magic always were. Since most people don't really understand magic, just that much was often enough. People would fill in the gaps with assumptions.

"I see," he said, looking back at the fire and releasing a deep breath through his nose. "And do you know many healing spells?"

"It... depends on the problem," I answered cautiously. "Is someone hurt?"

He shook his head. "It's my son. He's... sick. He needs help. If you're a healer, will you help him?" The hope in his voice settled on me like an iron ball on a chain. I didn't have an answer for him. I wasn't a healer, and even if I was, the boy would soon be dead whatever I did. I was here to save this man from his son, not save his son. Although, the thought gave me pause. He may have been tired, but he was massive. What could a child really do to him? I allowed the silence to stretch for too long before answering him and I felt the atmosphere change when he realized I couldn't say what he wanted to hear. "Well. I don't know anything about magic but... if you can't help with that, you might as well go.

I didn't know what to say in response, but I didn't end up needing to say anything. The door opened again before I could respond and a woman walked in. She was a mousy woman, even skinnier than me, and her leathery face matched her husband's. The two had an undefinable age. Like a young couple burdened by more years than they'd lived. It was a look I knew well. She was bruised and scraped all over in a way that made my skin ache. Her son was notably absent. Her husband looked back at her with wide eyes that quickly drooped as she shook her head.

"There was no one that would help us. The clinics were full, and I was turned away as soon as they saw my clothes," the woman whispered. Her quiet voice rang like funeral bells and the man at the fire let water run down his cheeks. I was an interloper, but I couldn't leave. Although, when I looked at them, I wondered if saving their lives would really be helping them. I saw myself in them. I saw a desire I hadn't been able to banish entirely, and I knew the boy hadn't overpowered them. He didn't have to.

"Well, miss mage? I don't suppose you have the money to pay for a doctor? If you really want to help," The man asked and the woman looked at me with suddenly sharp eyes. They immediately fell when she saw my own state. She hadn't asked who I was. It didn't matter. I didn't answer the question. I was too busy looking at the scratches on the woman's arms. A sinking feeling overtook me and I felt my heartbeat speed again.

"What is he... Can you tell me what your son is sick with?" I asked, terrified of the answer.

"We... don't know," the mother responded cautiously. "He came down with it suddenly, as I was putting him to bed last night. He went as still as a corpse, then..." she trailed off and the impending dread settled over me. "Then he got violent. Like a rabid animal... His eyes are... bleeding. Please. My husband called you a mage, do you know what is wrong with our son?" I looked down at my feet.

Last night, she had said. It was too late. I could use 'Undone' to still his corpse. But this poor couple, they thought he was still alive. They thought he was sick. Again I put my hand over my mouth, then moved it to my throbbing chest. "Where is he?" I asked quietly and both of them looked at a closed room in the corner. They quickly looked back without answering, which was answer enough. I cautiously walked through the room and paused at the door. The tension was heavy in the air, but slowly, I pushed it open. On the bed in the center of the room was the child, bound and gagged but still struggling. The picture was clear.

He had died long before I got there. When he kills his parents, they must have let him go and, unwilling to hurt him, allowed him to attack them. I didn't know for sure if this was what would happen, but it was the only thing that made any sense. "He's already dead," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, but he's already dead." It was all I could say, and I felt, rather than saw, his parents stiffen at the words. I thought of all my spells. I didn't know how to put him to rest. It had been longer than an hour, but I decided to try 'Undone' anyway. Agonized guilt forced my words to waver, but I began to chant.

It wouldn't work, but I had to try. Blue sparks danced across my skin as the spell formed. "Wait, no no, wait, Stop!" The woman suddenly cried. I realized I didn't explain what I was doing, and immediately felt cruel. I began to turn, mid-spell, so I could speak to her more. I never got the chance. I felt a sharp pain in my head and liquid ran down my cheeks as my body twitched. I could barely control myself as I reached up to the side of my head, only to feel some kind of steel rod protruding from it. I choked and foaming bile began to bubble out of my mouth, then everything went black.

End of Day 1