When the vrochthízo popped into Shara’s range, the hunger was almost tangible. A physical force assaulted her senses, trying to push her back somewhere safe. Shara may not run the risk of going completely mad like Adgito did, but without something life-threatening to focus her attention on it would be difficult to resist the urge to start nibbling on trail rations, or devouring passing rodents. Vrochthízo were really titans-damned hungry.

Maybe if that was all, Shara could tolerate them. Blocking out mental influences was just part of her life, and while vrochthízo were especially painful it was nothing she couldn’t deal with. It was more than that. That hunger drove their minds to terrifying extremes, for they needed something extreme to function at all. The ones that maintained their intelligence seemed to do so by substituting a more manageable insanity than the hunger that hounded them by default. For most, such as the lord they fought before, it was arrogance. A belief in their own complete self-superiority kept them within their minds, manifesting as an unyielding certainty that all other life existed only to serve as a brief respite from hunger. That was a terrifying thing to let leak in.

When fighting a vrochthízo, this could be channeled. She used that mercilessness against them, separating them from the realm of compassion as they did to her. Darron, however, wanted to talk to one. Heal it, even. It wouldn’t go well, Shara knew, but it was a knowledge based on experience and intuition, not something she could calmly explain to her brother. He was a big softie under his grumpy exterior, and she could tell he wasn’t taking no for an answer on this one. He’d need to learn the hard way.

Shara did her best to block out everything she could of the vrochthízo’s mind as they approached, taking refuge in Darron’s head. It wasn’t the safest option, but she figured that if the stocks couldn’t hold the monster it would have long since escaped.

The short, plump woman that had been trying to shoo off the children was there again, holding something fluffy and white in her arms. She seemed to be trying to plead with the monster about something. In the darkness of the early night, the vrochthízo’s inky body was difficult to see. It almost looked like she was speaking to a void.

“But you have to!” the woman pleaded, tears in her eyes. “You’ll die! I can’t lose you too! I won’t!”

No response was forthcoming from the monster. It didn’t even move.

“Please!” the woman wailed, holding out the beautiful, snow-white cat in her arms, “just eat her!”

“I refuse,” came the monster’s cold voice, too much like a human’s for Shara to be comfortable with. “And I shall refuse the next hundred thousand times you ask.”

Darron took this opportunity to tactfully introduce himself into the conversation, as the two of them got closer.

“Hello again,” he said. The plump woman immediately began to stammer surprised greetings, but he cut her off. “Let’s start this over. What’s your name?”

“I… Isabella Cornwall,” she answered. “I’m Mayor Cornwall’s daughter. And this is Arina. Sh...she was my father’s assistant, and one of my caretakers.”

Shara picked up a lot from that simple exchange, most of it useful. Isabella was telling the truth, for starters, at least so far as she knew. Her father was indeed the late Gregory Cornwall, whom his daughter loved dearly. Depression as to his untimely passing had permeated the town during the day, so Shara could reasonably assume he’d been an effective and well-loved public figure. He was also obscenely rich, enough to shower his daughter with multiple maids, tutors, and bodyguards. One of which was this prisoner, the monstrous status of whom Isabella was well aware of. Yet she still cared for it deeply, which made things complicated.

“So, why is Miss Arina locked up in front of the sheriff’s office?” Darron asked.

“She… she was found guilty of killing my father,” Isabella answered. “But that’s absurd! She would never do such a thing! Just because he was bitten to death, everyone assumes it’s her!”

Shara, despite her best attempts to avoid the vrochthízo’s thoughts, was suddenly hit with a great pain. Grief, anger, disgust, and hopelessness radiated out of the motionless beast, drowning the background hunger like a stone in a tidal wave.

Darron looked to Shara for confirmation. He wanted to know, for a fact, whether or not this monster was the culprit. Whether she could actually control herself, or whether it just needed to be put down.

