The moon scatters its gentle light across the ground as usual, highlighting the four figures standing amidst the dense grass. Anastasia’s wounds have mostly cleared, her skin cracked and inflamed - but no longer debilitating. The cuts carved across Meize’s skin have closed up, though their angry scarring still showed.
The group are ready to move. In their tattered clothes, seeped with blood, bodies caked in dirt. They look a mess, but are ready all the same. The moon had yet to move, though three cycles of sleep passed between them. There is only one place to get answers.
“Wait.” Anastasia speaks, just before they head out. She loosely grips the potion in her hand. Its luminescent colours as nauseating as ever. “It wore off after I slept. Let me try a new one.” The group waits, and after a heavy moment Anastasia brings the tube up and downs the contents. After tying the now empty glass container back to her waist, she waits.
A minute passes. Her eyes wandering here and there. And then her eyes light up, a spark of inspiration flashes over them.
“I’ve got it.” Anastasia shivers for a moment as the cold breeze passes over her. “My instincts are stronger.”
“That’s a little vague.” Bunny says.
“I just, well, you know. When you get the feeling of being looked at. It hit me hard when you guys were staring at me.”
“Something like a sixth sense then.” Meize says. “Good enough.”
“Valuable.” Ambrose nods. Clutched in her hand is a sickle, a match for the one held by Anastasia. Out of the weapons they sifted through it was the most likely to hold up. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” Anastasia lets out a strong breath. “I’m ready.” Meize and Bunny nod in turn, and the group begin moving to the villager. Ambrose glances at the charred area as they pass it. Only scattered remains can be seen inside the area. Nothing recoverable. The objects that explored were unnatural, but to Ambrose it was more dangerous that they appeared crafted.
They moved on, and it doesn’t take long for their large strides to take them to the village’s base. The moon’s light isn’t strong enough to clear away the shadows, and the looming darkness inside feels daunting to the group.
“We can’t just stand here.” Bunny says, swallowing loudly as she peers around the villager.
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“Let’s just work up to it okay.” Meize mutters. He glances between the dirt road, and the dense grass that they stood in, as if it acted as a barrier. Ambrose stares at the shrine that stands tall in the villager’s centre, but sees no figure under its archway.
“Let’s just go.” Anastasia calls. “We have to- see!” Her words are cut off as Ambrose takes the step forward, and begins to walk inside the village. “Ambrose always has to do the hard work.” She huffs, before following her.
“Yeah yeah.” Meize says, and he and Bunny follow them as they wander in. Everyone goes silent as they look around, the eerie feeling when they first walked through here coming back. Wood and loose metal sways to the winds tune, their wails breaking apart the silence with each step they take.
Upon reaching the first building, Ambrose stares at it. A woodcutter's axe rests heavily against a stump in front of the house, half splitting a piece of wood standing atop it. Further along, a rack of clothes sways back and forth. Damp, torn, and dirtied beyond repair.
As Ambrose takes the stairways steps, the others follow behind her. They all check the surroundings carefully. When Ambrose alights the stairs, the doorway swings wide open and slams against the building. The group freeze, but only the eerie wind whistles past them as they stare into the dark house. The door swings back and forth in small motions, but continues to remain open.
After a moment Ambrose continues forward, and warily enters the house. Her eyes adjust to the room as she looks around, finding a table filled with food. The chairs are in different positions, like a family each adjusting the chair to their own comfort. The food itself is long rotten.
Ambrose looks farther to the right and sees a kitchen full of dirty dishes. The water still rests in the sink, in preparation to be cleaned, but has long grown muddy and unclean. Ambrose continues inside as the rest of the group enters, Meize keeping watch at the door.
“It’s like they just got up and left.” Anastasia whispers as she looks around the room. Ambrose enters the second floor and walks down the hallway. At the far end is a window that leads to the backyard, shattered and left in disrepair. Her hands wrap around a doorknob, and with a slow swing she opens to one of the bedrooms.
Empty. The bedsheets are ruffled, like their owner had never sorted them, and completely caked in dust. Walking inside, Ambrose spies a kit of very basic makeup. Something cobbled together with the cheapest of materials. All of it half open, waiting to be applied.
Ambrose closes the door, turning to the other doors in the hallway. Each are the same, revealing a bedroom in different states of orderliness. All say the same thing; whoever lived in them didn’t leave by choice.
Her steps at their end take her to the window, and Ambrose peers out into the darkness outside. The backyard is a mess. Dirt thrown up, and tree branches scattered across its surface. Tools that once rested against the house are scattered across the ground, some dug deep into the ground while others just hung loosely there.
As Ambrose’s observes the strange sight, her eyes catch something on the windowpane. Ambrose crouches down and stares carefully at it. Time had weathered its shape, but after a moment Ambrose realises what it is. A handprint. Small enough that it can only be a child’s.