He didn’t fully understand what he was actually asking Shara to do, of course. He was probably going to tax her sanity for nothing. Yet he was so close, so infinitesimally near the chance of being right, that Shara couldn’t bring herself to just avoid the problem. She would end up regretting not indulging him, because they’d both never truly know unless she did. While Shara wasn’t terribly concerned about that, it would eat at Darron– ha ha– for a long time.

So, bracing herself to dive into frozen waters, she took a peek into the monster’s mind and asked:

“So, did you kill him? Did you kill Gregory Cornwall?”

No, came the response, but it was no mere word. It was unbridled emotion, a most profound and infinite negation, a complete denial of everything the monster named Arina was. No. Never. Impossible. My universe. My everything. I could not have killed him any more than I could kill the air I breathe.

How dare you, it roared, as the denial turned to indignation. How dare you! For a split moment Shara was certain Arina was free of chains and tearing open her throat, but then it was gone, drowned again like a stone in a tidal wave.

It wasn’t love, or attraction, or anything quite so wholesome that rooted the monster’s obsession. Shara didn’t know if vrochthízo were even capable of such things, and whatever this was spilled no light on that subject. No, Arina had drowned her hunger in loyalty, an unflinching and unconditional devotion. Her world was one of orders and executions. She didn’t need to eat because she had not been told to eat. Now, with the object of that fidelity gone forever, the hunger was washed away by self-loathing instead. Failure. Emptiness. Not needing to eat because food was pointless. It would not bring her reality back.

Shara had not been prepared for this. Hunger, madness, yearning… those things, she was prepared for, but they barely registered. She had braced her mind for impact, but found she’d only keep falling. Shara swallowed, pulling back from that cold, vehement emptiness.

“Well,” Shara managed to say, “she definitely didn’t do it.”

For the first time, Arina moved, her head tilting ever so slightly in Shara’s direction.

“You believe us?” Isabella squeaked with surprise, giving the cat in her arms a tight hug. “Really? Just like that?”

Shara nodded. With an emotional bleedover like that, she worried if she was even capable of believing Arina killed her former master. The idea was now anathema to her.

“Okay, so she’s innocent of the murder of Gregory Cornwall,” Darron said. “How many other people have you eaten, though?”

“I have not been charged with the murder of anyone other than Gregory Cornwall,” Arina responded carefully, but her mind betrayed her facade. Memories of feelings, smells, tastes flickered through Arina’s mind. A lightless pit, where food was thrown screaming from the top of the darkness to where Arina waited, trapped. A place where she devoured the howling, pleading voices without knowing what they meant, without knowing when her next meal would arrive.

Later, much later, there were orders. After Arina understood the noises and the screams, recognised the words, she was given instructions to kill and leave no evidence of death. How better to dispose of a body, than by eating it? Her master cared not for the method, only the results.

Every so once and a while, there were no orders, just dangers. Insolent meals would come in the night, trying to kill her world, and she would dispose of them with overwhelming force.

It was hundreds of memories, in total. Likely far more she had forgotten. Shara spat on the ground, trying to get someone else’s taste out of her mouth.

“That one, she’s guilty of,” Shara whispered to her brother, as quietly as she could manage. Arina didn’t react, but she still heard. Darron just nodded.

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“Do you know why she’s refusing food and treatment?” he asked.

“She’s given up on the will to live, basically,” Shara whispered back. “Gregory Cornwall was… very important to her.”

A small spark of anger flickered in Arina’s mind. What do you know of his importance? You know nothing. Yet it faded away, as quickly as it came. She was grieving, Shara knew. Could monsters grieve?

“Well, what do you suggest?” Darron asked her. “...Under the assumption that we’re here to help her.”

Under the assumption that we treat Arina like a person, was the implication. Was that the right thing to do? Vrochthízo were a threat to sapient life. This one in particular had already killed countless others. Although, most of those situations were at the behest of a human, weren’t they?

“What exactly is your end goal, here?” Shara asked Darron. “Do you just want to patch up her bruises? Do you want her to live a happy and fulfilling life? How deep is this going to go, bro?”

Darron had no idea, of course. He was just dealing with a crisis of faith, stepping into this situation specifically because he didn’t think he could handle it properly. He wanted to go all the way, to help her in every way possible. But he was one man, and if that’s the standard he set for himself on every personal interaction, he would never achieve it. The simple mortal limitations he possessed did not grant him the time or scope to devote himself to more than a few people. What was the cut-off point?

“Well, let’s say we’re going all the way,” Darron posited. “What would that entail?”

“...A lot,” Shara said. “Even more if we’re assuming moral responsibility, since that would involve reforming a career killer rather than just making her feel better about herself.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabella asked indignantly, “I told you, she hasn’t killed anyone!”

Oh good, the stupid girl believed it, too.

“She didn’t kill your father,” Shara explained as if to a child, “but she’s killed–”

“Shut up,” Arina suddenly growled. “Don’t talk down to her.”

She isn’t to know, Arina thought. Loyalty flared up, along with something softer. A protective instinct. A genuine sliver of empathy. Master didn’t want her to know. It would hurt her to know. I will not let you hurt her.

Shara ground her teeth. How was she supposed to convince herself this wasn’t a person now?

“Sorry,” she said, “that wasn’t my intention. I think my brother and I would very much like to talk to you, though. About this.”

Arina was also curious. No one is supposed to know. How do they know?

“Isabella,” she intoned, “please take Captain Cuddles back to the mansion. I’d like to talk to these people alone.”

“But–!”

“She’ll be fine,” Shara said. “We’re just going to talk.”

With a nod, Isabella departed, clutching Captain Cuddles close to her chest as they plodded off into the night.

“How do you know?” Arina hissed, once Isabella was out of earshot. I was perfect, she thought, untraceable. There was no evidence. I was exactly what he needed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shara responded. “If you don’t want us to talk about it, we won’t.”

That surprised Arina, and she grew even more suspicious. What was Shara’s angle, here? Shara wondered that herself.

“What would you do if we proved your innocence?” Shara asked. “What if you became free? Would you live with Isabella?”

Arina thought for a moment.

“I would find my master’s true murderer,” she eventually said, “and slaughter them.”

“And then?”

“I do not know,” she said. I suppose I would die, she thought. “Why are you asking me these questions? What do you hope to gain from me?”

What, indeed. Whether it was due to or in spite of her dietary choices, Arina at least had the potential for genuine personhood. She certainly wasn’t a good person, but she wasn’t a complete monster either, and that gave Shara pause. Yet, if they simply let her loose, the results were clear: she’d kill one or more people and then probably herself. Even if their only intended gain from this interaction was to make Darron feel better about himself, that was far from a net win. Releasing a murderer to let her go murder more people, regardless of whether they were assassins that pinned their crime on her, wasn’t really taking the moral high ground. Furthermore, Arina hadn’t been tried for the many killings she actually did commit due to lack of evidence, so wasn’t it justice for her to receive some sort of punishment, even if the pretext was incorrect? No, that didn’t seem right. Arina receiving punishment for the death of Gregory Cornwall seemed cruel in a way Shara couldn’t vocalize.

“What sort of skills do you have that don’t involve killing people?” Darron asked.

“...Reconnaissance, infiltration, fighting to subdue.” Arina answered hesitantly. “Moderate air manipulation. Threat detection. Child and pet care.”

“Unfortunately, we could use... most of those skills,” Darron said. “I expect we’ll run into no end of trouble in the near future. If we help bring Gregory Cornwall justice for his death, would you be willing to work with us?”

Oh, no. Of course Shara should have seen this coming. Unfortunately, it could very well be the optimal decision. The only way to ensure a free Arina won’t end causing more harm than good would be to bring her along, and she’d be helpful to have for exactly the same reason the party couldn’t afford to stick around in Oinos Springs. Darron was going for the big play, investing maximum effort for maximum potential gain, but there was a key factor he was missing.

“More accurately, would you be willing to accept one of us as your new master?” Shara asked.

Darron balked at the implication of continued slavery, but it was a necessary element. Too much of Arina’s self-made sanity relied on the stabilizing force of following orders. Having some creepy assassin following them around and calling them “master” would be more than a little disturbing, not to mention morally questionable, but Shara couldn’t expect ripping all of that out of Arina’s decision-making process at once to end well. Her devotion to Gregory Cornwall was nothing short of complete indoctrination. To heal Arina’s mind and find her a healthier method of thinking would require time, patience, and at least a little bit of acceptance of her current worldview before they weaned her off of it.

Not that Shara was opposed to securing Arina’s fanatical devotion in the meantime, so as to more easily manage her, but that temptation was better left unsaid.

It didn’t escape Shara’s notice how quickly she’d face-turned on her opinion of the vrochthízo, going from “we should probably kill it” to “we should totally take her with us” in the span of a single conversation. Part of that was most likely emotional bleedover, which was dangerous and troublesome but, to the best of her ability to stay cognisant of it, not the main factor in her change. Simply put, she had been incredibly, incredibly wrong, and her brother had been right. It hadn’t even occurred to Shara that she could be speciesist against vrochthízo any more than she could be speciesist against skitters, cattle, or crotchbiters, but it turns out they were apparently not all complete monsters. Just, like, ninety-nine percent of them. The other one percent were horrifying sociopathic mental patients, but not monsters, and Darron noticed and respected that difference long before Shara could. Which was kind of embarrassing.

Arina, for her part, reached her decision.

“My master… was everything. Should you assist me in bringing down those responsible for his death, I would owe you my life’s services. But…” her voice grew cold, marking itself with the venomous promise that only a killer of hundreds of men could truly give, “Should I find that you were duplicitous in these dealings, or that you were in any way involved in my master’s demise, nothing will save you. I will tear you and everything you know asunder.”

“Okay,” Darron said. “Can I heal your face now?”

“...Yes,” Arina relented.

“I’ll need to take your mask off. Is that all right?”

“Put it back when you are done.”

Darron peeled off the white, holeless mask after casting a pain-dampening spell. The cuts and lesions on Arina’s face had scabbed over, sticking to the cloth, and were ripped open again as the mask was removed. The vrochthízo’s curved, black teeth were now plainly visible, as were the solid, inky eyes that always graced a vrochthízo’s face. However, even with her eyes uncovered, Arina didn’t look up to view her proposed benefactors, or swivel around to take stock of her situation. It made no difference to her, because Arina was completely blind.

Given a lack of visual component in her memories, Shara had expected this. Still, it was startling to confirm that such a highly successful career killer did her job without one of the most prominent senses of everyday life.

Darron healed up the lesions and bruises on Arina’s face and gathered the blood off of her body and mask with the Orbital Cleaner. Arina’s face was slender and angled, but not entirely unattractive so long as she kept her mouth closed. Nonetheless, it was still unmistakably vrochthízo, which is probably why she preferred the mask in public.

“I’d like to run some tests,” Darron said, indicating Arina’s floating blood. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

“Yes,” Arina immediately responded. “Give it back.”

“Okay,” Darron said, and stored it all in a glass vial before placing it in Arina’s restrained hand. “Here you go.”

Then Darron secured the mask back around Arina’s face and walked off, leaving a very confused vrochthízo wondering what the hell she was going to do with a vial of her own bodily fluids. At least she was pretty sure she won the negotiations?

“We’ll be back if we have any questions,” Shara told her, “or if we find the culprit. Which, honestly, shouldn’t take us too long.”

“Don’t make light of my master’s killer,” Arina growled. “They are no ordinary thug.”

“Hey, trust me, okay?” Shara answered with a grin. “I’m no ordinary thug either.”

That was that. The strategy was fairly simple. Find everyone involved with the case, screen them for guilt via mind-reading powers, then track down the culprit. That was just easy detective work. Skipping off after Darron, Shara steeled herself for the real challenge: convincing Adgito to travel with a vrochthízo after the case was closed.